Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11920011.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Castiel/Sam
      Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Wincest_-_Freeform, Weecest, Extremely_Underage, Underage_Rape/Non-con,
      Non-Consensual_Somnophilia, Alternate_Universe-_No_Supernatural, Forced
      Relationship, Abusive_Dean, Dark_Dean, Evil_Dean, Childhood_Sexual_Abuse,
      Statutory_Rape, Non-Consensual_Drug_Use, Spanking, Angst, Post-Traumatic
      Stress_Disorder_-_PTSD, Panic_Attacks, Minor_Castiel/Meg_Masters,
      Underage_Drinking, Blood_and_Torture, Catboy_Castiel, Age_Regression/De-
      Aging, Leashes, Collared_Castiel, Butt_Plugs, Bottom_Castiel, Top_Dean,
      Domestic_Violence, Minor_Jo_Harvelle/Dean_Winchester
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-08-27 Updated: 2018-02-03 Chapters: 30/? Words: 203171
****** The Whipping Boy ******
by AzrielRose
Summary
     17 year old Dean Winchester has been trying not to fuck his 10 year
     old brother Sammy for years now. He finds a solution in Castiel
     Novak, the already damaged little boy who moves in next door. Very
     much AU and OOC, no supernatural stuff, very dark and disturbing and
     explicit. You've been warned.
Notes
     I don't know how else to trigger warn you - definitive rape of tiny
     minors, sexual abuse. Depraved Dean in this world only cares about
     his own pleasure and he's into everything, including little boys.
     Nothing cute about this fic. This is my first piece on here, so be
     kind if you can (despite the subject matter - I know, this is fucked
     up).
***** Chapter 1 *****
At 17, Dean knows his 10 year old brother Sammy doesn’t want to fuck him.  He’s
not an idiot; he doesn’t believe the tiny prepubescent would happily jump on
his dick, or mistake it for an ice cream pop, no matter how much the porn he
reads on Ao3 tries to convince him otherwise.  No, his brother is a smart boy
and he hasn’t gone through puberty yet, so he’s not a particularly horny boy.
 Even if he is, there’s no way he dreams about his brother’s much bigger, much
stronger body coercing feelings from him that he isn’t ready to understand.  He
doesn’t want a big sloppy dick pushing into any tiny holes where it absolutely
has no business being either.
Dean knows this. 
He also knows, obviously, he could just start raping him.  The image has its
appeal.  Sammy is tiny, and in Dean’s care almost all the time.  No matter how
smart he is, Dean believes he could convince him that he has no choice in the
matter, that he had better keep his mouth shut about it and do every nasty
thing that Dean can think up with a fucking smile and a lick of the lips. 
Sometimes, lately, that’s Dean’s favorite fantasy.  He thinks that having a
little Slave Sammy all his own would make him want to fuck his brother long
after his body loses the baby-perfect appeal that Dean likes best.  The most
perfect adult, groomed as a baby to give up everything he has for his big
brother, instantly dropping to his knees, saying all the right things that Dean
likes to hear.
Dean thinks that he’ll probably rape Sammy eventually.  He wants him so badly
and he can’t keep holding out forever.  So, why try? 
The thing is that Sammy LOVES Dean--swears that Dean hung the moon and the sun
shines out of his ass.  He loves him more than his books, more than school,
more than their 90% absentee father, which Dean thinks is still saying
something.  Plus, he really is an amazing kid, when Dean isn’t horny and can
think straight.  He’s smart and sweet and he laughs at all Dean’s jokes.  He
has lots of little friends that all adore him.  Last summer Dean painstakingly
built him a tree house, sturdy and strong, with a hatch in the bottom and a
real rope ladder and swing underneath.  Sam had been so overwhelmingly
grateful, hugging Dean and pressing fat, noisy kisses to his face like he used
to when he was a baby, and even Dean’s black heart had been touched, never mind
his twitching dick.  Never mind he built it imagining raping his crying little
brother inside, where his Dad wouldn’t hear inside the house if he happened to
be home.  And hey, he hadn’t done it.  Yet.
Dean is not a good man but he’s not an idiot, and he knows that he can’t
guarantee that Sammy will still love him after he does it.  That bothers him.
 He is manipulative and he would plan it even more carefully than the tree
house, but his brother is bright, and his brother would get smarter with time. 
There just was no way that Dean could be sure that his brother wouldn’t stone
cold hate him.  Sure, he’d make him say differently, but he’s not entirely sure
he can force him to feel it.  So far he wants Sammy to keep loving him whole-
heartedly, in perfect brotherly innocence, more than he wants to fuck him.  But
it’s wearing thin.
It used to be enough to touch Sammy all over in the bath, rubbing suds lovingly
over every inch of shiny pink skin.  He was careful never to linger; he never
pressed any kisses that weren’t on cheeks or lips, maybe a daring raspberry to
the sweet protruding belly.  But Sammy got too old for that, and Dean let go
without a fuss. 
He is very careful.  He tries to wait for natural opportunities, like a Sammy
that is so tired after a day at the county fair that he needs Dean to slowly
undress him, put him in his pjs.  God, how Dean loves the way his brother
sleeps so hard, his body light and pose-able in his arms.  Even then, his hands
never touch longer than they should.  Maybe a few pats on the bottom. 
He got lucky when his Dad started leaving Sammy more and more in his care.  He
remembers the first time he spanked Sammy, his dick rock hard in his jeans.  He
loved the way Sammy had whined and cried, begging so beautifully.  Even though
he hadn’t pulled down Sammy’s pants the way he really wanted, he was still so
scared that he’d finally overplayed his hand, since his Dad never said anything
about Dean stepping in to apply corporal punishment.  But his Dad had simply
taken crying Sammy up on his lap and explained that when Dad isn’t in the
house, Dean is the parent.  That since Dad had to work two jobs just to make
ends meet, it was Sammy’s responsibility to obey his brother.  Then he’d made
Sam apologize to Dean for being naughty, and Dean’s lap was suddenly full of
squirming, kissing, repentant baby brother.
It was all Dean could do to make it to the bathroom (and not drag his brother
in there with him).  He would spank Sammy many times after that-- bare
bottomed, too, Jesus--but never unless he knew Dad would agree that the
punishment fit the crime (much as he would’ve liked to invent his own
reasons).  Careful, careful, careful, until he decides not to be.  If he
decides not to be.
In order to stave off this (probably?) inevitability, Dean fucks almost
anything that moves.  Of course he does; he’s not just hot or handsome, he’s
fucking beautiful.  Hasn’t he been told this on a constant basis his entire
life?  Doesn’t the entire world smile when he walks by?  His own virginity was
obliterated long ago, much earlier than ordinary looking kids did, he’s willing
to bet.  Everybody wants to fuck Dean.  So he seduces college girls and married
women in town.  He convinces nerdy girls to let him go down on them in the
school library, and watches them fall apart second guessing themselves when
it’s done.  He fucked a freshman boy on Orientation Day when he was assigned to
show him around the school, bending him over in a bathroom stall (totally
consensual, after a little convincing).  He gets his father’s friends, who are
supposedly super homophobic and married, to suck his dick in the bathroom while
his father plays cards in the basement.  They don’t get to fuck him though.  17
and he knows his bottom days are over for good.  The last guy who told him his
mouth would look good wrapped around his dick wound up in the hospital.  Dean
says it to others, though.  That’s different.
Fucking other teens, fucking adults: it's fun, it makes him feel amazing, but
it’s not what he really wants.  That’s so much closer to home.  And his ability
to be careful is finally starting to slip dangerously. 
Like this new game he came up with, whenever Sammy gets a cold, or  has trouble
sleeping (which could just mean a nightmare that he would easily fall back
asleep from on his own), or any other reason that Dean can get away with giving
his brother Nyquil.  That shit knocks his baby the fuck out, and the temptation
to paw, and rape, and own is severe.  The first time he did it, it was enough
to strip his brother completely and touch him…everywhere.  The way he always
wants.  Kneading, posing, squeezing...twisting and turning him to try to get
him to make soft little sleep noises.  He only put his fingers in Sam's mouth
(though disappointingly he did not automatically start to suckle).  He left his
little hole alone.  He didn’t want him waking up and feeling different.  He
still thinks he’s being kind of careful.
The second time he was mouthy as well as handsy.  He kissed (only the lightest
sucking, no biting, no marks left behind) the tiny bow mouth, barely there
nipples, and round, tiny ass.  Then he took Sam’s little boy dick in his mouth,
balls and all, lifting his tiny bottom off the bed.  He sucked and kissed to
his heart’s content, watching Sam's sleeping face for any little distressed/
confused noises, seeing his tiny hands open and close in his sleep, until Sam's
hips jolted slightly forward and Dean came untouched in his jeans like a
fucking middle schooler.  
Last time he took his dick out, and it was a very close thing.  He was shaking
as he put his brother’s perfect, tiny hand on it, rubbing precome into those
delicious little fingers.  He popped the head, just the head, mind you, into
the smallest mouth in the world and had to grip the base of his dick to keep
from coming inside it, taking the chance that his brother would choke, might
even vomit.  So he shut his eyes and waited and then he rolled his brother on
his stomach and pressed worshipful, open-mouthed kisses to an ass that can
still fit in one hand.  He did not put his tongue inside the hole though.  Just
on it.  And around it.  So that doesn’t count.
Then he took his dick, which looked red and wet and obscene next to the pale
perfection of his brother’s tiny body and he slid it between the spit-wet
cheeks and rubbed.  Grinding, really, pushing tiny somebody into his little
twin mattress.  He wanted it to last, but he’s coming apart before he knows it,
covering his baby from neck to thighs in jizz, spreading it, leaning down to
breathe him in like this, a fucked up mix of baby shampoo and sex.  His bottom
was red inside the cheeks, but Dean thought that'd go away by morning.  Or
maybe it wouldn't, and Sam would complain, want Dean to take a look.  He could
put cream.  Fuck.
He cleaned him carefully, lovingly, without a stray thought of guilt.  He loves
what he did.  He wishes he could do more; he wants to do it with a
participating Sam.  But he likes this Sam, too, who doesn’t get a fucking say. 
He dressed him in his jammies, and it’s only during the day, playing Mario Kart
with Sam in one of those funny non-horny moments that he feels a pang of regret
for what he knows he’s going to do soon.
But the world loves Dean, and things always work out his way.  So God sends him
an angel.
His name is Castiel.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Castiel Novak is a little boy who moves in to the small, crappy house next door
with his single mom, and Dean knows right away what’s wrong with him.  He’s
doing that thing he does so well, watching so nobody can tell he’s watching. 
He can see that the kid is beautiful: messy hair so dark that it looks black
against fair skin, big blue eyes with a fringe of dark lashes like a girl’s,
and—and that fucking mouth (fucking being the operative word, Dean hopes,
haha).  He has these wide pink lips that he’s always chewing on (what’s
stressing you out, baby, so little to be so worried).  He’s tiny like Sammy,
maybe even smaller, but he’s so different from that happy puppy ball of energy,
and Dean can tell right away exactly what it is.  It’s in the way his little
shoulders curl inwards, the haunted cast to his crystal blue eyes.  It’s in the
way his mother acts around him, simultaneously hovering and guilty and tense,
like she thinks she should smother him half the time, and the other half she
can’t stand to look at him, like it kills her.  Aw, lady, what did you do?
Dean knows, but he’s not a halfway kind of guy.  So he waits for night, when
all the good little boys are tucked up in bed, and he takes himself next door
to (stick it in her) introduce himself.  Amelia Novak is a skinny, washed out
looking, 30-something blond who Dean can tell was probably pretty hot once,
before she got all broken (a look Dean might actually prefer on her, he
thinks).  She seems like the kind of woman who takes something to wake up and
something else just to go to sleep—desperate and strung out.  Dean likes
desperate.  He bets she could use somebody to talk to...probably been a while
since she’s been held.
He lets her believe that he’s older, Sammy’s guardian in fact (she guesses and
he doesn’t contradict—he thinks it’ll be funny when she discovers she fucked
the high school kid next door).  He finds out that Castiel is turning 10 this
year and will be entering Sam’s class on Monday.  Oh, amazing!  They share a
fun suburbanite laugh over the coincidence, and Dean, good neighbor, promises
that Sam will watch out for her son (it’s not a lie, either; that’s the kind of
kid Sammy is, but Dean has no problem taking credit).  And she is falling over
herself in gratitude, oh thank you, Mr. Winchester, it’s just that my son, you
see, he’s so smart, he’s so wonderful, he’s just, he isn’t, he’s been having
such a hard time…
Dean has to turn away, shut his eyes, take a deep breath, so he won't smile, so
his eyes won’t show the flash of predatory triumph--a lion finding a limping
baby gazelle.  And he plies her with drinks (actually they’re at her house; she
plies herself with them while he pretends to keep up) and multiple orgasms,
because he’s so excited about her son that he’s practically making love to
her.  Except for his hand over her mouth, because the last thing he wants is
for Castiel to meet him this way and bitch is noisy (is her son noisy, will he
moan and whine and plead, fuck).  Then once her tongue is loosened up (from
liquor, from coming, from his dick jammed down her throat), the story comes out
at last:  the live-in boyfriend who pretended to love Amelia, who seemed so
close to her son.  And he was, just so close that he climbed into Castiel’s
little bed almost every night for 2 years.
And Dean is clutching at her desperately, pressing kisses to the top of her
head, and he’s sure she thinks it’s because his heart is breaking for her, but
holy shit, was it 2 years ago now, when Cas was 7, or had this happened
earlier, was he even younger, smaller, so defenseless and little and oh shit,
Dean should have done it, oh God, beautiful baby Sammy.  He’s trembling and
she’s fucking comforting himnow (hilarious), but 2 years is such a long time,
what does the kid know, how much has he done? 
But Amelia is crying, because how could she let it go on so long, how could she
not have known? And Dean thinks that’s a great question, you stupid bitch. 
After all, Dean kept Sammy safe—(Dean’s dick in his tiny sleeping mouth, Dean’s
tongue lapping at his little hole)—reasonably safe, and he was the one who
wanted to fuck him.  What a shit mother.  Where did she think the guy went
every night?  How did she not notice her son falling apart?  Dean manages to
offer solace, like that poor angel, can’t imagine, I’d want to dieand must be
so hard, knowing what he’s been through, so terrible, you couldn’t stop itandof
course, you did your best, how could you know? All peppered with sweet touches
and squeezes, commiserating sounds in his throat, and perfect sympathy in his
gorgeous green eyes, so she doesn’t know he’s calling her a miserable fuck up
who should kill herself. 
He’s rewarded with fresh tears, and when he can, he fucks her in her self-
hatred.  He wants to hurt her this time, but her pussy is so sloppy by then,
it’s like butter from every angle.  He thinks about sticking it in her ass,
except he knows it would give him away.  That he’s punishing her for what that
boyfriend did.  For what he will definitely do.  He thinks about fucking her
jaw apart and realizes he should probably go home.  She will find someone to
punish her; women like her always do.  He just hopes it isn’t someone who wants
the same prize he does.
 
                                     * * *
 
Amelia avoids him after that night of sharing and caring, trying to return to a
proper neighborly relationship.  So she only speaks to him if she needs to
about Castiel spending time with Sam, or school-related questions.  Dean is
polite and respectful of her terms, in all but his eyes, where he looks at her
like he knows how her pussy tastes and how much she likes having her hair
pulled.  He likes her flustered, dying to escape him.  He likes it even better
the few times his Dad is around, and he grins at her like a shark because he
can’t fucking help it. 
He’s sure that she’d love nothing more than to cut every tie to her new
neighbors, except for the small miracle (have we not said the world smiles on
Dean Winchester, can he get an Amen?) of Sam and Castiel’s beautific,
flourishing friendship.  Dean swears he didn’t have a hand in it, but he sure
as shit predicted it.  Castiel showed up in class and was immediately the
weirdo who never talks, who doesn’t laugh or play, who looks around sometimes
like he doesn’t know where he is or how he got there. Sam took one look at that
damaged baby bird, picked him up, cradled in his sweet hands, and placed him
carefully in his boyish, true-blue heart.  Affection-starved Cas looked
wonderingly on his small hero, the popular boy who could love such damaged
goods, and it was obvious he would crawl over broken glass for a smile.  And
just like that, Dean has his angle.
Of course, these things take time, if you’re a careful man.
A month goes by, and the boys have become a single unit, Sam-and-Castiel; where
you find one, you find the other.  They do homework together and have weekly
sleepovers (I’d really rather they stay here, Dad, you know that his mom drinks
a lot), Sam shows him his PlayStation games and they bond over nerdy books and
Harry Potter movies.  Castiel is talking more, standing up straighter when he’s
around his Sam.  Dean’s Sammy.
You’re thinking Dean is there humping the walls, but with a worthy prize in
sight, Dean is calm and patient.  He’s playing the first and foremost role of
his lifetime:  cool older brother/sort-of-Dad.  Castiel is initially
cripplingly shy around Dean; he can’t hold eye contact and never speaks unless
spoken to first.  But Dean is gentle with him, draws him into teasing Sam
(something Castiel has no experience with, such a normal child activity), lets
him feel like an ally, as though big, strong, captivating Dean would ever need
such a tiny, fluttery thing.  It helps that Cas takes his cues from Sam, who (I
raped you, Sammy, my dick was in your fucking baby mouth) still looks at Dean
like he’s everything good the world has to offer.  So when they're on the couch
watching a Power Rangers movie and Sam is pressed to Dean's side, Cas is there,
too, always as close to Sam as he can get.  It just makes sense to put his arm
around two sets of bony little shoulders.  Nobody pulls away.
Then it gets even better.
Sam loves Castiel; he loves him first and best after Dean and his Dad, but he
still has a lot of other friends.  Ever since Sammy got a real live tree house,
the Winchester home is the place to be for every 3rd to 6th grader on the block
(Dean is a fucking genius, you must admit this, the world loves him).  Plus,
Sam is the fun kid who never gets tired, who likes pranks and has giant water
gun fights, and has a cool older brother who organizes baseball games and
Manhunt and Ghosts in the Graveyard.  Parents love Sam Winchester, who is kind
and helps his friends with their homework, and they’re so impressed with the
saintly big brother, who sacrifices so much to look after him.  (Sometimes they
fuck him, and you can’t blame them for that, but it’s okay because they think
he’s the baby and they’re the predators.  Too funny.)
But when other kids come around, Castiel is lost again.  The more kids surround
Sam, the more Castiel tries to cling to him, pressing almost too close to his
side, like he would climb into his pocket and hide there.  It makes the other
kids want to sneer and snicker, and even Sam (he loves him, he really does)
gets impatient, finally saying, You stand too close; it’s like we’re gay.  And
it hurts so badly, he’s so embarrassed and ashamed.  Was he being gay, was he
acting like he needed, like he wanted Sam for…for doing it?  Because he hadn’t
meant it that way but that’s what Jimmy told him, so many times, oh God, baby,
you need this, don’t you, want it so bad, tell me, say it, like I taught you,
c’mon baby. 
Castiel stays home for a few days, and he’s different when he comes back.  Sam
feels bad about hurting his feelings and goes out of his way to make time for
just the two of them, but when Sam’s other friends come back, Castiel…wanders
off. 
To Dean.
***** The Big Marv Incident (or How Dean Got Cas to Trust Him) *****
Castiel is never sure if he really likes or really hates school.  Sometimes he
wakes up and thinks Today’s the day me and Sam always trade lunchor Today me
and Sam get our science project back, and he jumps out of bed to get dressed. 
Okay, that’s easy, he always can’t wait to see Sam, and he still can’t believe
how excited Sam always is to see him, too.  Like even when Sam has his popular
friends around him and they’re doing something cool, like digging up worms to
bring to class, and Sam will call him over as if it’s no big deal.  As if
Castiel belongs there.  Cas knows he doesn’t belong, so he usually just waves
and keeps walking, but it’s nice to be asked.
Cas doesn’t mind school work either.  He likes learning; he likes English and
Science best.  Math and Social Studies are not his favorites but he still likes
them.  Like Sam, he doesn’t mind being what Dean calls a “nerd”.  He finds it
calming when he can put his mind on things that are not himself, his family,
his life.    He struggles sometimes with paying attention, but now he has Sam
to nudge him when he gets a little lost.  So that part is good, too.
Stuff that Cas hates about school make up a much bigger list.  Like his stupid
teacher, Mrs. Lind, who always looks at him like he’s weird, like something’s
really wrong with him.  He knows it’s because his Mom and her big mouth (he
feels bad even thinking it), telling people about his problems, about the
incident.  He knows it isn’t right, but he wishes she’d shut up.  He really
wishes she’d stop being sad all the time and then he wishes maybe she slept a
little lighter, maybe she could hold him when he wakes up in a cold sweat
thinking every shadow is a looming figure.  But no, he’s not a baby, and that
way she doesn’t even know when he changes his sheets and pjs himself. 
Otherwise, she’d probably tell everyone about that, too.
The worst part about school is the bullies.  Castiel is small and quiet and
lots of time his mind drifts really far away.  So they call him Sleepy Head,
which he hates.  He is tired, but it’s not their business.  They make fun of
his clothes and the way he talks, or the way he doesn’t talk.  They don’t do it
when Sam is around, but he can’t always be right next to Cas.  Sam tells him to
ignore them, and he tries, he tries really hard, but they make him feel so bad,
and he already feels bad so much of the time.  Worse is when Mrs. Lind catches
them, and stops them with this gloomy voice, like don’t pick on that kid, don’t
you know he’s doomed?  Cas really hates her when she does that.
Then the worst of the worst part of school is Big Marv and his buddies.  Big
Marv is the biggest kid in school, and he shouldn’t even be there because he
stayed back two whole times.  Everyone is scared of him and his goon friends,
Gordon and Alistair.  Cas is terrified of Big Marv, who looms over him when he
laughs in his face, and likes to bend his skinny arm up behind his back until
he screams.  And Big Marv doesn’t like Sam either, although he doesn’t pick on
him.  Cas is afraid that being popular, good-looking Sam Winchester’s timid
little best friend is actually what got him on Marv’s bad side.  Marv is in 6th
grade, though, so Cas can usually avoid him.
Until one day when Cas is walking home alone for a change.  Sam is still at the
playground, playing Off the Wall with his friends, but Cas doesn’t feel like
waiting this time.  It gets lonely, and sometimes he just feels so out of
place, listening to the other kids laugh and play.  So he gives Sam his best
‘Everything’s Fine’ smile and starts walking home.  He’s a block away and out
of shouting range when he gets shoved to the ground from behind.  He wishes he
didn’t cry, he really hates being a big dumb baby, but his knees hit the
concrete and they’re bleeding now.
Then Big Marv is hauling him to his feet, Aw, look at the little cry baby, you
gonna cry, little baby?  Did you wet your diaper, baby? And Marv is twisting
his arm again, and it hurts so much, and Marv’s friends are laughing, too. 
Where’s your scrawny little boyfriend, baby?  Where's Winchester?  C’mon, I bet
you can cry loud enough for him to hear you!
“I’m right here.”  And they all turn around and look UP, because it isn’t Sam
Winchester, it’s Dean.  He’s standing right behind them in a tight black t-
shirt and jeans and he looks tall and muscular and grown-up and PISSED.  “Take
your fucking hands off him, you fat little piece of shit.”
Miracle of miracles, Marv (who no longer seems like anybody’s idea of a “Big”
Marv) releases him.  Dean holds out a hand to Cas, but his violent green eyes
are all for Marv.  Cas hesitates, then watches his little hand get swallowed up
in Dean’s.  The older boy pulls Cas behind him, keeping his body between him
and the bullies.  Who suddenly all look like little kids, like Cas.  And it’s
all over, and Cas should feel safe and relieved, but he doesn’t, he feels
terrified, frozen in fear to stand this close to Dean’s pent up rage. 
Sure enough, Marv moves, to step back, Cas thinks, he was leaving, and Dean’s
on him like a wild dog, wrestling him to the ground, pinning his arms behind
him.  Then there’s a snick sound and it’s a knife, Dean has a knife to a 6th
grader’s throat.  Marv whimpers, "Please, please, don’t--"
“Shut...your fucking mouth.  You talk when I ask you a question,” Dean
interrupts almost sweetly, but his teeth are gritted and his voice is a growl. 
“Why’d I hear my brother’s name in your fucking fat mouth?”
“I…I….”  Marv can’t seem to articulate.  “Please...don’t…”
Marv can’t breathe and neither can Cas, because Dean’s big BODY is holding,
it’s pushing Marv DOWN, is he, oh God, that’s so bad, he’s pushing him, holding
him DOWN, he’s saying PLEASE, he’s saying DON’T, but that won’t work, Marv,
that doesn’t work…Cas closes his eyes shut tight, tight, it’ll be over soon, he
knows it will.
“You don’t talk about Sam Winchester.  You don’t talk about Castiel Novak.  You
don’t lay a hand on either of them, isn’t that right?  C’mon, Fatty, you were
talkin’ so good when I got here.”  A quick flick of his wrist and a line of
blood forms on Marv’s cheek.  It’s just a scratch, but Marv screams, tears
slipping down his face.  “Now who’s cryin’, bitch?”
Dean stands with athletic grace, but Marv is still down, afraid to move.  His
friends are frozen still behind them and Dean looks at them and smiles like the
Devil.  “You fuck with my brother…you fuck with his friend…I find you.  And you
can get to know all the other knives I got.”  He waits for them to nod.  “Run,”
he suggests, and they do.
“Cas…Cas it’s okay, they’re gone, you’re okay.”  Dean is facing Cas, but Cas is
shaking and crying like a 3 year old, looking up at Dean with no words coming
out.  Dean sighs, and he’s lifting Cas, and Cas feels his skinny legs wrap
around Dean’s waist, and he knows he shouldn’t, he’s not a baby, but his head
tucks into where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder and he weeps.  And Dean is
sliding his calloused fingers through Cas’s hair, the other arm tucked under
his bottom.  “Shh, I got you, baby…shh…nobody can see, you just cry.  I got
you.”  And Cas clings tighter, liking the way Dean’s arms wrap tighter in
response, feeling safe and protected. 
Dean holds him a long time, until Cas starts to remember that he’s big boy 10
and he’d die if Sam or another boy from school saw him like this.  He pulls
back and looks at Dean’s bottomless green eyes.  “I’m okay now, Dean, I…thank
you for making those boys go away.”
Dean lets him slide down his body until his feet touch the ground and Cas
scrambles back, heart suddenly pumping.  “What is it, Cas?”  Dean looks curious
and calm and Cas forces a smile, hiding his tiny clenched fists behind his
back, because he didn’tfeel anything and if he did, he doesn’t know what it is,
but he didn’t.  Nothing touched him just now.  Dean is his friend.  Dean saved
him from the monsters; nobody ever does that.
“Nothing I…I better get home.  Homework and stuff,” he shrugs and goes to pick
up his book bag, and in his head he’s listing the subjects he has homework for
that night in the order he likes, English, Science, Social Studies, Math,
English, Science, Social Studies, Math…
Dean reaches out and takes his shoulder, steering him back around.  “C’mon,
kid, let’s go get Sammy and I’ll drive you both home.  Should really get some
antiseptic on those knees.” 
Cas smiles and leans into Dean a little as they walk.  “Okay, Dean, thanks. 
Sam’s so lucky to have a big brother like you.”
Dean laughs.  “Well, now, you’ve got me, too, Cas.  What’s Sammy’s is yours,
right?”
“That means I get his Playstation,” Cas sucks at telling jokes, but Dean seems
to like it when he tries.
“And his comic books,” Dean adds.  They list everything they can think of, and
they’re up to his stinky socks when Sam joins them, making what Dean calls his
“bitch face”.  But he links arms with Cas, who gets to be the middle of the
Winchester sandwich for once, even though he is smallest and least of them.  He
feels protected there.  Like he belongs.
 
                                     * * *
                                        
Dean credits this incident with driving Castiel closer to him.  Up until this
point, Cas liked Dean, sure, but he was still pretty shy around him, especially
physically.  The funniest thing to Dean is that he didn't even plan it.  He saw
the fat little fuck putting hands on Castiel, breaking his perfect skin…he was
moving before he really thought it through.  The nail on the kid’s coffin was
Sammy’s name in his dumb shit mouth.  He hopes they don’t test his threat.  He
does have knives.  He meant every word.
He doesn’t ever ask himself about the contradiction between feeling entitled to
violently rape his baby brother (his friend, now…pretty sure Sammy is safe),
while also feeling equally violently protective over them.  It isn’t something
he worries about.  He feels it, he acts on it, end of story.
He doesn’t wonder how it is he accidentally walked in on the perfect situation
to make Castiel start trusting him, either.    Doesn’t the world just adore
Dean Winchester?
***** Time is Up, Cas *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean is done waiting and gives Cas a choice: it's you or Sammy.
     Or how Cas's shitty little life gets exponentially worse.
Chapter Notes
     This chapter shows Dean "grooming" Cas, and then revealing that he's
     going to sexually abuse him in a way that makes Cas feel like he has
     no other choice. It's...it's messed up.
Dean has a new tail, and its name is Castiel.  He does not seek him out; he
doesn’t need to.  He keeps himself busy around the house:  working on his
(well, soon to be his) car, fixing the stubborn leaky sink, mowing the grass
(shirtless—yeah, seen you lookin’, Mrs. Winslow.  Your husband likes lookin’,
too).  He’ll see Sam and a bunch of kids biking up and down the block, or
swarming around the tree house, and before long, he has a dark-haired little
shadow.  He doesn’t grab him and stuff his tongue in his tiny mouth, though. 
He knows he’ll make his move soon, but his instincts tell him not quite yet.  A
Venus fly trap does not waste its energy by closing as soon as it feels the
first contact (Fucking Sam and his nature shows, but still.)  It waits until
the prey makes contact more than once. 
And Castiel does.
It starts off with Cas just following him around.  He seems content with Dean’s
company--Dean will do most of the talking, knowing Cas is too shy.  But he
makes him laugh, being purposely just this side of outrageous, making fun of
the neighbors and Cas’s teacher.  Cas can’t believe it when he makes fun of
Cas’s mom, and even Sam, sometimes!  He knows he should be loyal, but it feels
just the littlest bit good, snickering at them.  His mom, who makes Cas feel
like he ruined her life.  Sam, who doesn’t need Cas as much as Cas needs him. 
But he has Dean now, who is cool and a little mean, but never (unlike the rest
of the world) unkind to Cas.  Cas gets to be the mean guy this time and it’s a
heady feeling…like Dean thinks the two of them are better than everyone else. 
He still loves Sam the best, but he starts to really like hanging around Dean.
Dean can feel the bond he’s creating tightening between them (some might call
it profound; Dean doesn't), but he knows he can take it a step further before
he pushes Cas over the edge.  Because Castiel and Sam have something important
in common, and nobody knows it but Dean.  No, not that.  They’re both touch-
starved.  Sammy is such a seemingly well-adjusted kid, making friends and doing
well in school.  Yet there’s a reason his very best friend is the most broken
kid in town.  Dean had a Mom for seven years, with all the kisses and cuddles
and softness that such a person comes with, if you’re lucky (or the world loves
you).  Sammy is practically an orphan, between losing his Mom while he was
still a baby and their father’s distant parenting style.  Dean is all he has,
all he knows. 
Naturally, Sam is ashamed of his need to cuddle his brother, so he never lets
his father or his friends see.  But when they’re alone, he will curl up in
Dean’s lap and rest his head on his big brother’s chest.  He lets Dean pick up
him and carry him around more than he should.  He cuddles on the couch, or
crawls into Dean’s bed after a nightmare.  He likes Dean to tickle his back or
his arms, or rub his tummy when he’s sick.  He likes Dean’s fingers in his
hair, his lips on his forehead.  These are gestures perhaps for a smaller boy,
but Sam just…he just needs it.  He expects Dean to tease him, but he never has,
not even one time.  Unfortunately, Dean (still not an idiot) knows that Sam
doesn’t mean anything sexual by the contact.  When his dick gets hard, innocent
Sammy doesn’t seem to notice.  Not like he grinds his brother down on it.  The
way he wants to.
Dean can tell that Cas needs somebody to hold and cuddle him, too (even if he
probably doesn’t want the kind Dean is going to offer).  His Mom was more
comfortable being affectionate with him before “the incident”.  He has no idea
who his Dad is; they never met.  Safe to say, boyfriend Jimmy is the only model
Cas has for male affection. 
Except…well, now there’s Dean.  Who protects Cas from the monsters.  Who Sam
loves and trusts (Sam, the hero he takes all his cues from). 
It isn’t long before Sam lets his guard down in front of Castiel, even if it is
a first for him to trust anybody that way.  Cas is his secret keeper; he knows
his hopes and dreams.  Dean hears them, sees them, when he creeps near their
living room pillow fort and listens to tiny whispers and giggles in the night. 
Even Dean thinks there is something touching and sweet about it, though he’d
prefer if they started kissing. 
Castiel wants it, but Dean has to start it.  Cuddling, that is (Dean will start
other things that Cas does not want…patience, patience…caaarefuuul).  Cas will
never touch someone first for fear of rejection.  So, not long after ‘The Marv
Incident’, he and Sam invite Cas over for a Cars marathon, where Dean will make
burgers and fries (FINE, and a salad, Jesus, Sammy) and then they’ll all head
for the couch.  Dean will not imagine them both naked--he's in full Cool
Brother/Dad Mode.  A tap on Sam’s shoulder has him sliding into Dean’s lap,
where Dean turns him so he’s on his left thigh.  He gives Cas time to feel the
cold line of his arm, where Sam usually leans against him; he waits for swift
blue-eyed glances and lonely sighs.  He’s about to invite him when Sam says,
“Cas, sit with us!” 
As if it were coordinated, Dean opens his right arm and Sam leans across Dean
to tug his little friend up on Dean’s other leg.  It’s a squeeze that wouldn’t
work if each boy weren’t so…fucking…small.  He just has to pull them close,
breathe them in and fuck, it's a mistake, grass, and hamburger grease and two
different baby shampoos, oh, shit, two tiny bodies, so close, so perfect.  He
can feel his dick filling, lengthening under Sam.  He clears his throat (not a
groan, you can’t say it was) and adjusts the boys carefully without taking his
eyes from the screen.  He’s really hoping Cas doesn’t know what he’s doing—Cas
sure as shit knows what a hard-on under his butt feels like.  It wasn’t an
accident, putting Sammy on the left.
Shit, shit, fucking idiot, not careful, think of baseball.  Of Dad taking a
shit.  Of Captain Stottlemeyer, and his fucking gross mustache, and prickly ass
beard, and his face in a pillow and he can’t breathe…
“Ow, Dean, too tight,” Sam whines and Dean relaxes his arms instantly, fuck.  
At least he's not hard now.  “Stop shaking your knee!”
“Sorry!  Bossy little shit,” he jokes, and Sam pokes his side, relaxing against
him again.  He touches lips to the top of Sam's head and Sam smiles without
looking away from the movie.  Castiel is watching his face and he brushes his
lips against the poor, neglected forehead, feather light.  Blue eyes turn back
to the screen, a tiny fist held near his mouth.
And that’s one more door opened.  The last one Dean needs.
 
                                     * * *
 
So Castiel starts hanging out with Dean when Sam isn't around, and then he
starts hanging on him.  And Dean starts picking quiet things to do that Cas
likes.  Crosswords.  Board games.  Sam catches them reading the Hobbit together
and is honestly a little jealous.  Weeks of this go by and Dean is finished
being careful.  He wants his prize.  Cas is going to give it up.
He waits for a day that Cas shouldn’t even be there.  Sam has Little League
practice; something Castiel wanted no part of, no matter how much his mother
wanted him to join.  Cas is waiting with Dean so they can pick Sam up
together.  They’re in Dean’s kitchen doing a jigsaw puzzle and Cas is on Dean’s
lap when Dean sighs.  “Cas…we’ve gotta talk about something.  Man to man.”  And
he lifts Cas and sits him on the table in front of him, right on the puzzle,
and his chair is close enough that Cas’s skinny legs automatically spread on
either side of his shoulders.
“What’s wrong, Dean?”  Blue eyes so earnest…he bites his lip and Dean’s dick
twitches; he’s half hard already, even if he’s not sure how far he’ll take this
today.
Hiding his inner turmoil, he gazes placidly at Cas.  “I know what you are. 
What you’ve done.  What you’ve been doing.”
Cas’s dark little brows furrow.  “what I….what?”
Dean sighs and touches Cas’s hair, tugs a curl off his forehead.  “I know
you’re a slut.”
Cas’s eyes go wide, he tries to slam his legs closed but Dean puts a large hand
on each small leg:  stopped.  “N-no, I…that’s a girl…who…”
“Fucks a lot of guys, yeah, that’s one kind of slut,” Dean interrupts casually,
and watches Cas wince at the tone; adults don’t talk to little boys like this. 
“But another kind of slut…” he slides his hands up and down Cas’s legs over his
little corduroy pants, and God, his thumbs are running up his chunky inner
thighs, “is when a boy as little as you already had sex so many times.  You
did, didn’t you?  I know you did.”
Cas's lower lip starts to tremble and his blue eyes glisten.  His voice is soft
and his eyes slide to the side, like Sam’s when he’s lying even though he
already knows he’s caught.  “Noo…”
Dean’s hands stop, his voice is stern.  “Don’t lie, Cas, it’s wrong to lie. 
You had sex with a grown-up man, many times.  Didn’t you.”
Cas sniffles, tears spilling down his red cheeks.  “I did, but I…”
“See, I knew you did,” Dean smiles at him like he did something good, rubbing
again.  “It’s not your fault, Cassy Baby.  It’s just…you know the stuff that
came out of your boyfriend’s penis?”
“He wasn’t my…” his voice is shaky and squeaking, wanting to insist; Dean gives
another hard look and it becomes a bare whisper.  “y-yeah, I…I know it.”
“Well, once a man puts that in here…” he touches Cas’s little mouth “or in
here” he reaches around to rub the top of Cas's small bottom with his
fingers “or even just on your skin” he rubs up and down Cas’s skinny arms “it
changes you, Cas, and forever after that, any grown-up can look at you and know
that you’ll have sex with them.  That you know how, and you like it.”
“But I dooon’t like it, Dean!” Cas wails, really crying now. 
Dean sits back and crosses his arms, looking cold and disbelieving.  He says in
his best Dad voice, “I don’t like this lying, Castiel.  You’re telling me he
never made your privates feel good?  That whole time you two were together?”
Cas sniffles and his brows draw together again, looking confused and wretched
with his little arms across his stomach.  “I…I don’t know!”
“You do know.  It felt good and you liked it.  Then you got mad because there
was other stuff that hurt a little bit.  Did you get your boyfriend in
trouble?”
“N-noo, I told my Mommy…my mom and she…we moved far away.”  Castiel cries,
twisting his fingers in his shirt.  “But I didn’t want—“
“And now you keep touching me all the time, sitting on my lap, when you know
what happens when you put your bottom on my penis.  You’re not like Sam, who
doesn't know any better.”  Dean shakes his head regretfully.  “Castiel, it made
me want you, and you knew it would.  Now I want to have sex with you.  I want
to be your new boyfriend.”
Cas is bawling so hard it's choking him, his words are mush.  “But I didn’t
mean…”
“But you did it, and you know when grown-ups want to have sex with you, you
have to, right?  Now it’s too late.”
Cas clenches his little fists and he won't look at Dean.  “Nuh-ooooh, M-mom
says I don’t have toooo!" he howls, and fuck if he doesn't sound like a six
year old; Dean shudders and adjusts himself in his jeans.
“Listen, Cas...Castiel!  Stop crying and listen like a big boy!"  He waits,
gives it a few gasps and sobs, and continues, "You know I always tell you the
truth.”  He tugs him down into his lap and cradles him to his chest like a
baby, smoothing kisses onto his brow, brushing tears away with his fingers.  He
waits again until Cas is between crying jags, gulping breaths, blinking hurt
blue eyes at him.  “Even if you make me go away, another grown-up is going to
see you and make you do this.”  Cas starts crying harder.  “Aww, baby, shh,
Cassy, Castiel, you're so beautiful," he croons, bouncing and shushing Cas like
he's a toddler, rubbing his back and bottom, "Any grown-up can see that you’re
made for this.  Just like me, Cas.  C’mon, I’ll show you.”
He carries his crying charge upstairs to his room.  Cas is limp in his arms, as
though arguing with Dean is taking every bit of energy that he has.  He already
knows he’s going to lose; they both do.  Dean sits Cas on the top of his bed,
where he notices the little boy starts to shake to the point where Dean hears
his baby teeth chattering, looking at Dean with sheer, raw panic.  He ignores
it, picking up a picture.  “This was me, even younger than you are, Cas.  I was
so beautiful and…Castiel, look at the fucking picture.”  Cas looks and Dean
calms down.  “That’s it.  See, you can’t tell because you’re not old enough,
but I was a slut, too.  No matter where I went, somebody needed me to fuck
them.”
Cas wipes his eyes with his fists, fearfully looks at the picture again.  His
tears are slowing and now he just wishes he could breathe, but his nose is all
stuffy and his chest keeps hitching.   “Somebody did…somebody made you…”
“Fuck, Cas, yes.  A beautiful slut gets fucked all his life, Castiel," until
he's big enough to fuck back,Dean thinks but doesn't say.  "That’s me and
that’s you, too.  You can send me away, but don’t you like me?” Cas looks like
the question hurts, because he did like Dean, he liked him so much, but he
didn't mean, he doesn't want...he can't say it, though, Dean gets mad when he
does.  
"Don't you like the way I look?"  Dean puts Cas’s tiny hands on his rock hard
chest, forcing him to rub and Cas shuts his eyes, like that can make it not be
happening.  “At least I’m young, right, still in school like you.  Your last
boyfriend was so old, maybe that’s why he hurt you so much."  He stops rubbing
and Cas immediately takes his hands back.  Dean sighs, tries another tack, "If
I’m your boyfriend I can protect you, Cas.  Even if your mom meets someone new,
you know I’ll hurt him to keep him from you.  Right?”  Cas shrugs, frightened
eyes looking at his shoes hanging off the side of the bed and Dean exhales
again.
“Okay, Castiel.  I’m not gonna make you be my boyfriend.”  Cas looks up
sharply, breathing hard, I can go, I can go home, I don't have to—
“But I need somebody to be my boyfriend.  If it isn’t you, I’m gonna make Sammy
do it.”
“S-sam?”  His voice is pure terror, little heart breaking.  “But he’s your…”
“I know he’s my brother, Castiel, don't be a fuckin’ idiot.”  Cas flinches,
Dean is never nasty to him like this.  “But I need a boyfriend and I need it
now.  Sam owes me, I guess, for taking care of him so much.  So, instead of
doing things sometimes with you, I’ll get in his bed every night and I’ll put
my penis inside him where it’s never been."  Cas moans in protest, shaking his
head.  "Yes.  He’s beautiful, too, maybe he needs to be a slut.  I’ll teach him
how to fuck and then he can be some other grown-up’s boyfriend.”  He says it
thoughtfully but he’s watching Cas in the corner of his eye.  “It happens one
time and then they just keep finding you, Cas.”
"Please," his little chest heaves, he's in agony.  “Noo...Sam…”
“Yeah, Sam.  I already looked at him naked, Cas, and he’s so pretty.  I touched
all over his body and he doesn’t know, because I really don’t want to hurt
him,” Dean takes Cas’s hands earnestly.  “Please, Cas, help me not hurt Sam. 
He loves you so much.  I’m the only family he has, really, and I’ll be hurting
him.  Even…even if you tell, they’ll send me away and…I bet my Dad won’t keep
Sammy if he has to look after him.  He’ll be sent away, too.  You’ll never see
him again.”
Cas's chin drops to his chest and two new tears slip down.  The little bit of
fight is leaving him and he hates it, why does he have to…“He…he might f-find
o-out.  If I’m…your…”
Dean sighs and gives his winning line:  “What if I’m hurting him and he finds
out you could’ve saved him?  I…I don’t think he’ll love you after that, Cas. 
But maybe you don’t need Sam.  You can just go wait at your Mom’s for her next
boyfriend, or another neighbor, or the babysitter she gets when you can’t come
here anymore.  Right?”
Cas clutches his stomach and bends in half, like Dean’s words are killing him. 
“Nooo, I...I need...don’t take…”
Dean leans back on his bed, next to Cas but not touching him.  “Up to you,
Cas,” he whispers.
Cas lets out a heartbreaking sob (not Dean's heart...but somebody's) and nods. 
It’s all he can do.
“Okay, baby, okay.  Come here sweety.  Let’s calm down.  Let’s breathe.”  Dean
gathers him up the same way he would’ve before he told him he was going to
force him into a sexual relationship.  He grabs some tissues off his end table,
puts one in front of Cas’s face, as fatherly and pure as can be.   “Blow,” he
directs, and Cas obeys.  He wipes at his tears and Cas is utterly pliant, blue
eyes dull and wet. 
Dean smiles and lightly touches the back of Cas’s neck.  “Let’s start with a
grown-up kiss.”
***** A Promise Made and Kept (After Dean Almost Loses His Shit) *****
Chapter Summary
     Graphic abuse for this entire chapter. This is a terrible life for
     Castiel. Once again, you've been warned.
It’s midnight on a Saturday, and Dean is lying on his bed wearing boxer briefs
and an undershirt.  John Winchester is in the wind.  Sam is asleep.  No, Sam is
doped up on his sleepy time cough syrup, but he’s still in his pjs, tucked
sweetly under the blankets in his room.  All doped up and no brother’s dick on
his tongue.  Who’da thunk it? 
Castiel is supposed to be tucked in there, too, but he’s not.  The fifth grader
is lying next to Dean wearing Sam’s Batman pajamas, the ones he borrows since
he comes over so often.  It’s amazing because it’s like Sam is here, too, and
Dean can breathe him in every time he presses close.  Even his hair and skin
smell kind of like Sam, because Dean made him take a shower here.  You don’t
need to bring anything; you can use my stuff, Cas.  Sammy is always so
helpful.  It’s so good, and Dean is so hard. 
Right now he’s asking about school.  Not because he cares, but because it’s fun
interrupting nearly every word by dipping his too-large tongue past Cas’s petal
pink lips.  (For the record, Cas doesn’t want to talk about school either, but
sometimes Dean won’t let him just stare off into space.)  Dean likes Cas’s
sweet little voice muffled in his mouth, he likes the wet kissing sounds they
make together.  He likes to see baby spit attaching their lips when he pulls
back.  This is kissing the way he’d wanted it with Sam, eye contact and (even
though he has to remind him to do it) tiny angel lips trying to cooperate, wet
and uncoordinated against his.  Now Dean’s mouth is trailing down Cas’s throat,
licking at the fluttering pulse.  He kisses up towards Cas’s ear and tugs a
lobe smaller than his pinky nail into his mouth.  Cas is squirming a little on
the bed; Dean knows how he likes his neck and ears kissed. 
He starts to tug Cas’s shirt up and gets a whimper in response, a ghost of a
protest.  He pulls at the shirt anyway, baring a pale, skinny tummy.  “C’mon…be
a good boy…wanna see you, baby.”  He licks the words into Cas’s ear and Cas
whines, making Dean’s cock jerk in his shorts.  He gives Cas room to sit up and
lift his arms (fuck, still so innocent) and he tugs the shirt over his head and
tosses it, leaving it crumpled on the floor.  Then he lets Cas lay back again,
hovering over him without actually putting his weight on him.  “Beautiful,
baby, want you so bad,” he whispers and mouths Cas’s collarbone while Cas
stares at the wall, small fist curled to his lips like he can keep the little
sighs in there.  But Dean can make him squirm again when he thumbs the pink
little dots that pass for nipples, sucking one and then the other into his
mouth.  He kisses his way down skinny, pale ribs and hooks his hands in the
pants.  “Lift up?”  Cas hesitates, another soft noise of protest, and Dean is
instantly sitting up.  He grabs Castiel and yanks the pants off hard,
scratching delicate little legs as he does it.  He balls them up and throws
them on the floor, glaring at the little boy now cowering in his underpants. 
Spider-Man briefs, Dean notices. 
“S-sorry, Dean…don’t be m-mad okay, please don’t be mad?” he cringes at the top
of the bed, Dean near his feet.  Even kneeling he towers over Cas.
“Then stop acting like you don'twant it," he growls. "What do you think you
should do now, Castiel?” 
Cas swallows hard and tucks his fingers into the underpants.  Dean’s eyes are
locked on Spider-Man as he slides them off, helping only when he gets to his
ankles.  He wants to stay mad at Cas, but fuck if his dick isn’t tinier than
Sam’s; he wonders if anything will come out when he comes.  “I wasn’t gonna
make you take them off yet, Cas, but I’m glad you did.  You’re so beautiful,
baby...like a little baby angel.”  He reaches trembling hands to Cas’s silken
inner thighs, pushing his legs apart.  “Put your thumb in your mouth,” he tells
him, and his voice is shaking now, too.  “Suck your thumb, baby, that’s it. 
Fuck, Cas, look at you…”  He wants to fall on top of him, feel how much smaller
he is under him, but he won't.  He can't do it.  He promised.
But this is too far ahead. 
So, Cas agreed to be Dean’s “boyfriend" and everything's coming up Dean.  His
intention was to take Cas's first kiss and then back off, go pick up Sammy
together as planned, or let him go home to rest if he wanted.  He figured the
kid would be surprised, would see that he's different than old, hairy Jimmy
slithering into his bed and pushing too much too fast.  He thought maybe he
could convince Cas that while he might not want a dick up his ass, at least
he's happier when it's Dean putting it there.  Like, sure, he's raping me, but
he's so much more considerate than my last rapist. 
Only things kind of...got out of hand.  He took the kiss.  It was wet and
salty, and tasted like tears and peanut butter.  Dean thrilled to the wrongness
of it, kissing a mouth barely developed, much too small for this, assaulted by
his 17 year old lips and tongue.  His intentions started falling away, because
he's kissing his baby boy’s best friend,a grade-school kid who still gets
spankings and bed time stories and sometimes wets the bed and Dean is holding
him, tasting him.  And after a little coaxing, when he felt the tiny lips
twitch and a little velvet tongue poke out, just the barest attempt at a
response, Dean’s dick went from semi to fuck-hard in his pants.   Groaning, he
cradled the tiny, tear-stained face and kissed him like a lover, softly biting
at barely-there lips, licking inside crooked little baby teeth.  He was
breathing hard and losing himself.  He pushed Cas down into the bed like he
would any slut:  pinning and tasting him; touching his hair and pushing at
clothes in a quest for bare skin.  But Cas panicked, tiny legs kicking, weak
little arms pushing against Dean’s chest, and he screamed under Dean’s mouth.  
Dean held him easily, frail little bird bones trapped under steel.  He laughed
and forced his mouth back down, swallowing Cas’s screams, moaning back at him
as if this was the most romantic kiss of his life, gagging the muffled
shrieks to an abrupt, choking stop with his tongue too far down a narrow little
throat.  He reached for the buttons of Cas's hand-me-down corduroys, but as his
fingers touched little underpants, he remembered he needed to think.
Dean pulled back a fraction of an inch and stilled.  Their lips were barely
apart and the tips of his fingers on his right hand were dipping into
Cas's pants.  He was a knife’s edge pressed to Cas’s throat.  He could feel the
fluttery heartbeat against his chest, little puffs of frightened breaths
touching his mouth, each one ending in a whimper, and the small body under him
vibrating with sheer terror.  Cas was the only noise in the room; Dean was void
space.  All his pretenses were slipping away (which feels soo good) and he can
be what he is:  savagery and rage and a burning, endless hunger; an unending
need to corrupt, to possess, and to ruin.  And it’s amazing, so fucking sexy
and wild, like the whispers in his brain are lapping directly at his weeping
cock, tonguing the hole with merciless thoughts, sending bolts of pleasure
through him. 
He could do this.
He wanted to do this.  He was staring at Cas’s lips and he wanted.  Rip his
clothes off and spank him hard, smack his little baby face.  Force him and fuck
him and scare him to death.  Shred him, tear him, bad fucking boy, think you
can say no, to me?  Cas will be so beautiful in his terror, in his pain, so
fucking helpless, he’ll cry like an infant.  And when Sam comes home, (because
he won’t wait forever, that dumb shit will walk home where anybody could grab
him) he’ll see Dean raping tiny, bleeding Cas, he’ll see who Dean really is,
and Dean will finally, fucking finally…
No. 
No, he…he doesn’t want to have Cas only once.  And Amelia is not mother of the
year but surely even she'll pull her head out of her ass if he sends Cas back
to her with his little asshole ripped and bleeding (break something in his
whiny throat, too… Mommy's little boy in a fucking hospital after my dick gets
through with him).   He shuddered, but but he's drawing himself back, turning
from the abyss.  Dean was winning, he always wins this fight.  He won’t do it
today.  Would’ve been great, but there are other things he wants more.
 Mostly.   
“Cas,” he whispered, sounding pretty shocked, and fairly appalled while he's at
it, looking down with sorrowful, soulful, bewitching green eyes.  He pulled
himself off, sliding off the bed onto his knees.  “I’m so sorry, Cas.  Oh,
baby, I didn’t mean to scare you, did I hurt you?”
Cas was shaking and wild-eyed at first, and Dean had to wonder if he was going
to be able to put him back together again.  But Dean always manages; this ain't
his first rodeo.  He lifted and carried him into Sam’s room, knowing it’s Cas’s
safe place, even over his room at home.  He grabbed Sam’s favorite blanket and
tucked it around the still-trembling child.  Then he sat on the rocking chair
where he still holds Sam when he’s sick, where he has held both boys on his
knees and made up stories about knights who fight monsters and listen to Led
Zeppelin.  Dean tucks Cas’s head into his neck and rocks, making soothing
sounds until he feels Cas finally sag against him.  He knows he has to be
exhausted by now.  He pulls him back slightly to see if he’s sleeping but he’s
met with pleading blue eyes.  “You heard me say sorry, Cas.  Do you forgive
me?  You can say if you don’t; I won't be mad.”  (He might be.)
“Y-yeah,” Cas nods, eyes red, nose still stuffed from crying.  “But Dean…don’t
you still like me?  You always liked me before, you said.  You said it so many
times.”
Dean looks back as though his heart will break, smoothing Cas’s wavy dark hair
away from his sweaty forehead, presses a kiss there.  “I like you so much,
Cas…we have so much fun together, don’t we?  I love having you around, even
when it’s just you and me, right?” 
Cas nods and looks down, his voice soft and tentative.  “But you’re so scary
today, Dean.  You never…”  he trails off, afraid to finish.. 
Dean sighs, strokes Cas’s face lightly.  “I didn’t mean to scare you with the
kissing stuff.  I know you’ve done a lot of big boy stuff, so I thought…but I
don’t want to be a bad boyfriend like Jimmy.  We can take it a little slower.”
Cas nods slowly but he’s still staring down at his lap.  “But you promise you
still like me, Dean?  You looked like you didn’t.  On the, on the b-bed, you
looked like you didn’t like me!  I can’t…I’m scared if you don’t like me,
Dean!” 
And Dean rocks him slowly, smoothing a hand over his back.  “Shh,  I do like
you, Cas, I like you so much.  And if you’re my boyfriend, maybe someday we’ll
be in love.  And just because a person gets mad, even looks a little scary when
they’re mad, that doesn’t mean they stop liking you.  You’ve seen me yell at
Sammy lots of times, you know he gets spankings, right?  Well, just because I
punish him when he’s a bad boy doesn’t mean I stop loving my baby brother.”
Cas pulled back and clutches at Dean’s arms, suddenly fearful and urgent.  “I
can…I can do it, Dean, I’ll be good.  You won’t…you don’t need to push me down,
Dean, I promise, okay?  Okay, Dean?  No more pushing down, okay?  Please?”  And
then he surged up and pressed sloppy kisses to Dean’s mouth, fast and
desperate, all saliva and no technique, trying to press his little tongue
between Dean's closed lips.  He puts some on his throat, his chin.   “See,
Dean?  I’m good, Dean, see?  Please don’t get mad again, okay Dean?  You don’t
have to m-make me, okay?”
And Dean tucked the child back under his chin, to soothe him to sleep, but he
has to laugh.  Honestly, why does the world love Dean so much?
 
                                     * * *
 
So Dean promised Cas then that they’d take it slow, as long as Cas was a good
boy.  He shouldn’t ever pretend that he doesn’t like the things they do
together.  That way Dean won’t need to hold him down again.  (Yeah, Dean knows
that’s not what happened, so what?  He can go along or Dean can make him.  End
of options.)  But Dean knows he almost fucked up this whole deal just when it
was getting good.  True to his word, he finds outside outlets again, so that he
won’t push Cas too hard too fast.  (He found that freshman from Orientation Day
and got a nice, sloppy blowie while he practiced his fingering technique.  A 14
year old asshole isn’t quite 10 year old small, but it’s something.)   As for
Cas, Dean tries not to make out with him every single time Sam leaves the
room.  He gives him entire days off sometimes.  And when he wants to kiss more
places, Cas is the only one who has to take off his clothes.  Dean will decide
when Cas is ready to see him naked. 
So it’s midnight on a Saturday, and Sam will not wake up tonight, but neither
will he be molested.  Dean is kissing his way down a narrow throat, and he
palms the softest skin he’s ever touched (same as Sammy’s, but sooo itty bitty
small!)  His own dick is leaking, pressing against his boxer briefs and Cas is
looking anywhere but there.  “Can I let it out, Cas?  It hurts me…you don’t
have to look at it though, not yet.”  He’s stroking Cas so gently, baby soft,
hairless little prick hardening against his fingers, and Cas’s legs open even
further, so slutty.  He keeps his eyes on Dean’s, his little mouth slips open
as he starts to pant, delicate hips squirming on the bed.  Dean stops stroking
and rubs his pinky over the head, watching Cas’s back arch like a $2 whore. 
“Let me take mine out, Cas, I want to feel good too.”  He moves his hand away
and Cas bucks for it, looking for the contact, fuck, baby slut wants to fuck my
hand.  “Tell me yes, Cas.  Say, yes, Dean.”
Cas squirms, bites his lower lip.  “Yes, Dean,” he whines, and Dean moans,
freeing his throbbing dick, stroking twice before squeezing the base; he can’t
come, not yet.  Cas is sneaking frightened looks at the angry red length and
his own baby hard-on disappears.  Dean wants that little boy cock; he wants to
slip it, delicate little balls and all into his mouth like he did with Sam but
that isn’t the plan.  “Show me how you touch yourself, baby.”  And Dean bites
his lip, watching this beautiful naked baby rub his tiny palm against his
special place.  Still working his own dick, he leans over to lick into Cas’s
panting mouth, wanting so badly to hump against that perfect skin.  Cas’s hand
flutters away and he whimpers, unable to kiss and rub at once, overwhelmed.  “I
got you, baby…here…"  He takes his hand off his cock and moves so he's kneeling
close to Cas's dick...his own dick was soaking, and now he slides his precum on
Cas's powdery skin, wetting his little prick, making it slippery.  "Now touch
it, Cas...isn't that nice?  How does that feel, baby?"  
"F-feels...good, Dean," Cas chokes out, panting and rubbing himself like he
doesn't even know how to do it, of course not, didn't even hit puberty yet,
little fuckslut baby...Dean's groaning, he might be saying some of this stuff
out loud, he's so lost watching Cas degrade himself.
Then Cas is moaning Dean??? like it's a scary question, and his little hips are
jerking up and the tiniest clearest bit of wet slips from his little softening
cock.  Dean wants...he wants so many things.  He slides two trembling fingers
(that's all it takes to catch every drop) over Cas's sensitive little dick and
brings them to Cas's mouth.  "Open", he says softly and the obedient little boy
does as he's told.  Dean lets it drip from his fingers onto a velvety bit of
pink.  Which he just has to lean forward and capture in his mouth.  He wants to
taste this every day forever.  "Close your eyes, Cas.  Gotta make you mine,
now.  You still got all Jimmy's stuff on you and in you.  Need to..."  he
doesn't even know what the fuck he's saying, he's stroking his dick over Cas.
 He covers Cas's mouth with his other hand, causing blue eyes to startle open.
 "Shut your fucking eyes, baby."  And he takes little hand and wraps it around
his swollen cock but if there's a protest this time, it's lost against his
hand.  Together he makes them stroke once, twice, and he's done for.  He moves
his hand from Cas's mouth and shoots ropes of come over his face and hair, down
his neck, onto his chest, there's so damn much and he paints his baby with it,
groaning as he does.  He pushes some from Cas's cheek into his tiny mouth; he
has to smile at the face he makes. Yeah, it ain't ice cream.  "Swallow.
 That'll help, baby.  Rub it into your skin, too.  Gotta be mine, now.  Gotta
be all mine."
***** Just One Good Day *****
Chapter Summary
     Cas is struggling, and Sam gives him a day of freedom.
Chapter Notes
     (Slight smidge of Sastiel? The most innocent of smidges.)
It’s been weeks since he…since Dean…since this…
Castiel is falling apart.  He’s so tired all the time and he so can’t sleep. 
He misses a lot of school and his Mom (doesn’t want to deal with him) lets
him.   He doesn’t mean to miss school, he hates to fall behind, but sometimes
when it’s daytime and his room isn’t dark, he can sleep a little better.  His
nightmares, already harrowing before, are razor sharp mash-ups now:  Jimmy’s
hairy sweaty body pressing him down, Dean’s cold, cold green eyes that
sometimes say different things than what his mouth says, and Cas wakes up
shivering and soaking wet.  Sweat this time?  Pee and sweat?  He just knows he
has to turn on all the lights and go far away from the bed.  He takes out the
picture he keeps of him and Sam, a selfie that Sam made him take, but where Sam
just said the craziest thing and Cas is laughing, really laughing.  Dean is the
one who printed it for him, as a present.  He holds it in his shaking fingers
and lists their favorite things until he can breathe.  Today it’s TV shows: 
Spongebob, Scooby Doo, Teen Titans, Young Justice...
Saying the words brings flashes of memories that replace the jagged ones:  Cas
and Sam on the couch, laughing, Cas and Sam eating popcorn and seeing who can
stuff the biggest handful in his mouth, Cas and Sam in their pillow fort, when
they made a little pillow window so they could see the TV from inside.  Dean’s
in some of those memories, but he’s never hurting Cas in there.  He’s the Dean
that likes Cas, treats him gently, takes part in pillow fights, tells stories
that are so funny that Cas and Sam have tears in their eyes. 
That Dean doesn’t stick his hand down Cas’s pants, or worse put Cas’s hand down
his and say, you know what to do.  (He does know.  He’s known almost as long as
he can remember what to do when a man puts his hand on that pulsing, wet
thing.)  That Dean doesn’t make him grind in his lap and say dirty words, call
himself names, tell lies like ‘I want this’ and ‘I love that’.  Never stuff Cas
really wants or loves.  Even the parts that feel good just make Cas more
confused and upset.  Like maybe Dean’s right, and he’s all the bad words.  And
he’ll never get out of this.
Cas rubs at his achy eyes.  If only he could think but his brain is all mushy. 
Why are there two Deans?  (Or more than two, since even the Dean that makes him
do stuff can be so different, gentle and calling Cas baby angel one time,
smirking and threatening him the next.)  Cas tries so hard but he doesn’t know
how to be the Castiel that makes the good Dean come out.  He only knows the
best Dean only comes out when Sam is there, but Cas isn’t supposed to cling too
much, he remembers.  That’s gay.  And Dean would get mad if he thinks Cas is
trying to hide behind Sam.
His head hurts. 
Sam tries to help him, tries to take care of him.  He gets really mad at Mrs.
Lind when she doesn’t care that Cas is falling behind (of course he is, doomed
little ruined child), so Sam sits with Cas and their schoolwork and is so
patient when Cas loses track of the subject, of Sam’s voice, of where they
are.  If Cas won’t leave his house, Sam comes over and pretends it doesn’t
smell like mildew and neglect.  He’s polite to Cas’s faded mother, and she
seems to stir herself when he’s around, remembering to make dinner and fuss a
little over Cas. 
Sam is magic…Cas is convinced.  The one truly good thing in the world.
And Sam notices that Cas is uncomfortable in either house lots of times, so he
drags him outside.  He makes him climb up in the tree house, he takes him
tromping through the woods.  And when they’re down in the mud looking for frogs
and tadpoles, Cas feels almost real.  Like any boy.  More and more Sam sends
his other friends away to stay with Cas, draw him out, make him smile.  He’s
trying so hard to save Cas, when all the time Cas is the one saving him.  Even
though it’s ripping him apart.
 
                                     * * *
 
Sleepover day comes, and Cas is already at the Winchesters'.  In a rare
showing, all three Winchesters are home, but it won’t last.  Mr. Winchester
(call me John, kid.  No, thank you, big scary man.) doesn’t spend that much
time home, even when he’s not working.  This weekend it’s a fishing trip with a
man called Bobby who has a grumpy face and kind eyes.  The best Dean is making
an appearance, of course, with all these people around, but Cas is still all
frayed nerves and chewed lips.  Dean is being so kind and friendly and
charming, and Cas thinks tonight he will make me, tonight he will make me put
my mouth on his thing, and I’m not allowed to say it but he can’t hear it in my
mind, I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to…
“You boys be good for Dean, now,” John Winchester is drawling on his way out. 
“Have fun.”
“Actually we’re gonna stay at Cas’s house tonight,” Sam interjects and every
face swivels to his in surprise.  “Cas got a new game on his PC, and we’re
gonna play it there.”
There’s an oddly heavy pause and Dean says, “Cas doesn’t have a laptop?”
“It’s a desktop,” Cas says, his voice a bare whisper.  Dean doesn’t look at
him; he’s still looking at Sam.
Sam smiles at him, “C’mon, bestest big brother, just think, you could go out or
something.  You’re always stuck with me and Cas.”
Dean frowns a little.  “I thought Cas prefers when you guys stay—“
“It’s his idea.  Cas wants a change,” Sam lies sweetly, and Cas feels a wave of
dizziness; he doesn’t even know how he’s still standing.  He stifles a whimper
when cool green eyes flick to his, brows raised lightly.   “That so, Cas?”
But Sam turns so only Cas can see him and he’s giving the pleading puppy eyes,
Please, go along, say yes, Cas!  So he forces himself to look back at Dean. 
“Y-yes, I…I just thought…j-just once…” 
John Winchester is watching Dean worriedly,  and he clears his throat.  “Look,
no offense to Cas, Sammy, but Dean would rather…”
“No, no, Dad, it’s good, they’ll be fine.”  Dean hasn’t moved his gaze from
Cas’s face and Cas feels like an injured bunny at the feet of a wolf, frozen
and doomed.  He wants to look at the floor, but maybe that’s wrong, maybe he’ll
get madder.  Sometimes he's not allowed to look away.  But now Dean is
shrugging, turning away, leaving to walk his father out and it sounds like he’s
actually convincing John that it’s okay to let them stay at Cas’s.  Is it
though?  Is it really okay?  Cas rubs a shaking small hand over his forehead as
he tries to guess.
Then Sam is in front of him, nearly dancing with excitement.  “C’mon, I already
packed us a bunch of stuff, let’s go!”  And he’s steering Cas, thrusting a bag
in his arms, pushing him to the door.  Dean is on his way back in and Sam drops
his duffel bag and jumps in his arms, hugging tightly.  “You’re not mad, are
you Dean?  We love being with you, we just wanna do something different.  And
you get the night off, right?.”
Dean holds him and pats his bottom, then puts him back down.  “Don’t be such a
girl, Samantha, it’s fine.  Think I don't appreciate a night without you two
nerds?”
Sam tries to punch his shoulder but he can’t land it; Dean’s too quick and
agile.  He looks at Cas and his smile is devilish and just a bit sharp—Cas
would do well to be careful, or he’ll get cut up.  “What about you?  Gonna miss
me?”
There is only one answer that’s allowed and Cas flings himself into Dean’s
arms, pressing as tight as he can, letting their bodies rub together when Dean
lifts him.  He presses an open mouthed kiss to Dean’s throat where Sam can’t
see his face, carefully so there’s no wet sound.  “I’ll miss you too Dean…I’ll
miss you most.”
 
There are still hours of daylight left when the boys take off.  Cas starts
towards his house but Sam is pulling him away towards the woods, eyes lit with
mischief.  “We’re not staying there, Cas, I just lied.  Your mom thinks we’re
at my house, Dean thinks we’re at your house.  Perfect chance to go on an
adventure, don’t you think?!”
Cas glances back at the Winchester house, worried.  “How do you know nobody is
seeing us right now, going the wrong way.”
Sam scoffs.  “I never lie, what reason do they have not to trust us?  C’mon
Cas, don’t be all worried and gloomy like you are in our houses!  I’m taking
you where Fun Cas lives!”
It’s hard not to worry, but he really longs to be Fun Cas.  He forces Sam to
jog so they can be in the woods faster.  Sam takes him on a trail he doesn’t
know, one that’s choked with weeds that tug at his jeans and hooded jacket. 
Then suddenly they are spilling into a clearing where there’s a small meadow. 
Cas feels his mouth fall open; it’s so pretty an peaceful here, sunlit and open
and private.  Sam nudges his shoulder.  “Nice, right?  I found it and I knew I
had to bring you here.  This place just says Cas.”  He’s already turning away,
so he doesn’t see Cas’s confused, hopeful face, like Sam knows a Cas who gets a
fresh, clean place like this. 
“C’mon, dopey, help me unload our stuff.   I brought everything we need to stay
the night!”  And he has.  Cas sees the small green snap-up tent that they
usually use in the back yard in the summer, two thick sleeping bags,
flashlights, walkie talkies, sandwiches and snacks for days.  Sam tosses a bag
of puffy marshmallows at Cas’s head and laughs.  “I thought we could build a
fire, toast marshmallows and make s’mores.”
And Cas feels something open up in his chest and he realizes he’s excited.  He
helps Sam pitch the tent and set up their things and he’s even smiling when he
turns to his friend.  “This…this is the best, Sam!”
Sam hugs him and then gets a wicked look on his face.   “That's not all.  The
final surprise, Cas…look what I brought.”
He takes out two cans of warm beer and Cas gasps.  “Where’d you get those?!
Sam giggles.  “There’s always beer in my fridge.  I doubt my Dad really counts
it, and he’ll probably think Dean took it if he does.  He lets Dean drink if he
wants, cuz he’s so grown up and responsible.”  He rolls his eyes.
Cas looks at him, blue eyes huge and impressed.  “Did you ever drink before?”
“Dean let me sip his beer a few times but that’s it.  It’s kinda gross, but I
thought we could try it later, after we eat.  We’re already breaking all the
rules!”  Sam’s own eyes are big, too.  “I bet we’ll get really drunk.”
But the day is still young, and Sam is in full happy puppy mode.  He is
irresistible when he gets like that, and Cas feels freer every second they
spend together.  They take Sam’s compass and pretend to be explorers.  They
climb rocks and trees and inspect bugs and crawly things.  They have a contest
to find the biggest stick, and then an impromptu sword fight breaks out.  They
are loud and gross and immature and Cas can't believe how many times he hears
his own rusty laugh.  By the time the sun starts going down, they're both dusty
and sweaty and more relaxed than Cas can remember being, since before they even
met.  
It's getting chilly and Sam builds a fire like he’s been doing it since he was
born.  Cas only has a single pang of anxiety when he realizes Sam has swiped
Dean’s favorite fancy lighter; he wishes he could tell Sam to please stop
messing with Dean.
It passes though.  They eat pb&j sandwiches and try to toast marshmallows,
although Cas keeps dropping his in the fire, which Sam finds hysterical.  Then
Sam passes Cas his can of beer and takes his own, that same wicked smile on his
face.
Cas opens his and sips, making a face, but he goes back for more.  He knows
this stuff is supposed to relax you, and he wants some of that.
Time passes and Cas does start to feel a warmth in his chest, a fun sort of
lazy buzzing in his head and all of Sam's jokes seem a lot funnier.  The boys
are lying on top of their sleeping bags, talking and giggling about the kids in
school when Sam turns to him, suddenly serious.  “How come you’re doing so bad
in school now, Cas?  You love school.  Is it the other kids?”
Cas frowns; he doesn’t wanna think about this stuff.  “Nobody bothers me
anymore, you know that.”  It’s true, too, if only because Cas keeps wearing
Sam’s clothes these days.  He’s not even sure how he wound up with so many, but
apparently t-shirts, flannels, and jeans make a person better liked than
corduroys and vests and printed button down shirts that his Mom picks. 
Suddenly girls giggle when he walks by and he doesn’t always get picked last in
gym.  It’s a shame he could care less about it.
He realizes Sam is trying to get his attention and he looks over.  He guesses
he zoned out again.  Sam is apologetic.  “We don’t have to talk about it now,
Cas.  I just...I just want you to do well.  Someday we'll get out of this town,
Cas. ” 
Cas struggles to focus on him.  "Where would we go?"
"College, silly," Sam laughs then his brows draw together.  "Dean won't ever
leave here, but...but he'll be okay.  And you're like me, Cas.  We like school,
we wanna get out there and do things."  Sam turns to him, lovely in the
firelight, Cas can't help but notice.  "We could go together.  Be grown-up best
friends."
And Cas's heart hurts a little, it does, will he ever, can he ever go where he
wants?  It's so hard to imagine any life other than the one he's stuck in now.
 But tonight he is far away, and nobody is telling him what to say and do.
 "I'd go with you, Sam.  I hope we're always best friends."
There’s an awkward pause and Sam struggles to fill it.  “Hey, did you see
Jessica Moore's got boobs now?”
Cas giggles and blushes a little; he’s glad it’s too dark to tell.  “Yeah, it’s
all anybody talks about.  That time she spilled her water down her shirt.”
There’s a quiet moment and Sam says, “Cas, you ever kissed a girl?”
Cas shakes his head.  “Have you?”
Sam ducks and Cas guesses he’s blushing, now, too.  “Not yet.  Wouldn’t mind
kissing Jessica, though.”
“Yeah,” Cas agrees, though he hasn’t thought of it. Kissing, for him, is
stressful and unhappy.  But just tonight he lets himself, just for a moment,
imagine Jessica's delicate lips.  Smaller than his, probably.  Maybe it could
be nice...
There’s another, longer pause.  “Dean kisses guys and girls.”
Cas stares up at the stars, wishing himself up there with them.  “I know.”
“Did you…ever kiss a guy?”
Cas sits up, hands over his stomach because the beer is suddenly lurching,
threatening to come up.  But he doesn’t like to lie, not to Sam, even if he
can't look at him while he says it.  “Yes…but I...I didn’t want to.”
Sam puts a hand on his shoulder, concerned.  “Because it was a guy?”
“Because it was a grown-up!”  He tugs hard, pulling his shoulder away from
Sam’s hand.  “Gross, right?  A big gross man and he said now that’s your first
kiss forever, you’ll always think of me, Cas!”
And he’s crying, his perfect day and he’s crying.  But Sam is just there,
holding him, and it’s nice because Sam is skinny and small like he is, he
doesn’t feel squeezed or stuck.  “Cas, Cas, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, please
don’t cry,” though his voice is shaky, like he might cry himself.
Cas wipes at his eyes roughly, holding Sam, too.  “Sam, don’t cry, let’s not
cry.  Let’s not spoil it, okay?  This day is my best day in so long! I-I need
it!”
"Okay, Cas, okay.  You're right.  We're okay,"  Sam lets go but then puts his
hands on Cas's shoulders.  He's just that tiny smidge taller, and his eyes look
aquamarine in the firelight.  “Look, Cas, I just...that guy was wrong.  It
doesn’t count as a first kiss if you don’t want it.  It just doesn't."
“It doesn’t?” Cas whispers back, and something painful loosens slightly in his
chest, that bit of hope from earlier, like the Cas Sam sees could be the real
one, instead of the dirty, used up one he thinks he is.
“No,” Sam answers quietly, looking at Cas’s lips.  “Maybe…maybe we should kiss
each other, Cas.  Then we both know our first kiss is someone we love, right?”
Cas is trembling and he finds that he wants this, not because he thinks he
wants Sam that way, or he thinks Sam really wants him.  But Sam is someone he
loves, and this one time, far away from fear and pain and debasement, Cas gets
to decide.  “Okay, Sam.”
They both start forward and stop, giggling nervously.  Then Sam leans down and
kisses Cas, and he finds  to his wonderment that it is a first.  He never ever
had a kiss so pure and sweet, just a slightly wet brush of lips against his.
 Their bodies do not even touch.  His mouth is not large and sloppy and
invasive, but small and neat like Cas's own.  Cas feels transcendent, like
light is coming out of his fingers.  A kiss that he chose, and it is good.  
“Can I try one on you?”
“Sure,” Sam tells him, and Cas likes how nervous he sounds.  Cas timidly
touches Sam’s face.  It’s smooth and small like his own, and he marvels at it,
the way his hands look proportionate instead of endlessly diminutive.  Cas
leans up and opens his mouth slightly before closing over Sam's; a light brush
and he's gone.  He sees Sam’s eyes open wide and he smiles.  “Try that.”
Eagerly, Sam does, and he gets it right on the second try.  They look at each
other.
“Well…that’s a lot gayer than standing too close to each other, Sam,” Cas jokes
and Sam shoves him, and then they are giggling and making fun of each other. 
It’s starting to be pretty cold, and Sam suggests they make one bed out of both
sleeping bags, huddling together for warmth.  And Cas falls asleep snuggled
close in the skinny arms of his very best friend, succumbing to bone-deep
exhaustion that holds him under until morning for once.
He doesn’t dream at all.
 
                                     * * *
All too soon, they're hiking their way back home.  Cas trails behind Sam,
feeling layers of anxiety settling back on his fragile shoulders with each step
closer to the Winchester house.  Maybe Dean will want to wait until they have
time to draw it out.  Maybe he will grab him and shove him in the bathroom.
 Sam is quiet, too, but he falls back and drags Cas into his side.  And Cas
draws a tiny bit of strength from it.  Someday he'll be the Cas who gets out.
 Sam is so sure of it, and who is smarter than him?
And maybe he can use this little memory to help himself through.  LIke if...(he
can't articulate it, if he grabs me, any minute now, if he takes me and
says...)...if the worst happens, maybe Cas can go away in his mind and just be
a boy with his friend in the woods.  
Dean is sprawled on the couch when the boys walk in, and Cas watches how happy
Sam is to see his brother.  When it's his turn, he pretends he is, too.  Dean
asks a little bit about their night, and Sam is an impressively smooth
criminal, Cas thinks; not too many details, not too much enthusiasm.  Dean
isn't even that interested; computer games are for losers, he states
categorically.
"I-I'd better get going," Cas says suddenly as Sam sprawls in the love seat
across from Dean.  "I...I have extra work to catch up on, still."
"Okay...message me later," Sam tells him, his eyes glinting with their secret.
"What, no hug, Cas?," Dean says, even though his eyes are still on the TV.
 "I'm hurt."  
Obediently, Cas leans down, putting his arms around Dean's neck.  Dean slides
his hand into Cas's hair...grips...pulls him so his ear is next to Dean's plush
lips.  "How'd you like your first beer?"
 
 
***** Crime, and Punishment (Don't Ever Say No) *****
Chapter Summary
     Rough stuff ahead. For both boys.
Cas is in Dean’s room, sitting on the bed.  He barely takes up a small corner
on the bottom.  It’s Monday after school, and he can hear Sam and other normal
kids out back where they’re shouting and playing.  It sounds like a game of
Manhunt, Sam’s very favorite.  He is a great team captain:  he always gets his
man.  Cas can hear them because Dean has the window open.  He likes to keep a
weather eye and ear out for Sam.
Even when he’s busy with other things.
Dean is standing, moving around his room as he talks (stalking really, Cas
thinks it's terrifying).  He looks so tall, as if he could touch the ceiling if
he stretches his arms up—arms that are muscled and thick under his green t-
shirt.  It’s like he gets bigger and stronger all the time.  And even more
beautiful, can’t forget that.  Everything about him serves to make Cas feel
small.  Insignificant.  Threatened.  
Both boys are fully dressed, which is unusual.  Cas is crying, which is not. 
They are not noisy tears.  They slip from his blue eyes unconsciously, with
only the occasional sniffle or hitching breath to accompany them. 
“You know, you're the reason I knew I needed to follow you," Dean is saying,
"Too bad for Sam, right?  Poor baby brother,” he shakes his head, “Kid did a
really good job.  Came up with a story, made it believable, took a few risks,”
Dean actually does sound proud, impressed.  “He’s a real Winchester under all
that nerdy, bookworm crap.”  He laughs and shakes his head, takes Cas’s face in
his big strong hand.  “And you go and fuck it all up for him.  My stuttering,
shaking little baby.”
Dean caresses his face, strokes his hair, whispers lovingly, “You should know,
he’s gonna move on from you, Cas.”  Cas lets out a sob, turning his face and
Dean lets him, tsking sympathetically.  “I know, baby.  But he’s growing up,
and he’ll need a best friend that’s not some weak little pussy.  You are,
aren’t you?  Yeah.  I mean he can’t just keep carrying you forever.  Constantly
taking care of you, all that whining and sniveling and emo shit.”  Dean laughs,
moves to the window to look out.  “Sam’s gonna be The Man in high school, like
me.  You think he’ll let you follow him around then?  Clinging to his arm like
a sniveling little bitch?  Because I don’t.  Once he gets that testosterone
flowing, once he’s a man…you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t hunt you down, make you
his bitch like that little fat kid did that time.”
Cas bites his lower lip hard and lets out a tiny moan of protest, shutting his
eyes against the image:  Sam, grown beautiful and terrible like Dean.  Sam,
looking at him with condescension and disgust.
He opens his eyes and Dean is in front of him, looking at his lip between his
teeth.  “Speaking of pussy…,” he murmurs, and steps closer, nudging Cas’s knees
apart.  Cas’s despair drops away, makes room for freezing terror.  “Take me
out, Cas.”  Dean’s voice is almost gentle except for a low growl of lust.  Cas
fumbles a bit, opening Dean’s belt, popping the top button, pulling down the
fly.  It’s an odd angle (because he’s so small, sitting, and Dean’s so tall,
standing) but he doesn’t want to move to his knees or stand to make it easier. 
He doesn’t want to put his face anywhere near it.  He manages with some
difficulty, reaching in Dean’s underwear to free his dick.   Cas will not look,
but in the corner of his eye it is purple and wet and veiny.  He uses two hands
(he knows Dean likes how it looks, when he needs both hands to wrap around his
cock). 
“No, no.  Mouth, Cas.  Today I want your naughty, lying mouth.”
Cas looks up at him in horror (no, no, not yet), hands stilling around Dean’s
dick, squeezing slightly by accident and Dean lets out a groan, fucks into them
a little.  “Feels so good, baby, but that’s not what I asked.  Open up,” he
sharpens his tone and Cas whimpers, looking reluctantly at the dick in his
hands, knowing it’ll be salty, knowing it’ll choke him and hurt him, make tears
come out of his eyes, make his stomach heave. 
He tries to beg, “Dean, ple--"
Dean puts a hand lightly over Cas’s mouth.  “Cas…if you speak…if you say
anything right now…I think I might start hitting you.  I think I might just
start hitting you over and over and I won’t be able to stop.”  Cas’s body is
wracked with a sudden tremor as he meets Dean’s earnest green eyes; he doesn’t
even look mad, he just looks very, very honest.  “So by all means, baby…unless
I ask you a question right now, do.  Not.  Speak.”
Cas nods and he’s shaking from head to toe now, and his lips are dry but he
clamps them shut; licking them would be the worst idea. 
Dean sighs.  “I didn’t want it to be this way, Cas.  Our first time doing
this.”  He’s fucking into Cas’s hands so slowly, Cas is responding
automatically the way he thinks Dean will want.  He feels distant from his
hands, in shock, but he can’t zone out, because this Dean will hurt him, this
Dean might (he thinks for the first time) this Dean might kill him.  “I was
gonna talk to you real nice, make sure you were relaxed and ready.  I was even
gonna suck your baby dick first, let you see how good it can be, how nice it
feels.”  He strokes his fingers into Cas’s hair, then grips, pulling painfully
tight, bending Cas’s head back almost all the way, making him whimper behind
his closed lips.  “But you were a backstabbing piece of shit.”  He lets go of
his hair and smacks Cas's hands away from him.  “Scared?  Don't wanna?  I don’t
care about your fucking feelings, same as you don’t care about mine.  So wrap
that whiny little hole around my dick before I pick another one to put it in.”
Cas is breathing hard, as best as he can through his stuffed nose.  He moans in
pure fear, shakes his head once.  His jaw is clenched shut, and it’s frozen
this way, because he can’t let this Dean in there, he just can’t, he’s going to
kill him with it, he’s going to…
"I can't fucking believe you, Cas,"  Dean laughs angrily, incredulously. 
“Don’t you get it?  How stupid this all was?  All you had to do was come to
me…even if Sam wouldn’t, you should have come to me!  Do you know I would’ve
said yes?  And you could’ve gone on your homo nerdy-ass camping trip, and Sam
could've thought he got away with a lie.  But no, you...you fucking lie, you
make me punish you...and now you say no?  What the fuck did I tell you about
saying no to me, Cas?  What the fuck are you here for?”
He shoves even closer and grabs the back of Cas's head, pushing his face
against his dick, forcing his lips to rub against it.  "This, Cas.  This is
what you're here for."  Cas lets out a muffled, terrified scream, his eyes and
mouth shut tightly, his poor little nose struggling for oxygen.  He's trying to
pull his head back, but of course he can't.  Dean slides his dick over cheeks,
eyes, mouth; watching the precome make glistening tracks over his little face. 
His voice is laced with menace, with promise, growling, "Now you open that
lying...boy-cunt mouth...and put it on this dick.  Last chance.”
Cas keens behind his closed mouth, trying to make Dean understand he can’t,
he’s too scared, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.
Then Dean is picking him up by his throat and slamming him down on the bed.
 He's on top before Cas can react, pushing down, grinding his dick painfully
against Cas's jeans, pinning his arms under him.  “Time to give you what you
really want then, huh?” Cas can't even scream, Dean's hand claps over his mouth
hard, covering both mouth and nose just because it's bigger than his face and
he isn't being particularly careful.  Frenzied, useless panic clamors in Cas,
he can't move, he can't breathe, he can't scream, but he tries, useless,
helpless.
Dean crushes him, suffocating; if he puts more weight he’ll hear tiny snapping
sounds.  He grips Cas's face hard enough to hurt, and looks into panicked blue
eyes. “If you can't be a good boy then I don't need you.”
In one violent move, he shoves off of Cas, who immediately curls on his side,
wheezing and whimpering, shaking and crumpled.  Dean tucks himself back in his
pants and unlocks the door, swinging it open.  He turns in the doorway and
sneers at pathetic little Cas.  “Guess I need to find something better.”
And he’s gone and Cas should follow, he knows he’s supposed to, but his limbs
won’t work, they feel limp and bloodless and he’s still re-learning how to
breathe.  His brain starts to go misty and he wants to let it.  Won't matter
what Dean does to his body if he's not in it.  He hears the back door slam open
violently.  “Sam!  Get in this house!  Right fucking now, Sam, do not play with
me!”
Castiel finds he can move after all; he’s stumbling downstairs in time to see a
bewildered Sam come through the door.  “Dean, what’s wrong, you—“
Dean backhands him hard enough to make Sam stumble back; Cas winces at the
sound of it.  Sam touches his face in shock, blue-hazel eyes filling
instantly.  “What…?”
“Like lying to me, huh?  Like stealing Dad’s beer?  I guess you can just do
whatever the fuck you want, is that it?"  Sam starts to protest but Dean cuts
him off, "Don't, Sam, Don't you fucking lie to me again.  Castiel told me all
about it."
And Cas will never forget the look on Sam’s face when he swings his gaze to
Cas, eyes wide and wet and shocked, why would you, how could you…
But Dean heaves a dining room chair over to the middle of the floor and Sam
knows what it means.  His voice is tinier than Cas has ever heard it.  “Please,
don’t, Dean, I didn’t mean…”
Dean looks at him and stops his words cold.  “Get over here.  Get your fucking
pants down.  And get over my knee.  You do not want me to make you.”
Sam barely hesitates; it’s not fair, Cas thinks, Dean didn’t even give him a
chance to obey before he’s grabbing one skinny arm and dragging him to the
chair, violently stripping his pants and underwear down, shoving him into his
lap.  The spanking is merciless and constant:  Dean is swinging his arm as hard
as he can, over and over.  There’s no way to keep count, and the sound of flesh
on flesh is sharp and loud every time. 
Sam is screaming and crying, wildly squirming and begging in his lap, trying to
hard to protect himself with his small hands.  “Please, please, Dean, stop,
Dean!!!”
And Dean does stop, to pin Sam’s arms to his back.  He looks like he doesn’t
love Sam, like he’s never loved anything.  Because he’s taking his belt off and
folding it into a strap in his hand.  “Like lying to me, you little shit?” 
CRACK CRACK CRACK.  “Think it’s fun to steal DRINKS?!” CRACK CRACK CRACK.
Cas’s hands are two fists pressed to his mouth, he’s horrified and frozen and
hysterical himself.  And he knows he’s supposed to be seeing this; Dean hasn’t
looked at him once but this is all for Cas, all his fault.
Dean finally stops and Sam is sobbing, “Deeaaan, pleeeease…I’m
sooooorry….Deee…”
Dean stands, yanking Sam up with him.  He tips Sam’s face up, making sure he
sees the disgust in his eyes.  He shakes his head.  “Everything I fucking do
for you and you lie to my face.  You steal and you fucking lie.”  Carelessly,
he throws Sam to the floor where he lands on all fours, a sobbing sniveling
mess with his pants still puddled around his knees.  Dean doesn’t even spare
him a glance, stalking out of the room (although Cas doesn’t think he goes very
far). 
The strength goes out of Cas in one instant, bringing him to his knees.  He
crawls to his friend, wanting to help the poor, broken figure.  “Sam,” he
whimpers, aching to see his loved one brought so low.  His fault, all his
fault, should have done it, bad friend, bad Cas…
Sam lifts his face from the ground, a mess of tears and confusion.  His voice
is hoarse and unsteady.  “Why, Castiel?  Why?”
Cas sobs, reaching for Sam’s face, wanting to push his hair from his eyes.  “I
didn’t…I didn’t…”
Sam’s reddened eyes harden and his teeth clench shut.  “You were jealous again,
weren’t you.  Y-you didn’t want my friends here.  That’s why you told, why
you…you w-watched m-me…”  Cas’s mouth falls open in shock, he can’t even begin
to deny it and Sam curls his lip in derision.  “Get out of here.  Leave me
alone.  I…I never want to see you again.”  He puts his head back down to the
floor, face turned away, and his shoulders wrack with fresh crying.
“Sam, no, please!” Cas wails, heart breaking in his fragile chest.
“Get out!” Sam yells brokenly.  "I hate you!"  And Cas flees.
 
                                     * * *
 
As soon as Cas is gone, Dean returns.  Wordlessly, he puts one arm under Sam’s
chest and the other under his thighs and lifts him as is, knowing his brother
can’t pull his pants up and probably can’t move for pain.  He carries his
crying brother upstairs as if he weighs no more than a bag of flour and is less
interesting.  He doesn’t let his eyes linger on the damage to his brother’s
bottom and thighs, though he will.  He will look at length at all that
beautiful angry red. 
But not now.  He places his brother on the bed and ignores the whimpering
apologies, closing the door behind him on his way out (he doesn’t slam the
door; his temper is cooled as though he never lost it now that Cas isn’t here
to see).  He gives it a half hour before he goes back in and pulls the rocking
chair next to the bed.  Sam is mostly cried out by now, still in the same
position on top of his comforter where Dean left him.  The occasional sniffle
is the only sound until Dean sighs.  “Hey, Sammy.  Let’s talk now, okay?”
Sam turns his wet face to Dean’s, the picture of bereft remorse.  He is so
beautiful, even with his jewel eyes all swollen and red and chestnut bangs
sweaty and mussed.  His hand is near his face and Dean is reminded of when he
was small enough to put his thumb in his mouth for comfort in times like
these.  He flicks his eyes to the dark red marks across such a tiny, delicate
ass.
Maybe not quite like these.
“You know what you did wrong, right Sammy?” He brushes Sam’s bangs back, the
way Cas had wanted to, and Sam moves into the touch, grateful.
“I l-lied to you.  I snu-uck out when I didn’t have permission.  I-I took beers
from Dad and drank one.”  His breathing still hitches, a slow tear or two leaks
out while he talks.
Dean nods.  “Good, that’s a good boy.  Are you sorry, Sam?”
Sam nods fervently.  “I’m really sorry, Dean!  I’m really, really sorry!”
Dean hushes him, wiping at his tears with a heavy thumb.  “I know you are. 
Listen, Sammy, I’m sorry, too, okay?  What I did to you, losing my temper like
that…”  He strokes Sam’s back, shaking his head regretfully.  “I shouldn’t have
punished you while I was that angry.”
“Y-you didn’t mean it, Dean.”
“No, Sammy, that’s no excuse.  I just…I’m just not used to you not trusting me,
I guess.”  He pulls away and looks at his hands.  “Did you really think I
wouldn’t let you and Cas spend a night in the woods?  I mean sure, he’s useless
out there” Sam frowns, then remembers he’s mad at Cas.  “But you, Sammy, I
trust you to take care of yourself.  Hell, do you really think I wouldn’t let
you have your first beer if you asked?  You’re treating me like I’m Dad!”
Sam reaches for his hand desperately and Dean takes it, feeling the small hand
squeeze, looking into fervent turquoise eyes.  “I do trust you, Dean, I was
just…I was stupid!”
Dean looks down, asks softly, “Do you…do you still love me most, Sammy?  I’d
hate it if you didn’t.  You’re…you’re all I got, you know?”  A single tear
slides down his face, he doesn't bother to wipe it.
And Sam is off the bed and in Dean’s lap on his knees (he’s desperate to
reassure Dean but that bottom can’t tolerate any surface), draping himself on
Dean’s chest.  “Love you most, always love you most, Dean.  You’re my big
brother.  Don’t need no one like I need you!”
And Dean is telling him he loves him, too, kissing his wet cheeks and stroking
his back, (earnestly playing the role of the brother who does not love his baby
brother's dick pressed against his stomach) only dipping close enough to just
feel the heat from his little tormented ass.  Then he helps him out of his
shoes, socks, and pants and lays him back on his bed face down.  “Nothing for
it, Sammy, gotta let it heal.”  He comes back with the cream that Sam likes,
the kind that heals and also numbs the pain.  He wants to do it himself but
Dean playfully slaps his hand away.  “Don’t be a bitch about it.”
Gently, as clinically as he can make himself, he applies the cream, marveling
at the heat, the dark pink color, crisscrossed with angry purple-red stripes
where the belt licked against already damaged skin.  He didn’t break it
though.  No blood.  Sam is brave, but Dean can hear the delicious little pain
sounds he’s trying to stifle.  He bites back a groan and stops before he wants
to.  He shakes himself and leaves to put the cream away (and give himself a
moment).   He comes back and hands Sam a stack of comics from his desk. 
“I’m not grounded, Dean?”
Dean ruffles his hair, smiling when Sam knocks his hand away.  “I think we can
agree you learned your lesson.”  He gets serious again.   “Look, Sammy, I get
it, man, sometimes you wanna rebel.  But you're still only ten and...I just
gotta know where you are, okay?  If something happened and I couldn’t get to
you…Ain’t no me without you, little brother.”
Sam gives him a watery smile.  “I understand, Dean.  Other brothers…they don’t
need each other like we do, huh?”
Dean stares at him oddly, looking for something in his eyes.  “No,” he
whispers, “not like we do.”
He leaves Sam with his comics and comes back later with a cheese sandwich and
some carrot sticks.  He has Sam lift up on his elbows since there’s no way he
can sit to eat.  When he’s finished, he hands him a plastic cup of water and
two blue pills.  “These are for the pain, Sammy, and they’ll help you sleep,
too.  I think you should call it a night.”
Sam frowns and Dean smoothes his forehead, hushes him.  “C’mon, we’ll both stay
home from school tomorrow, how’s that?  We’ll hang out, have some brother
time.”
He sees the protest melt out of Sam’s eyes, replaced with love.  He turns off
the lights except for a small lamp, and reads from The Fellowship of the Ring
until Sam is fast asleep.  Even then he gives it another 30 minutes.  Watching
Sam sleep.
Then he stands and starts to undress.
***** While Beauty Sleeps (Cas Sells His Soul) *****
Chapter Summary
     More graphic abuse. Bad for Sam. VERY bad for Cas. This is gonna
     change him. :(
Plenty of neighborhood kids were there to witness Sam Winchester get called
inside by his brother.  They'd all be talking on Instant Messenger that night
about how he was in deep trouble, and how scary his big brother looked when the
door had burst open (he’s so handsome, though; when I grow up I'm gonna marry
Dean Winchester).  But not one kid who saw the look on Dean’s face had felt
much like sticking around to see what happened next. So, when Castiel flies out
of the back door not long after with his face a red mess of tears and snot,
there is no one left to observe and wonder. 
He doesn’t remember the escape; he’s just suddenly in his room, out of his
mind.  He’s shrieking with rage and pain, throwing everything he can get his
hands on:  shoes, books, toys.  He tries to smash his mirror but it doesn't
break, he's too weak.  He tears posters and comics; he kicks his desk chair
over and flips his keyboard and mouse on the floor.   He sweeps his arm across
his dresser and sends everything crashing and tumbling down.
“Cas, what’s going on back there?!” his mom calls.  He stops, breathing hard
and making little desperate sounds, trying to listen, aching to hear
footsteps. 
The TV gets louder.
His chin drops to his chest and he admits defeat.  He looks around at the mess
he made; one he will feel compelled to clean up.  He sees his picture is on the
ground, mixed in the mess of clothes and papers and toys and he cries out,
dropping to his knees to pick it up.  The picture is fine; it didn’t get
ruined.
“Sam,” he whimpers painfully to the one in the picture, his fingers shaking on
the edges.  “I didn’t tell him, Sam, I didn’t.  He followed us, that’s how he
knew, I would never tell him.  Sam, Sam, don’t hate me!  Please, Sam!”  And
somehow he has tears left for this, pressing the picture against his heart. 
His chest is aching so bad, his head hurts, too and his eyes and his
everything.  But he is only a little boy after all, and his body can only take
so much before it has to shut down.  He curls up there on the floor in the
middle of the mess because he has no strength to even crawl to bed.  But he can
hold his picture and look at Sam and tell him the most important thing that he
realizes.  “You can hate me, Sam, and I’ll still love you.  It’s okay.  I’ll
still love you forever, I promise.”
He looks until his lids drift shut.  His small body begins to calm, hitching
breaths smoothing out.  His sniffles and sobs grow quiet, less frequent.
 Exhaustion wins out, and he drifts into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Hours later, he wakes up with a start and his heart is already pounding.  He
sits up quickly but he doesn’t know what it is.  His bedside clock is on the
floor upside down; 7:00 in big red numbers.  He closes his eyes again, feeling
achy all over, still very tired, but no, he can’t, he opens them again.   His
stomach is all in knots.
Something is very wrong.
It doesn’t feel like after his nightmares; he knows where and when he is.  His
light is still on, so there’s no confusion over unidentifiable shadows.  But
he’s standing up, he’s moving to the window without really thinking of it;
maybe he wants some air.  He looks over at the Winchester house and feels a
sharp ache in his chest as it comes flooding back at once:  Sam, who hates
him.  Who thinks he betrayed him.
“Guess I need to find something better.”
Cas feels an icy chill run through him and he clenches his hands into fists,
hard enough to make the little crescent marks.  Why is he thinking about it, he
hates that!  If he does he’ll start thinking of Dean, when he was…when he…on
top…
He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to calm himself, but the lists don’t work;
he feels the anxiety growing instead.  He has to…there’s something he needs to
remember.  Something really bad.
“If it isn’t you, I’m gonna make Sammy do it.”
“No,” Cas whispers to the empty room, but he’s looking and Sam’s light is on,
and that’s okay, Sam's bedtime isn’t for another couple of hours…
“I already looked at him naked, Cas, and he’s so pretty.  I touched all over
his body and he doesn’t know”
Except now that’s he’s looking, the window isn’t that bright.  So Sam must be
reading, he’s just using his bedside lamp; Cas knows he loves to read.  Funny,
though, how the rest of the house is dark…not even flickering lights in the
living room to show that Dean is watching TV.
“I’ll get in his bed every night and I’ll put my penis inside him where it’s
never been."
And Cas is running.  He’s running back outside and across the two yards.  He’s
running into a dark house, where a scary monster lives.  A monster that wants
to eat him up.
 
                                    * * * 
 
For his part, Dean is expecting that Cas might show.  Sam’s spanking, after
all, was for Cas’s benefit (and partly because he has always wanted to beat the
shit out of Sam--no, not because he deserves it, he already said:  Sam is a
really good, sweet kid.  It's just so fucking hot, hitting him that hard,
feeling him struggle and cry and beg, marking his little body). 
Oops...sidetracked.
This, what he’s doing now, is for Cas, too; an important lesson in 'Dean means
what he fucking says'.  Or it started out that way.  He even made sure the door
was unlocked before he came back up here to sit with Sam.  To drug him.  If Cas
really did decide to try and stop this, Dean didn't want him to have to use the
doorbell or anything.  And if he didn't try...Dean has an amazing night with
his naughty, naked little brother. Win/win for Dean either way.  His fucking
favorite.
Only now Dean is naked in bed with Sammy, and he’s not thinking about Cas
anymore.  He’s decided that Sam’s ass will hurt so much tomorrow that there’s
no way he’ll know if Dean eats him out tonight.  And puts one finger in.  He’ll
even use his pinky.  And lube.
And since he made that decision, maybe he’s gotten a little…carried away.  He
knows the pills are stronger than the cough medicine (especially with the adult
dose he gave him).  So he’s been…playing with him a little more than usual.
Like he just had to pull him off the bed and onto his lap on the rocking chair,
knees bent the way he’d been before, so he can do all the touching he wanted to
do then.  Fucking innocent baby, thrusting his half naked body on his brother's
lap, so trusting and small.  Sammy is prone against his chest, and Dean puts
his lips against his ear.  "What would you have done if I touched you then,
Sammy?  Felt big brother's hand sliding between your little legs, just like
this?  Would you cry for me?  Would you let me?", he sighs, licking his
brother's ear, and closes his eyes, trying to rub their cocks together.   It’s
difficult though, since Sammy’s baby cock is so small.  He tries kissing him,
too, but he must admit there’s nothing to kissing a slack mouth when compared
to kissing little Cas, awake and reluctantly participating.  Still, it’s
amazing to feel his baby brother bare against him like this, skin to skin the
way he’s always wanted.  He has to stop because he doesn’t want to come yet. 
There are so many things he wants to do. 
He gets up and lays Sammy on his bed again, but on his back.  He pushes his
legs up so that his reddened bottom doesn’t touch the bed, bending him almost
completely in half. He sucks Sammy’s everything into his mouth, the way he
loves, feeling it harden, listening to his little sighs and sleepy moans.  He
licks the bit of skin between balls and baby brother asshole and tongues his
way down past the lightest divot.  He groans, loving how there’s no give at
all. 
He rolls him onto his stomach, thinking to start working his tongue on it but
he...he's just not touching him enough, naked Sammy is too good to pass up.
 On sudden inspiration, he pulls him up against his bare chest so he can see
his dick between Sammy’s skinny legs.  He grinds him gently that way, and
pretends the pain sounds Sammy makes are groans and gasps of pleasure, whispers
back to him, "Big brother's here...big brother's got you."  He kisses his neck
and sucks and nibbles lightly.  He reaches down and palms the little dick and
imagines fucking into his baby boy like this, inside this tiny body.  His head
only comes up to Dean’s chin, and he would hurt and cry for Dean, but Dean
would make it all better.  You'll see, Sammy...Shit, shit, he doesn't want to
come yet!
That time it’s a close save, he has to push Sammy back on his stomach and
squeeze his aching dick almost too hard.  He could come a bunch of times with
Sammy; he’s freaking 17, of course he can.  But he likes this, teasing himself,
drawing it out.  When he finally blows his load, Sammy will be covered in it. 
The way he fucking should be.  He can't wait to see it. 
Briefly, he wonders if he could bring Sam in the bath with him (a favorite
fantasy from Sammy’s childhood bath times) or if the water would stir him.  But
he needs to stay in the moment.  He pushes Sam’s knees up under him again, so
his face is down on the bedspread and his little ass is nice and pushed up for
Dean.  “Want this, don’t you, Sammy.  Gonna taste so good.”
“Please, don’t, Dean!  Please let him go!” 
Dean glances back disinterestedly at the petrified child in the doorway.  Of
course he heard him come in, tripping up the stairs as fast as his little legs
can carry him; you can't live the way Dean does without being fairly hyper-
aware of your surroundings.  It just doesn't seem to matter much, now.  
“Go home, Cas.”  He bends and kisses one strap mark on his brother’s little
ass, tonguing it lightly; Sam lets out a muffled hurt cry.
“Nooo,” Cas whines desperately, little hands clenched near his mouth like he
does when he’s really upset.  “Please don’t hurt him!  I’m sorry, Dean,
please!”
“Not gonna hurt him,” Dean says against his brother’s skin, kissing and licking
each mark that he made.  “Go home.”  He spreads Sam’s ass open with his thumbs
and laughs softly.  “It’s a school night.”
“I’ll do what you want, I’ll-I’ll lick your thing!  Please!”  And Dean lifts
his eyes long enough to enjoy the frantic little squirming Cas is doing in the
doorway.  No, so close…my Sammy.  He looks back down at his beloved and licks a
stripe over a pink little star that doesn’t look capable of opening.  Surely
not a hole.  “Go, stay.  I don’t care.  Got what I really want.”  He circles
the star with his tongue in a point, feeling it flinch away every time his
tongue tries to dip.  "God, baby boy," he breathes and palms his own neglected
dick, wet and needy.
“Want…want you so bad, Dean.” Cas’s voice is thin and reedy with terror, but it
stills Dean’s tongue.  “Want…want y-your big dick in…”  Cas gasps, his little
chest heaving with this effort.  “...in m-my mouth.  Want to…to taste your…”
Dean turns his head from his brother's gorgeous, pliant ass and stares. 
Because Cas is…stripping.  His shirt is off, and he’s pushing his jeans down
with shaking hands, kicking them away with his shoes.  He takes off mismatched
socks.  “Taste your...co-ome...W-want you s-so b-bad, Dean…” and the kid is
actually rubbing his hand over the front of his underpants, looking right into
Dean’s eyes.  “D-don’t you…don’t y-you want y-your…”  Cas swallows and looks
down, one tear drips out.  It looks like it takes everything he has to lift his
eyes to Dean’s again.  “y-your baby-s-slut? 
Holy.  Fuck.  Dean stands and turns in one fluid movement, stroking his dick
slowly, not taking his eyes from Cas.  “Take your panties off for me, baby. 
Slow down.  Tell me what you want.”
And Cas obeys, pushing the little cartoon underwear down his skinny, pale legs,
and if another few tears slip down, it sure as fuck doesn’t bother Dean. 
“Want…” he can see Cas thinking, trying to remember the things Dean makes him
say.  “Want…y-your tongue…on m-, on me.  I-in my m-mouth.  W-want to kiss…to
kiss l-like a big boy.  Want t-to be your….y-your…slu-slutty little b-baby.”
Dean steps forward and Cas scrambles back; his green eyes harden.
“I-I…can y-you put S-sam back f-first?”  And Dean is shocked when he drops to
his knees and puts his little palms together, like Sam used to when he wanted
Dean to take him to the community pool.  “Please, p-please, Dean, I…I
promise…I-I’ll be a g-good boy!  I’ll do everything you w-want, I w-won’t say
no, please!  We can...” a sob wracks him, he has to put a hand on the floor to
steady himself...two deep breaths and he masters it, back on his knees "We can
have, have sex.  Put, put it in me, Dean.  When you...when you want."
Dean has to wet his lips and swallow before he can speak.  “You’ll have to
prove it, Cas,” he tells him, his voice low and thick.  “Crawl to me, baby.”
Cas glances towards Sam’s vulnerable form on the bed and crawls quickly to stop
at Dean’s feet.  It’s not that sexy, but Dean is so fucking turned on right now
that it doesn’t matter.  And he can always teach him to crawl slow another
time.  Right now there’s a naked little boy kneeling in front of his weeping,
straining dick.  Cas’s gaze slides to Sam and back up to Dean, blue eyes
pleading.  And Dean is happy to touch his brother’s naked body again, even if
it is to gently move him back the way he started, with his head to the side on
his pillow.  Cas opens his mouth to object but Dean cuts him off.  “He gets his
shirt back when I know you’ll do what you say.”
And Cas has to stand, because he’s not tall enough to reach it on his knees.
 Dean still towers over him.  He takes a moment to appreciate their first time
naked together; he loves how light and fragile Cas looks next to him, all bony
immature limbs and bits of baby fat.  He can see that Cas is as frightened as
ever, but there's no hesitation anymore.  He puts two small hands on the hard
shaft of Dean’s dick and slowly covers the head with his miniature pink mouth. 
Immediately he starts to gag, but he pulls back, coughing, takes a few breaths,
and tries again.  He looks up at Dean, who is already making breathy, less than
manly sounds, and slurps back in a kiss…taking his mouth off and pressing that
velvet bit of tongue across the hole.  He’s sort of cheating, moving his bitty
fingers up and down the soaking wet shaft and basically making out with the
head of Dean’s cock.  But looking at those gorgeous baby lips wet and shiny
with precome, seeing how far he has to stretch them just to get that much, and
feeling small, slutty bit of warm wet, Dean is too fucking close to give a
damn. “Fuck, yes, Cas…feels so fucking good...lick the hole, baby, that’s it
fuck… baby, ungh…” After all the teasing with Sam, watching a 10 year old boy
make out with his dick like a baby prostitute is more than he can take.
 Everything ceases to exist except the amazing feelings in his dick, releasing
spasms of ecstasy.  
As he expected, there's a lot of come for Cas to deal with, and only a bit of
it gets into Cas’s mouth (not a lot of room, after all) before he’s choking and
sputtering, pulling back.  "Shh, swallow, try to swallow, Cas"  and he pokes at
Cas's cheeks, opening his little mouth to aim some more inside.  The rest is on
his chin, his cheeks, his neck and chest, even his hands and forearms.  It’s
the hottest Dean’s ever seen him, even when he chokes and gags, pulling back a
second time.  He reaches down and thumbs some more into a subdued-looking Cas’s
mouth, feeling his spent dick twitch when Cas holds him in there, sucks his
thumb.  Well that’s fucking new.
“That’s a good boy, Cas.  Such a good, good boy.”  He strokes his hair lovingly
as he catches his breath.  Cas is looking at him with something newly broken in
his eyes (trust Dean when he tells you; he's a bit of an expert at spotting
these things).  Some fresh despair, some novel self-hatred, but he doesn't
blush or whine or turn away.  “Go clean up in the bathroom, okay?  If you think
your mom will miss you, you can get dressed and go home,” he holds up a hand
when Cas’s mouth opens (kid’s gonna argue while he’s still covered in come;
adorable), “I’ll make sure Sammy is all cleaned up and put back the way he was,
nothing else.  You got my word.”
He sees Cas’s grim, troubled face and hides a smile.  Yeah, you can’t trust me,
but it’s the best you’re gonna get, baby-doll. 
He does keep his word though; he’s barely thinking about Sam for probably the
first time since the kid was born.  If he’s honest, Cas impressed him tonight--
shocked him, and he's not easily shocked.  He thought if he had the courage to
show up at all, he might beg and cry and promise.  But watching him strip of
his own volition, forcing those words past his baby lips without Dean making
him...suddenly he's convinced that well-behaved Cas means the possibilities for
degradation are nearly limitless.  Anything he can think up, this kid will do.
And he’s hungry to start.
When Cas leaves the bathroom, Dean is waiting.  Cas yelps as Dean snatches him
up, presses him against the door so their faces are level.  "Kiss me,"  he
orders.  Cas's blue eyes don't even flicker, he takes Dean's face in his hands
(either trusting Dean to hold his entire weight or not giving a shit if he
falls) and licks into Dean's much bigger mouth.  It cannot be skilled; their
mouths are too mismatched, but it is filthy as fuck and Dean loves it.  "Your
mom won't miss you, will she."
Cas shrugs passively.  His eyes are red, his cheeks wet, but there aren't any
more tears.  His gaze is flat and placid.  He leans against the door behind him
as though it's too much to hold his own weight up anymore.  That's okay; Dean
will lay him down soon enough.  "Wanna come lay in bed with me, Cas?  I won't
keep you long.  You still have so much making up to do, though, don't you,
baby?"
Cas nods and pushes himself onto Dean's chest.  "Want to go to your bed, Dean.
 Was bad."  And Dean feels tiny kisses at his throat.
His dick is already half hard again as he carries his baby slut into his room.
 It's good being 17.  It's better being Dean Winchester.
***** For What it's Worth *****
Chapter Summary
     Sam comes around, and Dean takes his time. No, he hasn't fucked him
     yet.
Cas is sitting on the swing that hangs under the tree house, perfectly and
lovingly made with smooth, sturdy wood for the bottom and thick ropes for him
to wrap his hands around.  He’s twisting the swing around as far as it will go
and then letting himself spin.  He’s been doing it a while now; he likes the
way the landscape swirls, even if his stomach lurches a little.  He guesses
this is a stupid game to play on a day where he’s already puked three times. 
But that was different.  It’s not like he has a stomach virus.  He…he won’t
throw up again.  He’s pretty sure he has it under control now.
He’s sort of numb right now, which is nice.  His limbs feel light and distant. 
It’s been drizzling off and on and the air has a really clean smell that he
appreciates.  He hates the indoors, always so stale, so that when there’s a
smell you just stay stuck in it until someone cleans it…until someone finally
lets you clean it.  He frowns, touching his spinning, fuzzy head.  What is
he…what is he thinking about?
He swallows hard and concentrates on his toes in the dirt, twisting the swing
again. 
“Castiel!”
He blinks and sees Sam, who must’ve been calling him for a while.  He’s walking
slowly, stiffly, obviously still in pain, but he's nearly reached the swing. 
Cas stumbles off as fast as he can, dizzy and unsteady.  “Sorry, I…I shouldn’t
be here.  I’ll go.”  He turns toward his house, ducking his head.
“Cas, wait a sec!”  Sam’s hand touches his shoulder and he stops but doesn’t
turn.  His emotions are slowly coming back online with Sam here, and it’s a lot
to process.  “Cas, please.  I…I just wanted to say sorry.”
Cas turns back; he can’t help it, he’s so shocked.  As soon as he sees Sam’s
face, he has to look away again.  He can’t forget how he saw him last.  He took
your clothes off, Sam, he was touching you, hurting you.But Dean took his time
yesterday, while they lay naked together, explaining in between nefarious
kisses exactly what would happen if Cas told Sam.  All different possibilities,
each one worse than the one before it.  And Cas believes him.  He keeps his
gaze on the ground.  “Why…why would you say sorry to me?” he asks softly.  He’s
still afraid; he’s waiting for Sam to say something hurtful.
“Look, I…I was…it was…”  Sam clears his throat, and Cas sneaks a peek at his
face, catches a blush creeping across his cheeks.  Sam is looking at the
ground, too.  “It’s embarrassing, all right?  Just…I didn’t mean what I said. 
I don’t hate you and we’re still best friends.  I mean, if you wanna be.”
Strange, that funny feeling again in his chest (like in the meadow) and it
brings his eyes up to look at Sam cautiously.  “Why…why would you ever…” he
thinks of something and frowns, his head lowers again.  “Did Dean tell you to
forgive me?” he asks tonelessly.
“What?  No, I—I mean, yeah he did, but that’s not—hey, Cas, look at me for a
second!”  He wouldn’t but Sam punches his arm kind of playfully, and that
feeling starts again.  He looks almost shyly at Sam.  “I’m not saying this
because Dean told me to, okay, come on!  I wanted to make up as soon as I woke
up today!  You’re my best friend!  I know you, Cas.  You’d never, ever get me
in trouble for…for those things I said yesterday.”  It’s Sam’s turn to look
ashamed.  “That was really mean, I swear don’t think that way about you.”
And Cas puts his hand on Sam’s arm.  “I wouldn’t!  Never, ever, Sam!”
Sam smiles ruefully.  “I know.  It’s my fault, Cas.  I shouldn’t have made you
lie to Dean when you didn’t even want to; I think that’s how he figured it
out.  I know you’ve always been a little scared of him.”  Sam glances toward
his house; he doesn’t see Cas’s reaction to that.  “Of course he made you
tell.  I love my brother, but he can be…” he trails off, like he doesn’t know
how to finish or maybe it feels disloyal.  “Anyway, I should’ve just told him
what I wanted to do.”  Sam looks troubled, and Cas bets he’s thinking about how
he let his brother down.  Then he turns back to Cas.  “So?  Forgive me?”
On impulse, Cas moves to hug him.  He goes slowly, giving Sam a chance to
reject it, and also because he knows his friend is in a lot of pain.  But Sam
hugs him tightly, and he relaxes into it as much as he can.  “Can’t believe I
said that to you, Cas,” Sam murmurs in his ear.  “Not after we already decided
we’ll be best friends forever, right?  Can’t let a stupid fight ruin our plan.”
Cas digs his fingers into Sam’s shirt.  “No, nothing will,” he tells Sam.  Not
because he believes, but because he wishes…and he wants Sam to believe, at
least.
“We should stop hugging,” Sam tells him.  “Dean will make fun of us if he
sees.  Hey, you know, we could go camping again sometime.  I mean when I’m
feeling better anyway.”  He blushes again.
“Yeah,” Cas is looking towards the woods with a distant expression.  He doesn’t
ever want to go there feeling like he feels now…being who he is now.  But if he
can get a night away, he’ll take it.  “But maybe…in a new spot.  That way that
place is just for that one day…you know?”
Sam doesn’t, but he squeezes Cas’s shoulder.  “Sure, I’ll find us someplace
new.  Maybe every time, so we can explore it.”
Cas forces a smile.  “Yeah, that’ll be great…hey, you should really go lie
down.  You look all fucked up.”
“What?!”  Sam’s cat-tilted eyes go big and round, he looks around them in case
anybody has popped out of nowhere to witness this, and then bursts out
laughing.  Sam curses sometimes with his other friends, with Dean, too, within
reason, but never his sweet, quiet best friend.  It sounds weird, like hearing
a teacher curse, or a priest.  “What’d you just—since when do you curse, Cas?!”
Castiel doesn’t smile; he just looks sort of detached.  “I’ve been practicing.”
“Okay,” Sam’s smile fades into confusion. 
Cas pushes him lightly, “Go, Sam, go lay down…I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow.”  Sam
is still standing there, so Cas turns to leave; he doesn’t want to do this
anymore today.  He could use a rest himself and wonders if there’s someplace
outside he could sleep. 
“Cas?” Sam pulls him back...glances at the house behind him.  “I just wanted to
say…even with everything that happened...” he fidgets a little, then leans
close, putting his lips to Cas’s ear.  “It was worth it.”
He winks at Cas, dimples showing as he gives a ghost of his wicked smile.  Cas
doesn't respond outwardly.  But somewhere in his most secret, put-away heart, a
tiny light glows.
 
                                     * * *
 
People are starting to talk about Dean Winchester. 
After all, he’s definitely something of a “Favored Son” in those parts.  He’s
no choir boy for sure, but he’s the kind of kid who’ll mow your lawn for a
sandwich and a piece of pie, or stop to change a tire if you’re stuck on the
road.  He’s charming and friendly (and just a bit easy on the eyes).  He might
have a little bit of a rebellious air, maybe his humor is a little edgy, but
people enjoy him.  So mature for his age (practically raising that brother of
his, don’t you know).  Such an air of easy confidence in one so young. 
Dean is, at heart, a people person.  He likes getting to know someone, likes
having conversations.  He’s a good listener, too, gazing at you the whole time
with those dreamy emerald eyes.  And he is equal-opportunity about it:  young
or old, gorgeous or ugly as sin, if you want his attention, you will get it. 
If you want more attention than he’s willing to give you, you’ll get that,
too.  And by the time that’s done you’ll be really busy dealing with a lot of
problems that are completely your own fault.  You may not want to be around him
after that, but you’ll be utterly aware that the failing is yours.  Do you
understand?  No, that’s okay if you don’t.  It’s kind of hard to follow.
Dean touches as many people as he can; at this point it is a muscle he flexes
without thought.  He touches them without their permission, he touches them
perversely, intimately, in a way that they would not agree to (if he gave them
a chance, and he never will, because he doesn’t fucking care).  Doesn’t matter
who the person is, he’s going to get inside them.  He gets inside their heads
and then he takes the words, the thoughts that they have, and he…adjusts them. 
Even if it’s only slightly, and not even necessarily in a way that hurts.  In
this situation, you’re the Sammy, and he’s the cough syrup.  You’re being
lulled what’s in front of you and he’s slipping into your mind.  (Except you
ain’t Sammy, so he’ll go ahead and fuck it).
Maybe he puts something there that wasn’t before, maybe he…he reaches into the
dark parts and tugs something forward.  Maybe it makes you like someone you
don’t, or hate someone.  Maybe you finally try that thing you wanted…the thing
you don’t tell anybody about.  Or maybe he found you really interesting…and
things are probably pretty bad for you by now. 
The point is, it’s easy to get Dean’s attention, and most people (that is some
gooood cough syrup) enjoy it.  Except lately he’s been different, and
everybody’s noticing.  Staring off into space, smiling a sexy little half-smile
to himself.  He doesn’t show up at parties, he doesn’t have time for long
conversations at the check-out line.  He’s still sweet as candy, polite as you
please with his ‘Sir’s’ and ‘Ma’am’s’ (raised right, that one—old fashioned
values, no matter who says he’s a little queer!)  But for the first time the
boy has his head in the clouds and neighbors can’t help but speculate.  Maybe
he’s finally in love.
Dean is not in love (are you fucking kidding) but he can say for certain that
he has never felt this way before (okay, fine, apart from his little
brother...which means this "replacement" thing is working out really well,
thank you very much).  His mind is utterly consumed with his 10 year old
neighbor.  So instead of walking around looking for new and exciting
opportunities to fuck with the people around him (so that he won’t fuck Sam),
he’s lost in thought, imagining the things he wants to do to Cas.  Things he
wants to make him do.   Is there more of you to break, Cas?  Are you all mine,
yet? The only limit is Dean's imagination, and he spends his days spinning
filthy scenarios.  
In truth, Cas isn't all his yet, because Dean still hasn’t fucked him.  That
might sound crazy, just ignoring that delicious little ass offered up so
willingly.  But every layer of his resistance, every sexual first between them,
has to be drawn out and savored.  For example, if he’d been fucked by now, he
wouldn’t be walking around every day (going to school, doing his homework,
brushing his teeth) wondering when it’s going to happen.   Every day, Dean
tells him, “Gonna fuck you today, Cas.  You ready baby?”  And Cas will look him
in the eye and say, in his sweet little voice, “Yes, Dean, can’t wait for you
to fuck me.”  He will say it when Sam is in the kitchen getting popcorn out of
the microwave, he will say it when he’s naked and writhing in Dean’s lap.  It
is astronomically hot.  Nobody knows more than that kid how much it’s gonna
hurt.  How it won’t fit, can’t possibly fit, how likely it is that his delicate
skin will tear and burn.  And he’s there saying he wants it.  No, he’s saying
he wants Dean to give it to him.  And that cannot possibly be true.
He is so beautifully fucked up, and it's all for Dean.  Forgive him, but he's
gonna take his time.
He fingers him for the first time when Sam is in the room.  Doesn’t seem very
careful, he knows, but it was very, very fucking hot.  They’re in the living
room in the dark, and Dean has put on The Princess Bride, a movie that Sam
loves but Cas has never seen.  (He…he might need to watch it again after this. 
Or maybe he won’t want to.)  Sam is lying on his left side with his head on
Dean’s lap, and he’s drifting in and out of sleep.  Cas is lying on Dean’s
right, but facing the other way, so that his head is resting on the arm of the
couch, and his knees are tucked up to the side.  Dean has (thoughtfully) draped
each boy in a fuzzy little throw blanket (Batman for Sam, Cars for Cas), so Sam
can’t see that Dean has worked Cas’s pajama pants and underwear down to his
thighs.  He did that part while Sam was awake, still chatting about the movie
with Cas.  Who was helpfully lifting his hips, pushing the cloth down.  When
Sam’s eyes drift shut, Dean sends his fingers into Cas’s warm wet mouth.  He is
already hard; he can’t help but love how close Sam’s face is to his erection,
the hot little breaths through his pajama pants. 
He’s only going to use his pinky on Cas, but he makes him suck each one.  In
turn he takes Cas’s little hand and is lovingly kissing it, sucking a the
fingers, kissing and licking the little palm.  He puts Cas’s hand (limp,
waiting for his direction like a doll) back under his blanket and nudges Cas’s
legs apart slightly, so he can place it on his soft little dick.  He helps at
first, showing Cas what he wants, touching him until he feels the itty-bitty
hard-on.  Cas’s eyes are somewhere above the TV as he jerks himself for Dean;
he’ll cover his mouth with the blanket when he starts to breathe harder. 
Dean takes his hand back and works a bottle of lube out of his pocket.  Sam
makes a sexy little grunt of protest, stirring in his lap, and Dean strokes his
hair until he stills.  His fingers are spit-wet, but he’ll do better for his
baby.  He uncaps the lube, watching Sam for movement, and liberally coats his
pinky, getting it on his other fingers, too.  He slides under Cas’s blanket and
up the back of his naked thighs, pushing between small, chubby cheeks to rub up
and down.  The space is small, with Cas on his side that way, but he manages.
 He finds the object of his desire, and spends time circling it with his index
finger.
When the outside of Cas’s hole is well slicked, he changes to his pinky and
begins to dip in between circles.  He feels his hand get pressed in and
realizes that Cas is clenching.  He moves his hand to stroke Cas’s little
bottom, giving a gentle squeeze, climbs up his body to tap his shoulder.  When
Cas looks he shakes his head, mouths the word Relax.  He slides his hand back
down Cas’s body, stopping to caress his tiny sack, liking the way the little
body squirms in response.  He slips his hand over his bare hip and back down
the little crevice.  Circling, dipping, and slowly starting to press.  And then
it happens…suddenly there is a slick little rim around just the tip of his
finger.  Dean has to close his eyes; he wishes he could grind against Sammy’s
sleeping face but he’d probably explode if he did.
Immediately it clenches, pushing him back out, but Dean is nothing if not
persistent.  Eventually he’s up to the first knuckle.  He hears the softest of
muffled squeaks from Cas and he stills, watching Sam.  He checks on Cas’s face
and realizes he’s stopped jerking himself and has both hands pressed against
his mouth, eyes squinched shut.  He takes his finger out and pulls one of Cas’s
hands back, pressing it between his legs.  Cas gives him a look that is both
plea and apology, and he strokes his face, pushes his hair back.  Relax, he
tells him again, and tickles his back for a bit with his blunt nails.  He
tickles down over his small ass and this time he’s able to start sawing his
pinky in and out slowly.  Then he pushes to the hilt and leaves it, hoping Cas
will jerk himself to completion if he doesn’t distract him.  He wishes he could
whisper encouragements, help him, but he can’t with Sam there.  Nevertheless,
his patience is rewarded when he feels the muscle around his finger clenching
and unclenching, little hips jerking, actually fucking his finger with the
movement.
Such a good boy.
Dean is quick to grip Cas's wrist, making sure he doesn't wipe any baby come on
his blanket.  He could make Cas clean it, but he's greedy; he wants it for
himself.  Still, he has to be silent about his work, mindful of Sam.  Sure
enough, Sam is sitting up and Dean slyly returns Cas's hand where it belongs,
not letting Cas jerk away in a panic that might draw more notice.  "Aw, you let
me miss Inigo's best part!"
"Oh yeah, what part's that?" he asks casually then grabs Sam and tickles him,
growling in a terrible accent, "'Hello!  My name is Inigo Montoya...'"  Sam
chimes in, giggling, for the rest.  "'You killed my father...prepare to die!'"
And then Sam is trying to wrestle free while Dean tickles him and messes his
hair.  "Gross, your hand is greasy, what'd you eat?!"  He squirms free while
Dean's still processing the question.  "Hey, Cas!"  Dean widens his eyes when
Sam jumps on top of Cas, sitting on him and giggling.  "Did you like it?  It's
great, right?"
"Get off me, Sam," Cas mutters and Sam immediately slips off.  He seems to
realize that Sam is still looking at him expectantly, "What?  Oh...it was
great...really...," he trails off distractedly, not seeming to realize and Sam
is frowning.
He opens his mouth to say something but Dean interrupts.  "All right, I'm out
of here.  Make sure you brush your teeth after all that crap you ate."
"You were the one who ate it all, Dean," Sam quips and Dean gives the back of
his head a playful shove on his way out.  
He only has to wait 5 minutes before Cas meets him in the bathroom.  Takes his
dick out.  Begins to suck and lick and stroke.  "That's my boy...oh, God,
that's my good boy..."
He will fuck this good boy, his so-called crush, but you can't rush these
things.  You take your time, draw it out, enjoy all the nuances.  That way when
the time finally comes (ha) you will look back and say...
It was worth it.
***** When Cas Socializes (He Needs Help) *****
Chapter Summary
     Cas acts a little strange at school, and Sam asks Dean to help.
Chapter Notes
     This chapter is at least partly because of a comment by sylvia24, who
     wanted to know more about Dean's threats. Hope it's satisfactory ;)
Castiel is at school and it’s lunch time.  He’s sitting by himself on a small,
grassy incline under a tree, as far away from the other kids as he can get.  He
can look down on a good portion of the playground from here if he wants.  He
sees kids climbing on the colorful jungle gym, or running around doing Cas
doesn't know what. It's not something he has any memory of ever being a part
of, not a big group like that anyway.  He thinks about the few friends he had
before moving here (Balthazar, Uriel), but stops right away.  Not safe to think
about that time (Mommy, please don't say I told--).
It’s a pretty day out, though.  The sky is blue and the air is crisp.  Cas is
having an off day, and it's making him uneasy.  He thought he could sit here in
the shade, close his eyes, and try to rest.  His lunch is untouched in the
brown paper bag beside him.  If Sam comes by and sees it, he’ll make Cas eat. 
Which is fine by Cas, it’s just that on his own when he eats sometimes he
thinks of things his stomach doesn’t like (harsh, bitter taste in his mouth,
sliminess on his tongue...no, no, don't)  But it's an off day; he's already
thinking about how he threw up that first time, when Dean let him go to the
bathroom, and brushed his teeth so Dean wouldn’t know.  He threw up in front of
Dean once, too.  He was…pretty mad...he grabbed Cas, said...
No, NO, not HERE...favorite comics:  Ultimate Spiderman, Fantastic Four, Silver
Surfer, Superman...  He shuts his eyes and concentrates and after a bit of
repetition, his breathing starts to slow, his shaking subsiding.  Now the tears
want to come, but he swallows hard and focuses on sending his mind someplace
safe.   Sam, Sam in the meadow, he has his compass, he's saying, 'C'mon, Cas,
this way!' and Cas is running, Cas is laughing...
“Hey, Castiel…can I sit with you?”  It's April Kelly, a pretty little red-
headed girl, and one of the most popular girls in their grade.  Several yards
away, a group of girls watches her progress with undisguised interest.  She
glances back, throws her friends a self-assured smile over her shoulder and
gives a little hair toss.  All of which is wasted on Cas.
She's right in front of him but he doesn't hear her.  He's very, very far away,
and, in fact, he's busy.  He’s with Sam…there’s this really tall tree at the
edge of the meadow and it shocks both of them when Cas is the better climber. 
He’s at least three branches higher than Sam, who is determinedly trying to
catch up, and Cas is laughing, telling Sam to go climb a bush or something more
his level, and then Sam looks up and says…
April shakes his shoulder.  “Castiel, are you sleeping?  I asked if I could sit
with you.  You look so lonely.”
He opens his blue eyes and looks at her with the piercing, alien gaze he’s
becoming known for.  This, girls approaching him, is happening more and more. 
There is something about Castiel now, and it’s more than Sam’s clothes (Dean
was the one behind that phenomenon; he used to replace Cas’s clothes in his
overnight bag with Sam’s, but now he just gives Cas what he wants him to
wear.)  It’s the way Cas carries himself, which is different than all the other
boys, distant and mysterious.  Even the flat way he looks at the other kids,
like inside he’s older than ten and knows things they can’t know.  He was
spacey and uncertain at the start of the school year; now it’s like the other
kids don’t exist for all he cares, like everything about them is beneath his
concern. 
“So…so can I?”  April asks, and while she was pretty confident when she first
approached, she sounds nervous now.  “I…I notice you haven’t eaten yet.  I
brought food, too.”  She holds out a pink lunch bag, one of the kinds that's
silver inside and keeps things cold.
Cas continues to stare, letting his gaze travel over her red hair, her white
blouse (no boobs yet), and denim skirt.  “Sure, you can stay.”
She beams a smile with more than a little triumph in it, and sits demurely,
legs to the side.  She starts to open her lunch bag.  “Thanks!  Tracey said you
would say no, but I told her—“
“Why don’t you open your legs so I can see up your skirt?”  Cas asks her,
looking unblinking into her eyes.
April pauses, she’s still kind of smiling but her brow wrinkles in confusion. 
“I…what?  What did you say?”
“If you sit with your back to the playground, no one will see,” Cas explains
patiently, still watching her closely; her smile is gone.  “Just pull your
underwear to the side, you don’t have to take them off.  Do you want me to do
it?  I can do it so they can't tell.”
April’s lower lip starts to tremble, her face turns red and she looks at her
lap.  “Stop it.”
“But you like me.  Right?”  Cas tilts his head to the side, frowning a little. 
“I want to see your pussy.  I’ll touch it if you want.”
April starts to cry. “Stop it, Castiel!  I’m…I’m telling!”
And she’s running away and Cas is pretty confused.  If she liked him, she
shouldn’t mind showing him her privates, and she should want him to touch her
and make her feel good.  But April is running to her friends and she’s still
crying and they’re crowding around her.  He sees Sam approach them, and April
is yelling something.  Then Sam is hugging her, and Cas wonders if she likes
Sam now.  Maybe Sam can explain this.  He’s already looking at Cas and his face
is all worried.  He always looks at Cas like that now.
Sam runs over and Cas takes out his tuna sandwich.  He knows that’s what Sam’ll
want him to do. 
“Cas, what the heck?!  What did you do to April?”  Sam is standing over him but
he doesn’t look mad, he looks…freaked out.
“I asked her to show me her pussy, Sam.  I thought she liked me, so…”
“Her pus…”  Sam can’t even finish he’s so shocked (though later he might be a
little impressed that Cas used that word).  “Cas, are you crazy?  You can’t
talk to girls like that.  You scared April.  You scared her really bad!”
“I…scared her?”  Cas looks…interested is the best word.  He sends a curious
gaze over to where April is now crying in front of a lunch lady (who is looking
grimly in Cas’s direction).  “Iscared her?”
“Cas, stop it, Cas, look at me, please!” Sam kneels in front of him, cups his
face, and his aquamarine eyes look pained.  Cas frowns, feels a pang from
somewhere deep.  “What’s wrong, Cas, this isn’t you…it’s like…you’re so
different, you don’t like anything anymore, you don’t care.  What’s happening
to you?”
He pulls gently out of Sam’s grasp and looks away in case his eyes have clues
in them (When you see Sam again you might feel like telling him what you saw,
Cas…do you know what I’d do then?) “Nothing, Sam.  I won’t say that to girls
anymore.  I…I didn’t mean to.”
“Castiel Novak!  Young man, you are in deep trouble!”
Sam glances behind him at the approaching angry woman (Miss Hester is her name;
prim and proper and not a big fan of boys to begin with) and back at Cas. 
“It’s gonna be okay, Cas.  We’ll talk later, okay?  I’ll help you.”
On impulse, Cas hugs his friend and stands up to face Miss Hester.  He doesn't
look worried to be in trouble.  He doesn't look anything. 
“I’m fine, Sam.  Everything’s fine.”
 
                                     * * *
 
“He’s not fine, Dean.”
It’s after school and Sam is cuddled in Dean’s lap on the couch, where Dean put
him when he came home so upset.  “He seems okay to me…”
“No, he’s not!” Sam says impatiently, and Dean reminds himself that if he
doesn’t want a total pussy for a brother, he has to let some sass go.  “He
doesn’t wanna eat…he used to be tired a lot but now he falls asleep at school,
even in class sometimes!  And if I didn’t go make him, he wouldn’t do his
homework at all!  That’s—that’s not like him!”  Sam looks at Dean and his blue-
hazel eyes swim with tears.  “What’s happening to him, Dean?
“Look, Sammy, that’s not really…I mean he does have a mom, and his teacher will
probably…”
“No!”  Sam pushes out of his lap impatiently and Dean forces himself to let
him.  “Nobody cares but me and you, Dean.  Mrs. Lind always acts like he's
supposed to fail and his Mom…sh-she forgets him a lot.  I went there last week,
she forgot to make dinner and he didn't tell her!  I made him mac and cheese
and I made him eat it!”
“You know how to make mac and cheese?”  Sam glares at Dean and he sighs,
watching his little brother pace.  “Look, kid, you know I love Cas”…his ass,
anyway…love that thing…”but what do you want me to do?  I’m not his parent, I’m
not a counselor.  I kinda have my hands full bringin’ you up.”
Sam’s look softens and he throws himself back on Dean.  “But you’re my big
brother.  You fix everything, Dean.  Can’t you help him?  Please, he’s…he’s my
best friend, and I…”  Sam tucks his face in Dean’s shoulder so he won’t see the
tears drop, but Dean can feel them through his shirt.  “I don’t know what to
do.”
Dean presses a kiss to his head, rubbing his back soothingly.  “Okay, little
brother, I got you.  I’ll talk to him, all right?  C’mon, wipe your sissy tears
and go get him, have him over for dinner.  That way we’ll make sure he eats.”
“Shut up, I’m not a sissy!” Sam says gruffly, but he presses a loud kiss to
Dean’s cheek and hugs tight.  “Thanks, Dean.  I know you can help him.  If he
had a big brother like you, he’d be okay.  That’s what he needs.”
Dean smiles.  “Yeah, maybe.”  He smacks Sam lightly on the ass and pushes him
off his lap.   Sam runs to get his beleaguered friend, hope in his worried
little heart.
 
“You’re doing a really bad job, Cas.” 
Dinner with Cas was yesterday:  Dean made hotdogs, beans, and the frozen
vegetables that Sam insisted he include and under his watchful eye, Cas had
eaten plenty.  But Cas is suspended from school today (told a girl to show him
her pussy, fucking awesome), so Dean suggested that he stop by for a chat. 
Amelia would probably actually object this time (that was a pretty shocking
call she received from Miss Hester…wait until she gets the one from April’s
mom).  But she’s at work and doesn’t know. 
They’re in Dean’s room, and this time Dean is sitting on the bed with a fully
clothed Cas in his lap.  “I’m really disappointed.”  Dean’s eyes are hooded and
dark, his face expressionless.
Cas feels terror spike through his ordinary numbness.  “I…I’m…”
“I’ll tell you what you’re doing.  You're fucking up at school.  You’re not
eating, so you’re getting too skinny when you should be healthy, like Sam.
 You’re acting weird around him.  And I just have a question for you, Cas.” 
Dean shoves him onto the bed on his hands and knees and stands behind him.  
Cas lets out a whimper of fear, scrumptious little sound that Dean hasn’t heard
in a while.  “What the fuck did I say would happen if you told Sam?”
“I didn't tell Sam, I didnt!!”  Cas’s voice is shrill with panic.  Dean helps
by undoing Cas’s pants, pulling them and his underwear down to his knees,
getting that little whimper again.  Cas bites his lips so he won’t beg.  Not
allowed to say no, have to want this…relax, relax... "Dean, pleeaaase, I didn't
telll," he moans in fear.
Dean smacks his ass once, but good and hard, gets the hurt cry he was looking
for.  He sucks his middle finger (he thought of going in dry but he thinks his
finger would slide right off.  Still, this lesson requires no lube).  He finds
Cas’s asshole and wriggles until he can get past the rim, shoving in roughly. 
Cas yelps in pain and Dean smiles.  If he’s honest, he really missed this.  He
puts a knee on the bed and spits on his hand, starts working a second finger in
(somewhat slowly; he has no intention of tearing flesh today).  He bends and
puts his lips next to Cas's ear, two fingers officially moving in and out now.
 “Now...what…the fuck…did I say?”
Cas is red-faced and straining, his eyes shut tightly against the burning ache,
so much worse without the stuff Dean uses, breathing hard and whining.  “Y-
you…s-said….”  He can’t, though, he can’t speak and endure this at the same
time, he whines louder and tears slip down his face. 
Dean stops sawing, but leaves his fingers in.  “Try again, Cas,” he says
gently.
It takes a minute and a few more helpless noises but he starts.  “Y-you would…”
“Will,” Dean corrects.
Cas gasps, shoulders shaking with effort, his front half falls to the bed,
bottom still lifted.  “You..will…beat, beat a-and f-fuck us both and…and m-
make…”  he trails off, makes a hopeless little sound.
“And make…?” Dean says softly…he strokes his fingers once, twice, can’t help
it.  He loves how they look stuffed in that tiny baby ass.
“A-and make…us…” he starts crying harder.  “…make us have sex…t-togeth,
together.”
Dean takes his fingers out, wipes against Cas’s pants and pulls the boy up
again on his knees.  “That’s right, beat and fuck you both and make you have
sex together,” he says tenderly.  He pulls up Cas’s underpants and pants,
buttoning him up.  Then he scoops Cas into his arms and sits.  “And that was
only one thing I said, right?  I said a lot of things I could…or will do if Sam
finds out.  Isn’t that right?”
Cas sniffles and nods, shuddering.  He’s thinking of the one where he doesn’t
live, and Dean takes Sam away with him. 
“So, why are you being such a bad boy then, Cas?”  He rocks Cas like a baby,
one arm hooked under his knees, the other behind his back.  “You promised you’d
be so good.”
“Dean, I’m tryyyyyyyyying,”  Cas whines, bursting into fresh tears, and he
presses against Dean’s chest, clinging to him desperately.  “I tryyy and I
tryyy to be good, Dean, I don’t…I dunno know what to dooo…pleeeaaase
don’t…don’t want…I didn't tell...”
“Shhhh, my baby, little baby angel, you’re so scared, huh?  Scared so bad, huh,
baby?" Dean rocks him, soothes him,"I know, I know.  Shh.  You didn’t mean it,
right?  You want to be my good little angel, right?” .
Cas pulls back, sniffling and nodding, looking desperate.  “Wanna be good,
Dean!   Want so bad…”
“Shh, that’s a good boy.  How about I help you, okay?  How about I give you a
few rules to follow?  It’s not your fault, is it, baby?  You didn’t know any
better how to act so Sam doesn’t find out, huh?  You need my help.”
Cas nods some more, still catching his breath.  “Please help, Dean...don’t want
him to know...I..I promise.”  He coughs a little and Dean pats and strokes his
back.  He reaches for the bottled water he keeps at his bedside and sits Cas up
enough to help him take a sip.
“That's my good baby,” Dean presses gentle kisses to wet cheeks, ignores the
impulse to lick.  He puts the water back and takes a tissue from his night
table (gonna have to buy those in bulk).  He wipes lightly at Cas's eyes, holds
the tissue for him to blow his nose.  “Okay, little angel, you ready?  The
first rule is you have to take good care of this body so I can use it, right? 
So that means you have to eat, breakfast, lunch, and dinner at least, baby. 
And if the school has a snack for you, you eat that, too.  I know they give out
milk, I want you to drink it.  Okay?  Can you remember that one?”
“Yes, Dean,” Cas says softly, still pressed against Dean.  He can’t help but
lean into these cuddles, this gentle treatment, so rare, like balm on all his
fear and pain.
“Sure, you can, my smart little angel," he presses a kiss to his hair. "Another
rule is you have to do your homework every day.  You can come do it with Sam,
or you can have Sam at your house, but you have to do it.  No more forgetting. 
You do it because I say so.  If you have a hard time concentrating, you find
Sam or you can come sit with me and do it.  Okay?”  he jostles him lightly. 
“Still with me, baby?”
Cas had his eyes closed, but he opens them now and Dean sees how alert he is;
he doesn’t dare zone out on these rules.  “Yes, sorry, yes, Dean.  I’ll do my
homework.”
Dean kisses his lips, but closed mouth at least, and hugs him.  “Good, baby,
very good.  Sam says you’re really tired, huh?  You’re so tired, baby?  Why
don’t you sleep at night time when you’re supposed to?”
Cas’s eyes slide sideways, his lips tighten…this is a tough one and he has to
be careful.  “I…it’s scary in the n-night.”
Dean clicks his tongue sympathetically.  “Because of your mean ex-boyfriend,
that’s right.  Hmm.  I can help you with that, baby.  How about I give you
Sam’s special medicine?  If your bedtime is 9, you take it at 8:30.  It doesn’t
taste very good, but it’ll make you so sleepy, baby, and you won’t even have
dreams.”  (Dean has no idea if that’s true, but fuck it.  This is a good idea.)
“I’ll teach you how to take it, Cas, and then you have to promise you’ll never,
ever take more than I tell you.”
Cas looks at him, wanting to prolong this part where Dean is being nice.  “What
happens if you take too much?”
Dean frowns, caressing Cas’s face.  “You’d get really, really sick and your
head will hurt and you’ll throw up a lot.  Don’t break that rule, Castiel.  If
you hurt yourself…I’d think you were trying to get away from me.  We know I
wouldn’t like that, huh?”
Cas presses closer, Dean feels another shudder run through him.  “I won’t,
Dean.”
“Mmm, I know, baby,” Dean kisses his temple and rocks him some more, thinking. 
“Cas, you know how you like to play pretend with Sam?  Well, I need you to play
a big long game of pretend around everybody but me.  It’s hard, I know, but
it’s one of the rules, so I want you to do it.”
“What…what do I pretend to be?” Cas asks him fearfully, tensing up again; this
rule sounds really hard. 
“Pretend you’re not a slut, baby.  Pretend you’re not my boyfriend, and you’re
the way you were before.”
Cas stares at him, eyes shining with raw anguish.  “But Dean--!”
Dean tightens his fingers warningly, digging slightly, and Cas cuts off.  “I’m
not saying it’s easy, Cas.  But you have to.  And if you don’t, you’re gonna
get in big fucking trouble.”
Cas whimpers, ready to start crying again, and Dean hushes him, gentling his
touch, pressing kisses over closed eyes.  “It’s not that bad, Cas, the rules I
already gave you are going to help you pretend.  Right?  No more being too
skinny, no more falling asleep at school or forgetting to do your work.  That’s
pretending, too.”
“It is?” Cas whispers, looking so worried and young.
“Sure, sweetness, it is,” Dean hugs him close, breathing in his scent, baby
sweat and tears.  “And when you’re with Sam…”  Dean thinks a moment, kissing
the top of Cas’s head.  “How about when you’re with Sam, that can be your safe
time?”
Cas blinks at Dean and there’s a spark of hope in his eyes.  “Safe?”  It’s
tiny, though; Dean could snuff it with a look.
He chooses not to, for the moment.   “Yeah.  No more boyfriend stuff when
you’re with Sam, except after he goes to bed on Sleepover Night.  Would you
like that baby?”
It’s a trick question and Cas is young, not stupid.  “No, Dean, always wanna do
boyfriend things with you.”
Dean laughs (this shit doesnotget old).  “I know you do, my baby angel.  I do,
too.  But we’ll still have lots of times together, when Sam’s other friends
come by, and we have our special nights.”  He kisses Cas long and lingering;
Cas opens up immediately.  Satisfied, he pulls back.  “But I think if you're
always safe when Sam is near you, you’ll be able to pretend around him.”
“Okay, Dean,” Cas says softly; he wants Dean to be right, he wants some time to
feel safe…he remembers feeling safe with Sam, feeling good with him.  Still
gross, still bad, still wrong, how do I…?
“Do you think you can remember all your new rules, baby?  I really need you to
do a lot better now.  Why don’t you say them back for me.”
“Eat all my meals and snacks at school,” Cas recites obediently, voice still a
little hoarse.  “Do my homework every day.  Take Sam’s medicine before I go to
bed the way you tell me to.  Pretend I’m not a slut.”
No hesitation anymore for that, Dean’s impressed.  “Good boy.  What do you say
for the gift I gave you?  No more boyfriend time when you’re with my Sammy?”
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, and tries to sit up.  Dean lets him, so he can hug
Dean, kiss him on the lips.  He hugs him a second time as tight as he can, and
Dean can feel his need, his longing…feeling magnanimous, he hushes him some
more, rubbing his back.  “That’s my good boy…baby angel.”
When he ends it (gently), Cas pulls back.  “Should I take my clothes off now,
Dean?”  he touches the bottom of his shirt.
“Actually, sweetheart, why don’t you take a nap in Sammy’s bed, okay?  He’ll be
home in a few hours.  If you’re still asleep, he can wake you up.  Would you
like that?”
“Yes, thank you, Dean.”  Although Dean has a little trouble letting him go, and
they kiss and touch for a while.
***** A Little Boy, His Mommy, and a Man *****
Chapter Summary
     The story of Cas and Jimmy, (and what happens when Dean misses Cas)
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Once there was a Little Boy who had a Mommy but no Daddy.  The Mommy was nice,
but she worked hard and was sad, so the Boy tried his best to be good for her. 
Then the Mommy met a Man, and she was happy all the time.  And the Man was
nice, so the Boy was happy, too.  The Man said, ‘How can you be only seven?! 
You seem so grown up, the way you take care of your mom!’  And the Boy was
proud, because he always tried to be a good, big boy for his Mommy.
Then the Man came to live with the Boy and his Mommy and they were even
happier.  The Mommy was still busy and tired, but the Man didn’t work and he
spent lots of time with the Boy.  They played Trouble and Twister endlessly,
and the Man never got bored.  They got up early and watched Saturday morning
cartoons and the Man made him waffles.  They took showers and brushed teeth and
hair together, and when the Man trimmed his scruffy beard, the Little Boy
pretended to shave, too.  And whenever the Man took the Boy places (and he was
always taking him places), when someone would say ‘what a beautiful boy you
have’ or ‘your son is so polite’, the Man never said, ‘Oh, that’s not my son.’ 
He always said ‘Why, thank you’, and hugged the Boy up as if he was really his
Daddy.  And the Little Boy would glow. 
The Little Boy thought he loved the Man very much.
The Mommy couldn’t always tuck the Little Boy into bed, because she was a
waitress and sometimes that means working late.  It used to be a little sad,
but then it was okay, because the Man always did it.  And the Boy would never
say it, but the Man was better at it than the Mommy, because when he read a
story he always did all the voices.  Then he would rub and tickle the Boy’s
back until he fell asleep. 
Except one time he woke up cold, and the Man was taking his pajamas off.  The
Boy was confused, but the Man said he had an accident and it was okay.  The Boy
realized his pajamas were wet and sticky, and he got really embarrassed.  He
was a big boy and those things didn’t happen anymore.  But the Man comforted
him, took him to the bathroom and cleaned him up.  It took so long that the Boy
fell asleep standing.  And when the Man put him back to bed, he promised the
accident could be their secret.  The Boy was grateful.
Then the Man started to tickle more than his back after stories.  If the Mommy
was home, the Man came back later to do it, even if he woke the Little Boy. 
The Boy knew what ‘bad touching’ was and told him so, but the Man said that it
wasn’t bad if it felt good and if the two people really loved each other.  The
Man said he really loved the Little Boy, and he looked so sad.  He said he
always wanted to have a son.  And the Boy said okay because he wanted the Man
to smile again, and it was his most secret wish to have a Daddy.  The Man was
so happy with the Little Boy.  He said these things are between men, and the
Little Boy should never tell his mother about it, because she would be sad and
feel left out.  The Little Boy agreed, because he remembered when the Mommy was
sad and he hated it.  The Man said he should call him Daddy, but only when the
Mommy wasn't around.
It started with the Man touching under the Boy’s pajamas, but soon he was only
happy if he could take them all the way off.  Sometimes the Little Boy got
cold, but the Man was pretty sure his touching could warm him enough.  It
didn’t always, but the Boy had the feeling the Man didn’t want to hear about
it.  Then came a day when the Man opened his own pants, too, and took his thing
out.  He was touching it and he wanted the Little Boy to touch it.  But the
Little Boy was really scared, and this time he said No.
The Man acted really disappointed in the Boy, and he got really sad again.  He
said it wasn’t fair if only one person got all the good feelings and the other
person didn’t.  And when the Boy said he didn’t want any more good feelings,
the Man said it was too late, and he owed him.  The Man told him this is how
Daddies and sons show they love each other and he guessed the Little Boy would
never have a Daddy.  And when he started to cry, the Man said, 'you can cry,
but cry quiet like a big boy.'  And so he started touching the Man, who made
funny noises and then sprayed white sticky stuff all over the Little Boy. 
The Man really liked that and he made the Boy do it a lot.  Sometimes even in
the day time, if the Mommy wasn’t around, or in the car.  The Man was always
talking about how pretty the Boy was, how much he loved the Little Boy, but he
was saying it weird.  He started giving the Boy the same kisses he gave the
Boy’s Mommy.  Then he started kissing the Mommy less and the Little Boy more. 
The Little Boy started trying to make the Mommy stay with them, or make up
reasons not to go places with the Man.  But the Mommy didn’t understand, and
she would get upset with the Boy.  And the Man kept saying, 'you can’t tell
her…you’ll make her so sad, she’ll die'.  And the Boy remembered her sad, and
he didn’t tell.
Then the Man wanted the Little Boy to put his mouth where his pee comes out and
the Little Boy said No again, and meant it.  But the Man got really mad, which
the Boy had never seen before.  He grabbed the Little Boy and forced his thing
in the Boy’s mouth.  The Little Boy choked and tried to scream but the thing
filled up his whole mouth and he couldn’t breathe.  The Man was saying this was
what he got for being a bad Boy, and that if he didn’t start doing what he was
told, the Man would do it this way every time.   But the Boy got sick all over
the Man’s thing, and neither the Man nor his thing seemed to like that too
much.    He waited a few weeks and tried again, but the Boy got sick a second
time.
So the Man said he would put his thing in a different place.  He said it was
gonna hurt, but it was the Boy’s fault because he wouldn’t use his mouth.  The
Man didn’t seem sad though, he seemed really excited.  He made the Boy lie down
with his knees on his chest and he put Vaseline on his bottom.  The Man put
some on his fingers and started really hurting the Boy.  The Little Boy started
to scream and cry, but the Man took a stuffed bear and jammed the arm in the
Boy’s mouth, far enough to make him gag.  He held it there with one hand while
the other kept up the torment.  The Boy tried to struggle, but the Man used his
weight to hold him still.  Then the Man flipped him on his stomach, held him
down, and he felt his body rip apart.  The next thing the Boy knew, he was
still on his bed but the bear and the man were gone.  He was in the worst pain
of his life and there was thick wetness coming out of him. 
The Man was really scared, and when he snatched the Boy off the bed to bring
him to the bathroom, the Boy almost passed out again from the pain.  The Man
pressed a towel against the Boy’s bottom while he filled the tub.  He put the
Little Boy in the water, which turned cloudy red almost immediately.  The Boy
was howling, but his Mommy wasn’t home.  Nobody could hear him but the Man, who
kept yelling at him to Shut_Up!  The Man was gathering up the Boy’s sheets and
rolling them into a ball.  By the time the Man had the Boy out of the tub and
was alternating between pressing gauze pads and an ice pack wrapped in a towel,
the Boy wasn’t making any more sounds.  The pain faded to a dull, constant
ache.  The Man left the Boy alone on his bed wrapped in a blanket, and when the
Boy heard his car leave, he wondered if he was ever coming back.  When he did,
he had cream that he said would help him get better and a pack of those diapers
that get pulled up like underwear.  Normally the Boy would’ve argued against
baby diapers, but he let the Man dress him and didn’t say or do anything at
all.  Then the Man held him and cried and said that if the Boy promised not to
tell, he would never touch him again.
‘Okay, Daddy,’ said the Boy, and the Man even kept his promise for a while.  He
was so gentle and loving while the Boy’s bottom healed, even though he fibbed
to the Mommy about taking the Boy to the doctor.  All the Mommy knew was that
the Little Boy was having trouble going to the bathroom, and she was so happy
to see the Little Boy wanting to be around the Man again.  The Man took care of
the Boy and his bottom got all better. 
When it started up again, the Man was different.  He would talk so very nice to
the Boy, and he never got mad anymore.  But no matter what, he would put the
stuffed animal or pillow corner in the Boy’s mouth, hold him down, and do what
he wanted.  He did it differently; he used greasier stuff, and he didn’t go in
as far, so the Boy didn’t bleed as openly.  But it hurt every single time,
splitting him open, burning like there was acid inside his bottom.  He couldn’t
play very much anymore, and it still hurt to go to the bathroom.  The Man
didn't care; he just made him drink something that made the stuff come out
through the sore, raw little tunnel.
The Boy turned 8, and then 9, with the Man still climbing in his bed.  The Man
still acted nice, so the Boy still begged sometimes, but mostly he just put the
stuffed animal or pillow in his mouth and cried.  By then the Mommy was pretty
sad, too.  She and the Man were always arguing, because he didn’t want tobe
with her anymore; she thought he wasn’t inlove with her anymore.  He said he
was and he was thinking of her because she was always so tired.  He wanted her
to take 'those pills the doctor gave you to help you sleep'.   But later he
would tell the Boy that he was in love with the Boy and not his mother.  And
the Boy was really confused, because the Man still made him call him Daddy.
When Mommy was really unhappy, she kept telling the Man maybe he should leave
and the Boy was so hopeful.  But the Man tried to make up by taking her out and
leaving the Boy with a sitter.  They came back late and went in the Mommy’s
room, making the weird noises like they used to.  But the Man still came to see
the Little Boy later.  He smelled really bad, and was talking funny, like he
couldn’t get his words right.  And he did it to the Little Boy almost as bad as
the first time. 
The next day the Man slept late and the Mommy heard the Little Boy on the
toilet.  She saw the blood and the Boy was forced at last to tell.  The Mommy
cried and held him and promised it wouldn’t happen ever again.  She cleaned him
up and got the bleeding to stop, then set him in his room.  She gave him the
iPod Shuffle that he got for his 8th birthday and told him to put his music
really loud .  She said not to come out until she came to get him.  And the Boy
started to cry, because he was really scared for her. 
But when she came back to get the Boy, the Man was gone from the house.  She
took the Boy to the doctor and the doctor called some nice policemen.  The Man
didn’t live with them after that, but the Little Boy wasn’t happy anymore.  The
Mommy was sadder than the Little Boy had ever seen her, and when the school
year was over, she said, ‘We need a fresh start.’  So the Little Boy and his
Mommy moved away to a nice small town in Kansas.  The Little Boy started a new
school, where he met another sweet Little Boy, named Sam.
Who lived with his big brother, Dean.
 
                                     * * *
 
So, it’s been a couple of days, and Dean is really fucking horny.  He had to
back off Cas a bit with the new ‘Not Around Sam’ rule, and it’s actually
pissing him off a little.  Oh, he’ll stick to it; he still thinks it’s a good
idea.  But don’t you know that little shit is taking advantage? 
The first problem is that he doesn’t always sit on Dean’s lap or even next to
Dean when he’s with Sam now.  Even if Sam does, Cas will ignore them and sit on
the love seat.  Or wherever they’re not.   It makes Sam a little uncomfortable,
as though Cas is growing out of cuddling Dean, while Sam is not.  So then Sam
will sometimes move off of Dean.  This makes Dean want to spank Cas every time
Sam leaves the room.  Cas seems to know that this is iffy behavior, so he
switches it up.  But Dean isn’t a big believer in behaving some of the time.
Problem number 2 is that Cas made another friend.
His new friend is a younger boy named Kevin Tran that Sam hangs out with
sometimes; a little Asian kid who somehow manages to be even fucking nerdier
than the other two.  It’s mindboggling.  Like Dean can’t with this kid; he
looks at his face and is instantly fucking bored. (He does imagine fucking his
extra tiny body though…kid’s in their grade but he’s like 8.  Fucking
delicious.  What?  He’s not gonna do it.  Fairly sure he’s not.)
Having a second friend means that Cas is now outside sometimes when Sam has his
little crowd over.  Cas and Kevin don’t mix with the rest, but wander off and
do math or read old books, or stick light sabers up each other’s asses (okay,
that one he’d kind of like to see.)  That’s what he’s doing during time that
should belong to Dean.  He doesn’t say a word about it, but he’ll punish him
just the fucking same.  Don’t you worry about that.
It’s just that Dean believes a punishment works best when one’s guard is down. 
When one is congratulating one’s stupid shit self on getting something over. 
Especially on somebody that one should know by now never to fuck with.  It’s
fine, though, it’s great.  Dean does not mind driving this point home as many
times as it takes.
So he fades a little to the back.  And waits.
Sure enough, the three dorks come up with the shittiest way to spend a Saturday
in the history of man, and they’re just super excited about it.  Mrs. Tran is
going to pick Sam and Cas up at the Winchesters’, and drive them to the Natural
History Museum.  For fun!  I mean, yeah, sure, Dean went there as a kid with
his class, and he liked all the fossils and whatnot.  But what kind of geeks go
on their own time?  He makes fun of Sam relentlessly, and must admit that Sam
is kind of charming in his enthusiasm.  He gives him some money (Sam’s
allowance is small compared to his, which is supposed to make up for the fact
that he isn’t allowed to get a job) because he wants him to come back all
decked out in dinosaur stuff.  Sam is probably too mature for that, but Dean
likes the image.
Cas is excited about it, too.  Well, for Cas.  So, slightly less mopey, with
the occasional half-smile, when he remembers where he is and who he’s talking
to and what they’re talking about.  Honestly, he could be a little less gloomy
given how often he gets his dick sucked by Dean.  Lots of people would kill to
be him, yet Dean saves his lips for sweet little Cas.  That fuck.
So Sam is waiting wriggly little puppy style by the front windows in the hall,
watching for Mrs. Tran.  Dean is helpfully waiting on the back steps.  He has a
machete (as one does sometimes) and he’s sharpening it with a field sharpening
stone.  He likes the sound it makes.  He does not look up as Cas approaches,
but Cas stops anyway expectantly, eyes on Dean, body already tense.  He should
probably relax that shit.  “Hello, beautiful.”
Cas reddens and looks around quickly, as though to hint to Dean that there’s a
good reason he can’t kiss him right now.  “Hello, Dean.”
“Excited for today, baby angel?”
Cas swallows and looks at his shoes.  He already knows.  “I…no, Dean,” his
lower lip trembles, “I was hoping I could stay with you.”
Dean grins like the devil, lifts his lashes to look at Cas.  “Then go tell ‘em
you ain’t feelin’ good, baby.”
He nods and brushes past Dean on his way into the house.  Dean holds the door
open to listen, but all he hears is Sam’s best kicked puppy voice.  A horn
beeps out front and Sam calls his good-bye, probably giving it an extra minute
just in case Dean is coming for a hug and a kiss.  But Dean’s already in an
entirely different mode.  He sheathes his machete and tosses it to himself,
catching the handle every time.  He hangs it on a hook (needs his hands free)
and strolls in to the front of the house. 
Cas is standing at the front hall in front of an entryway table.  He’s just
standing there, watching his friends and Mrs. Tran chatting and laughing in the
car, but his body tenses as Dean enters the room.  Dean walks up behind him and
slides his arms around him, trapping his arms against his sides.  He leans down
(kid is so short!) and presses his lips against Cas’s ear.  “It’s a good thing,
baby,” he grinds Cas into the table, letting him feel how hard and ready he
is.  “I know you’ve missed this, huh?  And today’s a special day, after
all…gonna fuck you today Cas.  You’ve been wanting this big dick so long, and
today’s the day, right?”
“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, and his voice only shakes a little.  “Can’t wait for you
to fuck me.”
“Mmm,” he moves his hands down to Cas’s hips.  The car is still in front of the
house; if any of them look over, there is only a sheer white curtain between
them, Cas, and the looming figure of Dean behind him.  But they don’t turn. 
“Wave good-bye to your fucking friends, Cas,” Dean growls, and slams Cas down
onto the table.
Chapter End Notes
     I realize the second half doesn't have much going on; but Dean is
     ready to fuck Cas, and I wasn't going to rush it. I wanted to show
     Cas's sexual history, such as it is (brutal, kid barely got a break),
     so that you might get an idea where his head could be right now, with
     this about to happen. Hope you enjoyed ;)
***** Eat You All Up (So There's Nothing Left) *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean thinks Cas could stand to be a little less Cas. And he rapes
     him.
     (There is no Cas in this chapter. Only Dean and what he does to him.)
Dean strokes his hands up over Cas’s back, under his t-shirt.  He still loves
how soft the skin is, how delicate the bones, how his large calloused hands
cover so much of the boy.  Cas is bent over the table making helpless little
sounds, and Dean is grinding against him, just using him like that.  He leans
over him and loves how the little body just irradiates fear.  Fear of him, Dean
Winchester, fear of the power he has over someone so young and defenseless.
 And he should be afraid.
Today he will be taken.
They're still in front of the window.  If he lifts his eyes from the shaking
little body, he can see the row of neat if slightly run-down homes.  His
neighbors are out in full weekend warrior mode, mowing lawns, staining decks,
tending gardens, etc.  All that ordinary suburban bullshit and he's here so
close to them, molesting a terrified child.  Their neighbor's child, in fact.
 No, wait…he sends a hand around, slides it down Cas’s pants and underwear and
cups his little boy parts, palming them, stroking…nowhe’s molesting a child. 
That’s right, Mrs. Winslow, got a handful of baby dick right now.  Fact is, the
Neighborhood Watch around here is a joke.  It's always been that way.  For as
long as Dean can remember.
Dean is having an off day, but his version is nothing like Cas's.  He’s all
keyed up and edgy; he can't distinguish his lust from his rage.  When he looks
at Cas he simultaneously sees something that he wants to steal for himself and
something that already belongs to him; something that should fucking know that
by now and give it up.  You’d think he’d be used to this; he’s been all over
every inch of Cas in the last couple of months.  Truth is it isn’t enough.  He
needs to fuck this kid.  He needs this, to own, to ruin and he’s more than done
waiting.  He chose Cas because he’d already been fucked; he knew he’d break
faster.  But now he’s obsessed with obliterating Jimmy’s influence on Cas.  Cas
will think of Dean first in all things, even this.  Especially this.  Jimmy
will be nothing to him and Dean will be everything.
He realizes he’s growling as he runs his hands over the trembling boy, who no
doubt thinks Dean is going to fuck right through his little body.  For no real
reason at all, he pulls Cas back and shoves him sideways to the floor, just
this side of too hard, gets the childlike cry he wanted.  “Take your fucking
clothes off.  Then get over here and suck my dick.  Be quick about it, I wanna
fuck your whiny mouth so you don’t forget what that mouth is for.”  He unzips,
takes his achingly hard dick out and strokes, keeping his eyes on the
gorgeously terrified boy.  He has so little control when it comes to Cas, but
if he comes, Cas’ll just get him hard again.  As many times as it takes.
Cas is shaking so badly he can barely get his clothes off, but then he’s
putting his flower pink lips around Dean’s cock and Dean has to groan for him. 
He can get about two inches in now.  He still gags all the time, has to stop
and start again, but he’s fucking ten, so Dean forgives him.  His face is
smaller than Dean’s hand.  So when Dean puts his hands in Cas’s dark waves and
fucks into his warm, wet little mouth, he curbs his rage, keeps to the space
that Cas can mostly handle, even though it leaves most of his dick neglected. 
He wants Cas to get good at this, grow up sucking Dean’s dick to perfection. 
That takes encouragement, not a damaged esophagus.
“Put your hands on it…ah…that’s it.  Fuck, gettin' good at this,” his voice is
dark, guttural.  He tugs back a little and pushes Cas’s head, his way of saying
he wants that mouth licking and sucking down the shaft, pushing his face slowly
down to his balls.  “Lick my sack…oh fuck, baby…that’s it, get it in that
little mouth, ‘swhat you’re good for, right?  Fucking babyslut…”
He's back in Cas's mouth in time to come, watching him choke, white come
spurting out of the sides of his pretty lips, and down his chin, to his skinny
chest.  He grabs Cas by the hair while he’s still sputtering.  “Swallow,” he
growls, and Cas does, timidly swiping it from his own cheeks on tiny fingers
into his pink little mouth, the way he knows Dean likes.  Dean helps him, but
the boy still has come on his neck and chest when Dean drops to his knees in
front of him, still taller this way.  He covers the boy’s chest with one hand,
rubbing the sticky come into his skin.  “Cas, I’m gettin’ real tired of the
bullshit.  I know you’re just a kid, but I need you to start catchin’ on to
what we’re doing here.” 
He crawls over Cas’s small form like a predator over meat, forcing him down and
back.  He nips small, biting kisses to Cas’s lips, neck, and chest, hearing
frightened little gasps.  He tastes himself all over the boy, just the way he
should taste.  Cas puts his little hands on Dean’s firm chest, but he doesn’t
try to push, just looks pleadingly into Dean’s eyes.  “Dean???” he whines
tearfully. 
Sorry, Dean isn’t taking requests.  “I’m so fucking tired of you thinking about
things that aren’t me.  Don’t you understand yet?”  His voice is low and he
puts one hand around Cas’s throat, slowly tightening his grip.  The little boy
starts to choke and kick and squirm, tiny fingers digging uselessly at Dean’s
hand, but Dean is implacable against him.  “I own you.  Everything about you is
for me, and you will never get away.  You could tell your Mommy and the police
and the whole world, and it wouldn’t stop me.  Because.  You’re.  Mine.”  He
kisses Cas’s lips while he’s still choking him, loving the frantic struggles
beneath him.  He opens his hand and the kid gasps into his mouth.  With
impressive prowess, Dean is just suddenly standing.  Cas curls on his side,
choking, gulping in air, and Dean watches, looking more impassive than he
actually feels.  His heart is pounding; he knows he is losing his shit, and
that isn't what he wants with Cas.  The orgasm helped, took the edge off, but
he needs more than that or he’s going to do something he’ll regret.  This
fucking kid.
“Kneel and wait for me,” Dean tells him without looking back to see if he
obeys.  He heads to the living room to his father’s liquor cabinet and grabs a
half-finished bottle of whiskey.  His Dad won’t say a word about it, pretty
much stays out of Dean’s way so long as Dean raises his younger son for him, he
guesses.  Dean takes a swig straight from the bottle and closes his eyes,
letting it burn through him.  Bottle in hand he stalks over and yanks the boy
up by one skinny arm, making him cry out. 
“Maybe you’re just not mine enough, huh Cas?  Fuckin’ fix that right now.” 
  Drink in one hand, Fucktoy in the other, Dean literally drags Cas up the
stairs to his room.
He flings Cas inside, slams and locks the door behind him.  Sweeps green eyes,
gone dark with hunger and fury, over the pale, delicate body of his trembling
angel.  He sees a red mark where he grabbed Cas’s arm, realizes it will
probably bruise.  He’s being careless but he can’t deny he loves seeing it.  If
he could, he would bite and mark every inch of pale skin.  Cas isn’t crying,
exactly; more like tears are seeping out that he isn’t aware of; his baby teeth
are actually chattering, and he seems to be having a hard time getting a decent
breath. 
Dean steps up close, invading his space, backing him until his bottom hits the
bed and he gives a startled little cry.  He flinches and whimpers when Dean’s
hand moves, but Dean just strokes his hair, tipping his head back lightly. 
“Need you to know something, Cas.  I know you got fucked for a long time and
you got away.  But that’s because that guy was a bitch, or you’d still be his. 
Understand?  A real man would never…,” he strokes Cas’s face, “ever,” runs a
finger over his sweet lips, “let you go.  Until he was done with you.  Was he
done with you, Cas?”
Cas swallows hard, his voice breathy, sounding even younger, “N-no, Dean.”
“Didn’t think so.  Tired of lyin’ to you, Cas.  Let me tell you how it is, and
you just gotta be a big boy and understand.  Use some of those book-nerd
smarts, ‘kay?”  Cas nods, sobbing a little; Dean takes that to mean he’s taking
it in.  “I don’t give a shit you’re a little boy.  I know you don’t wanna do
these things and I don’t care.  You’re gonna do them or you’re gonna get fucked
up.”  He cups Cas’s face in his hand.  “Don’t matter what you want anymore. 
Don’t matter what anyone else thinks.  All that matters to you is what I want. 
Every time you take a piss, you think about if that’s what I want you to do. 
Everything you say, everywhere you go, you think about what I want from you. 
You do something I don’t like, you tell me yourself and take your fucking
punishment.  Best assume I’m always followin’ you, always watchin’, just like
that day in the woods.” He tightens his grip; he’ll leave marks here, too, if
he doesn’t let go fast enough.  “Understand?”
“Y-yes,” Cas sobs.  “Please...” Dean lets go, caresses the little face, so
beautiful and scared, forces a kiss into his mouth that Cas can’t even begin to
respond to. 
“Time to fuck.  Get on the bed.” Dean tips the bottle to his lips and watches
that naked little ass crawl; someone’s improving. 
Cas lies on the bed, bottom up, and tucks Dean’s pillow into his mouth.  His
shoulders are shaking; Dean guesses he’s crying. 
“What the fuck are you doing?”  Dean is momentarily nonplussed and then his
green eyes narrow.  He snatches the boy back up, hearing him yelp, and grabs
him by the shoulders, digging in his fingers so the boy squirms in pain.  He
puts his face close to Cas’s, grits out, “That what you do for Jimmy, Cas?” 
Cas whimpers in fear.  “You think he’s here with you?  I’ll fucking see him
dead, I’ll see you both dead first.  I’m fucking you now, you got that?”  He
smacks Cas’s ass hard, squeezes, yanks his hand off in a way that leaves
scratches.  This kid is leaving with all kinds of marks today.
“Dean, yours, please, yours!!!” Cas begs incoherently, and it soothes something
in Dean.  He realizes he has to calm down, has to calm Cas down, or he really
will rip him apart.  And he doesn’t want to.  He mostly doesn’t want to. 
Today.
Dean steps back, picks up the whiskey and drinks.  On impulse, he tugs Cas over
and pours whiskey into his mouth, pressing a hand over it to keep him from
spitting it out as much as he can.  “Uh-uh, swallow.  That’s it…I know it
burns.”  He likes watching this baby drink hard liquor, likes seeing him cough
and sputter.  He likes seeing it spill down his naked body, where Dean can lick
it up.
It’s so sexy that it calms him towards Cas for the first time today.  He
doesn’t give him much, and given how much he spits out, he probably got a
shot’s worth.  He’s not trying to get him sick (Cas doesn’t need any help in
that department).  “That’s gonna relax you, give it a minute.  We gotta calm
down, you and me, huh, baby?”  He kisses him, gentler this time, letting Cas
participate, open on his own.  Both boys taste like come and whiskey and Dean
loves it.  Cas leans into the kiss almost desperately, as though he can
convince Dean by that alone to please stop hurting and scaring him.  “Here,
Cas, a little more…good boy…gonna feel good, baby, you’ll see.”  He licks the
whiskey off Cas’s face, kissing down his neck to the hollow of his throat, and
Cas sends tentative little arms up around Dean, making him hum into Cas’s neck,
tickling him a bit.
He needs skin to skin, and starts to undress.  He stands the boy up on the bed
and draws him close.  “Look, Cas, touch here…you’ll get muscles like this
someday if you want.”  He runs Cas’s hands over his abs, and this time when he
lets go, Cas keeps touching, lightly, timidly running over each firm ridge.  He
still has tear tracks on his face but he’s not crying, and he looks at Dean for
approval.  Once again:  How it Fucking Should Be 101.
“That’s it,” Dean tells him and gently pulls in his hips, sliding to knead the
little bottom.  “See how this works, baby?  You do what I like, and I can be
sweet to you."  With Cas standing on the bed, his little dick is pressed into
Dean’s stomach.  It isn’t hard, but Dean can fix that…he licks his palm and
strokes; he’ll never get tired of how small Cas is, how fragile.  He kisses the
side of Cas’s neck, up to the tiny shell of his ear.  “Such a pretty little
dick, baby…gettin’ so hard for me.”  Cas’s breathing gets unsteady for a
different reason now, he lets out a little uncertain moan.  “That’s it,
baby…’s’okay to like the parts that feel real good.  ‘S’just us here, nobody’s
gonna know but me.”
He stops to take the rest of his clothes off, climbs onto the bed with Cas, and
turns them so Cas is on top.  He pulls him down for kisses, stroking over his
body, and before long he sees Cas’s movements become languid.  “Grind your cock
against me, baby…gonna feel so good.”  And the boy scoots back on Dean’s body,
until he’s sitting with Dean’s cock between his legs.  He braces his hands on
Dean’s hips and starts humping against him.  Dean lifts up on his forearms to
watch; it is the most wanton, fucked up thing he’s ever seen.  With alcohol
fogging up his brain, Cas is fucking against Dean like he never has, small face
red with effort, cute little furrow in his brow, letting out tiny kittenish
sounds.  Dean has to pull him off his dick or he’ll lose it.
He tugs the boy up next to him and they full on make out; Cas tastes like
whiskey, tears, come, and under that still the perfect clean taste of innocent
little boy.  Dean moans into his mouth and puts him on his back; he needs him. 
Cas lies pliant with his little legs spread, cheeks pink and flush, blue eyes
glassy, looking beautifully corrupt.  Dean takes out the lube and slicks up his
hand.  “Cas…wanna show you something…”  He works a finger in the boy, and it’s
easier this time than ever.  He kisses the baby-smooth skin of Cas’s chest, his
sweet throat, his tiny lips, and works a second finger inside.  Gently, he
curls his practiced fingers in just the right place and Cas lets out a sweet
cry, eyes going wide, lips parting.  “Deeaan??”
“Feels good, right?”  He curls again and Cas squirms, baby prick looking
impossibly hard against his little tummy.  Cas’s hand slides tentatively toward
it and away, uncertain.  “You can touch, baby, it’s okay…here, make it wet.” 
He greases Cas’s little hand, biting his lip when Cas starts stroking his tiny
length, more skilled than a 5th grader has any right to be.  Dean slides his
fingers back inside and works the little gland.  Cas writhes and pants, looking
so beautiful and pink and debauched, and Dean is aching for him.  He comes
after only a minute or two, mewling and arching his back. 
Dean starts to scissor his fingers, trying to stretch this little baby.  Cas is
as open as he can be for Dean, if oversensitive.  His eyes are closed but his
brows furrow at the stretching, and Dean loves the pretty little whines he
makes.  “Shh, baby, gotta get you ready…need to be mine now…right, baby?
“Yours, Dean,” Cas says sleepily, whiskey doing its job.  Dean sends in a third
finger and Cas whimpers a bit but doesn’t even pull away.  Dean feels like he
must be drunk, too, seeing Cas stuffed so impossibly full.  He has to be
careful, or the rim will stick to his fingers and turn out (which would look so
fucking hot...no, no, he won't).  When Cas is as loose as he can make a fifth
grade asshole, he moans and slides his fingers out ever so slowly.  “Gonna fuck
you now….oh God, gonna fuck this tight baby ass now…”  Dean is talking to
himself, but Cas whispers, “Fuck me, Dean…” and Dean stills or he’s not gonna
make it.  He presses his head against the puffy pink baby hole and groans as it
starts to sink inside. 
Nothing in his life has felt this good; he doesn’t know how it can feel so soft
and wet around him and still squeeze him like a fucking vice.  Pushing into
this little body where no dick belongs, looking down at this child while he
forces him to be a cockslut.  Dean's cockslut.  It's so goddamn wrong, Dean
almost whimpers.  God, he could just start fucking into it, force a space
around his dick, but he leans down and bites at Cas’s shoulder instead,
controlling his violence. Mine, you fucking little bitch.  Mine.
Cas’s pain sounds aren’t even right, all moaning and lethargic, his squirms
more sexy than anything else. “Ohh, hurrts, Deeaan,” he whimpers, and Dean
hushes him.
 “Shh, take this for me…gotta ah…gotta take it…,” he leans down to take the
little mouth, eat up the pretty, hurt little noises. 
He pushes forward another inch, “Oh, fuck, Cas, yes…doin’ so good, baby”,
gritting his teeth, trying not to come, wiping sweat off his forehead from
sheer effort.  He’s not gonna be able to bottom out, but maybe…he takes another
inch…little over half his dick is inside the tiny body.   Cas keens, wriggling
under him, tears spilling, and he stills when he feels the painful clench,
whispers little encouragements, curses, he doesn’t know what the fuck he says.
  Cas slowly relaxes again and he can do this.  Fuck…tight, sweet, boy-pussy.
 He thinks he may never want anything else.  Slowly he starts to move; it’s at
once agonizing and the best moment of his life.  He fucks into his fifth grade
slut and groans, pressing Cas’s hips into the bed.  “Never gonna let you go,
Cas.  Mine,” he growls, picking up his pace a little and Cas whimpers.  “Say
it, Cas.  Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m…ungh!  ‘M y-yours…Deeeaan…” Cas’s pretty lips are parted, his
undeveloped body bouncing on the bed with Dean’s thrusts, looking more innocent
and desecrated at the end of a dick than anything Dean’s ever seen.
“Fuck, yeah, Cas, mine, you fuckin’…fuck!  Own you, Cas, own this fuckin’
ass…tell me to fuck you, say it, God, please, baby, tell me…”
Cas gasps, so flushed and gorgeous, unable to do anything but take it.  “F-
fuck…hmmm! Fuck…m-me…Deeaan!”
And Dean is spilling into Cas, marking him where he needed it most.  “Mine,” he
growls, still sliding in and out, letting Cas’s tight ass milk the last of his
come from his cock.  “Mine, always…”
His dick softens and he takes his time sliding back out.  Cas is clearly
hurting, and Dean whispers, “Almost done, baby…my angel, took that dick so
good, huh?”  He pulls the head carefully out and his come spills thickly behind
it.  His little boy looks beyond fucked out, just ruined on the bed, hair in
sweaty dark curls, tiny dick still wet, little hole swollen and red looking,
leaking Dean’s come.  Dean can’t help but dip down to flatten his tongue
against the hurt baby hole, liking Cas’s worn-out little noises, the tiny
flinch away from contact.  He still wants him; can’t believe this baby is his
to fuck now.  To some degree he feels sated and calm, but part of Dean is just
pure hunger, and it'll never be enough.
When he has his breath back, Dean scoops the wrecked little angel into his
arms, and hushes the tiny, sleepy protests.  He balances him with one arm while
he unlocks the door, and carries him to the bathroom.  “Wanna get you all
cleaned up, baby.  Clean us both up.”
And because he’s Dean, he gets that fantasy fulfilled, too, sitting in the tub
in soothing hot water surrounded by Sam’s sweet smelling bubbles, with a
slippery, naked little boy in his arms.  Cas is cuddled to his chest, nearly
asleep as Dean washes his hair.  “Castiel,”he says, and likes the way Cas
instantly responds, opening sleepy blue eyes, tilting his head back.  “Did you
understand what I told you today?  I need you to, baby.  Need you to understand
it.”
Cas looks slightly troubled, shrugs his wet little shoulders a little,"How come
it's different now, Dean?  I dunno...how do I be different?"
Dean frowns, sighs.  “Do you know what it means if I say you’re all mine?”  Cas
shakes his head slowly, watching Dean carefully, as though the admission will
get him hurt.  It’s a good start, Dean thinks.  “Did you ever have a pet
before?”
Cas shakes his head, eyes wide.  “But my friend Balthazar had a dog an’ he let
me pretend it was mine.”
Dean kisses him for being so fucking cute.  “Okay, well you’re like my little
doggy.  You’re not your mom’s, or your teacher’s, or anybody else’s anymore,
and like how Balthazar let you borrow his dog, I decide who gets to play with
you.  And a doggy always watches his owner and tries to do all the things he's
taught, so the owner won't get mad and punish him.  And when the owner punishes
the doggy, the doggy takes it and is sad to disappoint his owner.  His owner is
the most important person in the whole world, and the doggy always tries to
make him happy.”
“But…” Cas licks his lips and swallows, looking both earnest and afraid.  “But,
Dean, I’m…I’m not a dog.  I'm a boy!”
Dean laughs; he could argue that but he doesn’t.  “No, baby, but you’re
little…and weak…and I’m making you.  You don’t want me to hurt you…or your
Mom…or Sammy…you saved him, didn’t you? Took my dick so Sammy doesn’t have to,
right?”
Cas cuddles closer, looking upset; unconsciously taking comfort from the person
hurting and threatening him.  “Yeah…,” he says uncertainly, and Dean holds him
close, kissing the wet skin at his neck and chin.  He has Cas tilt his head
back and close his eyes so he can rinse his hair.  He looks adorable with his
hair slicked back and soaked through.  Dean kisses him and strokes his small
face.  "It’s a good thing, baby.  No more worrying about anything except
behaving for me.  You think about that all the time.”
Cas whimpers, “But Dean I already—“
Dean shuts him up with a kiss, probing and invasive.  He feels a layer of
tension come back, slightly impatient with Cas.  “No.  No, if you did you
would…”  He runs a hand over his own face, trying to word it so Cas will
understand.  “You still think about yourself, Cas.  You think about not liking
this, not wanting it--"  Cas fearfully tries to protest, Dean presses his hand
over his mouth, "--you think about what Sam would think, or you think about
fucking Jimmy and what you fucking went through before, when that shit is over,
it's been over, and all you need to be scared of now is me."  He's getting
angrier with every word; he takes Cas's skinny shoulders, shakes him, narrows
green eyes dangerously.  "This is all there is for you.  Me and you.  What I
want.  If you don't get that, if you try to stop me..."  Dean closes his eyes,
a tremor goes through him.  His voice is softer when he speaks again, "I don't
know Jimmy, Cas, but I'm nothin' like him.  Nothin'.  You'd don't know what I'd
do."  Dean's voice is low, mumbling now.  "Don't find out, baby.  Be good and
don't find out."
His eyes are still closed when he feels Cas shift on top of him, pressing tiny
frantic kisses to Dean's face.  His voice is breathy with fear, "I-I'll be
good...d-don't get mad, okay, Dean?  I'll be y-your doggy, I'll be good.
 Promise, okay?!"
And it's working.  Dean feels himself calm, his muscles relaxing again, and he
opens his eyes to touch Cas's face gently, smoothing some of the worry there.
 "Good boy, Cas, see?  You made it all better."  Cas presses close and Dean
strokes his back until he feels the fluttery little heart calm somewhat. His
strokes lengthen, slide over wet chubby cheeks.
"The stuff we do, some of it feels really good, right?”  Cas looks troubled
again and Dean hugs him close.  “It’s okay, Cas, it is.  I’m making you,
right?  You might as well let yourself like it.  Like when I kiss you here…” he
presses warm kisses to Cas’s sweet, clean throat.  “Or here…”  sucking a tiny
wet ear, tasting a bit of soap.  Cas pants a little and Dean slides a hand into
the water, starts to pull at his little dick.  “Feels good, right, baby?  It’s
okay to like this, Cas.  Some of it hurts a lot, right, so the parts that feel
good…you need those.  Want me to suck your dick, baby?”
Cas moans, fucking his little hips forward, pushing into Dean’s hand.  He bites
his lower lip, looking torn, unsure.
“Shh, it's okay, I promise.  Tell me, baby.  Tell me what you want.”  Dean
slows his stroking, knowing Cas is so young, he'll come quickly if he keeps it
up.  He lightly fondles, sending two fingers to rub the tiny, tight little
balls.
“Want…”  Cas struggles, pants, trying to grind Dean’s hand.  He shakes his
head, frustrated.
Dean stops fondling and tips Cas’s little chin.  “Uh uh.  Look at me…and say
what you want.  It’s okay, baby, nobody but me and you will know.”  He tugs the
tiny balls gently forward and Cas lets out a long whine.
“Want you to suck me, Dean, please!”  his cheeks redden sweetly, he looks down,
but Dean doesn’t hesitate; it’s nothing to hold Cas’s weight up so he can let
him straddle his face.  He holds him at first, licking and sucking at the
little prick and balls, then lowers in the tub so Cas can support himself. 
“Fuck my mouth, Cas, just like you see me do.”  Tentative, tiny fingers slide
into Dean’s spikey wet hair and the tiny cock is gliding over his tongue…he
tightens around him and hums, and it isn’t long before Cas is full on rutting
into his face.  When he comes, Dean gets just the lightest bit of wet flavor on
his tongue, and then his arms are full of spent, sated little boy.  He kisses
the side of his head, down his face.  “See baby?  No more worrying…take the
good stuff, because I’m gonna make you either way.  Because I can.”
Of course he’s hard again.  While Cas is resting, he arranges his body and
fucks into his closed thighs, not wanting to irritate the sore little bottom or
overstimulated little baby dick too much.  Cas just lays limp, letting Dean use
him until he comes for the third time that day.
When Dean finally takes them out of the bath, he dries his sweet-smelling baby,
and makes him bend over the sink so he can apply some numbing, healing cream to
the red little hole, hushing him and holding him still when he would flinch
away from the contact.  He wraps him in a faded towel and sits him on the sink,
applying ointment and a bandage to the bite mark on his shoulder (That's my
mark, Cas, don't let anybody see it but me.  Got it?)  He knows Sam will be
back in a few hours, and he probably needs to get Cas’s clothes out of the
front hall at the very least.  But he carries Cas back to his bed and tucks him
under the sheets.  He still feels unsatisfied (just his mind; his body is very
fucking satisfied.  10/10, would recommend.)  He can’t let Cas leave here
unless he understands what Dean needs.
Cas is exhausted, though, so Dean lets him sleep.  He dresses again, not
bothering with a shirt or socks.  He leaves Cas to collect his clothes, glad
now that he didn’t rip them off his body.  He goes out front to get the mail
while he’s at it, throwing a wink and a wave to Mrs. Winslow.  “Afternoon,
Ma’am.  Need me to come cut that lawn for ya?  Been missin’ your sweet apple
pie.”  He is the picture of innocence, and butter wouldn’t melt in that lovely
mouth.
“You are too precious for words, Dean Winchester!  Why, every boy should be
just like you!”
***** Up and Coming (Prey to Predator) *****
Chapter Summary
     Cas tries to think the way Dean wants him to (with varying, horrible
     success), and somebody has a big birthday coming up.
Chapter Notes
     (Abuse, right out of the gate. I don't still have to warn you guys,
     right? By now you know what you're getting into. I sincerely hope
     nobody's here expecting fluff and cupcakes.)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Cas bites his lower lip against the pain but he can’t help the sounds that
escape his closed mouth.  His skin feels hot, and the still developing muscles
in his arms are shaking with effort.  He’s trying to lower himself on Dean’s
dick, but it hurts so much more this way.  Dean’s cock, always way more than he
can handle, feels enormous inside him, even with the time he spent opening Cas
for just this occasion. 
Which Cas appreciates.  He’s so grateful Dean spends time opening him.  He
knows he’s so lucky.
It just feels so much bigger this way.  He’s trying to take his time, but his
arms want to give out already.  He knows it’ll be a disaster if gravity does
the work for him.  The fear of what that would do to him does not help him
relax and open, so he might get torn up whether he falls or not.  He wishes
Dean gave him that burning stuff again to drink.  It tastes gross and hurts
going down, but at least after that the pain goes pretty far away and the good
parts are the ones that stand out.
They’re in the living room and Dean is sitting in an arm chair just for this. 
He’s decided today Cas is going to ride his dick with his back to Dean’s
chest.  So far all Dean is doing is whispering little encouragements, but he’s
keeping his hands to himself.  He wants Cas to do this on his own, at least for
a few strokes. 
He tucks his tongue in the corner of his mouth, concentrating.  His hands
braced on Dean’s naked muscled thighs are sweaty though and he slips; the
massive pulsing dick instantly takes another two inches.   Cas squeals in pain,
catches himself and holds there, panting and whimpering as he tries to get used
to it.  That hurt a lot, but he’s pretty sure it stayed on track at least…he’d
be in a world of pain if it took him at a different angle.
“Crying, baby?”  Dean’s fingers touch his cheeks; he guesses they are wet. 
It’s hard to focus on anything but the burning heat piercing his body.  “Mmm,
my dick is way too big for that little boy hole, isn’t it.  But you’ll take it
anyway, right baby?”
A sob escapes him (he guesses he is crying after all), he feels so
overwhelmed.  He closes his eyes tight, but he knows Dean’s questions tend to
require answers.  “Y-yes, Dean.”  Dean slips his hands around Cas, sliding up
his chest, two fingers circling and rubbing his nipples.  Cas wishes one of
those hands would go lower.  He still isn’t taking any of Cas’s weight though. 
Cas knows he will, either to control the strokes, or, if he’s really feeling
kind, to change positions, let Cas take it from behind, or at least on his
back.  But Cas has to really try first, prove to Dean he’s doing everything he
can to do what he was told.  He lets himself moan in pain as he sinks further,
feeling himself stretch intolerably wider.  Dean’s dick is touching against the
good place inside him, but the good feelings become too much sensation when
he’s stuffed like this.  His bottom keeps trying to clench, force Dean out, but
it is just as helpless against Dean as the rest of him.
Dean groans and kisses the sweat at the back of Cas’s neck.  “Feel so good like
this baby…look at you, tryin’ so hard to get my dick, such a good boy for me. 
Can’t wait for you to jump on my dick like this all the time.  C’mon, Cas, you
can do it…lift your hips if you can’t go down any further.  You can fuck what
you’ve already got.”
Cas nods, wishing he could give his arms a break.  He starts to lift his hips,
and it’s a little less painful going out, but almost twice as agonizing pushing
back down just when he found slight relief.  He decides the best thing he can
do is just hurry and try to get this over with…he shoves himself back down this
time.  Bad plan, bad plan!!  He keens in agony and stills again, panting until
it fades…he realizes Dean has a hold of his hips, steadying him, so he lets go
of Dean’s thighs and gives his arms a much-needed rest.
“That’s too much, Cas,” Dean chides gently, but Cas’s heart skips, he didn’t
mean to mess up. “You could hurt both of us like that, baby.  You don’t want to
hurt me, do you, angel?”
Cas looks over his shoulder, blue eyes huge, lips parted in shock.  “No! 
Dean…please, I promise, I n-never—“
“Shh,” Dean presses a kiss to his temple and starts to move Cas’s hips for
him.  It’s still too tight; he feels dangerously full inside.  With Dean doing
all the work, Cas’s head drops back and he lets all the noises come out the way
Dean likes, his small chest heaving and flushed, little legs open and bouncing
wantonly.  It’s okay if the noises are from pain, and Cas is always allowed to
cry, because he is Dean’s baby, and that’s what babies do (not a baby, I’m
not).  Dean always tells him someday he’ll be a big boy who can take Dean’s
cock without crying; but for now it’s okay.  Then he watches Cas real, real
close to see if Cas reacts to the news that he’ll still be doing this even
after he gets bigger.
Cas will never react.  This is not news.  The sky is blue, water is wet, and he
is Dean’s for however long Dean wants him.
Dean can always tell when Cas’s attention wanders, and he bites Cas’s ear,
making him yip in pain.  “That pretty little baby dick is only half hard for
me, angel.  You don’t want me thinking you ain’t havin’ a good time, right,
baby?”
Cas is already stroking before he finishes the sentence and his prick stiffens
proud and wet against his stomach.  “Need your…ahhh…need your cock De-eaan…,”
he moans.  He’s not supposed to lie, so he can’t say he wants it, but this part
he can say.  He knows he needs it.  Taking Dean’s dick keeps him safe.
“Mmm, yeah, baby?” Dean’s voice is low and vibrating into Cas’s ear on
impossibly soft wet lips, followed by a sucking, lapping tongue, and Cas arches
a bit in Dean’s lap, sinful little sounds coming from his panting mouth.  “Tell
me.”
Cas squirms, feeling so…much.  “Need…ah!...need you, your…hmm!...y-your come
in, in me…ple-ease!”
Dean mouths at his neck, scraping his teeth along sweaty skin; he’s out of
breath, too.  “Ohh, that’s it, good boy…,” (Cas spills into his hand) “…good
fucking boy….tell me where...where you need my dick…”
Cas tries to focus, and lets out a pitiful moan; Dean slows slightly in
response.  Cas knows this is a gift, and he’d better not squander it.  “M-my…my
mouth, my….m-my asshole…”  Dean shudders under him; Cas knows which words he
likes best.  “All,all of me Dean…”
“Beg,” Dean growls, but Cas knows it’s the good growl, the one that means it’s
almost over.  He leans back, tilting up his head, and puts a sloppy open-
mouthed kiss to Dean’s chin and throat.  “Pleeeeease, Dean…,” he whines against
the prickly stubble, “Pleeeeeeease, pleeeeeeeease!”
And it’s too good a job, because Dean is growling and thrusting up into him,
taking more than he had before, making Cas arch and scream and squirm
helplessly, as though he can move his hips an inch where Dean doesn’t want them
to be.  He can feel the hot come spurting up inside him, but Dean mercifully
slows his thrusts, allowing Cas to sob quietly on his softening dick.
He stays inside Cas even after he finishes and Cas wonders tiredly if this is
the start of a punishment or just where Dean wants to be.  “You done anything
you need to be punished for?”  Dean is still gripping his hips, strokes his
thumbs a little over Cas’s hot skin.
Cas sniffles, slows his tears now that the burn of friction is subsiding.  He
really hates being a baby about this.  “No…”  Dean’s fingers tighten and Cas’s
head lowers.  “I mean…’m not sure, Dean.”
Dean presses a kiss to Cas’s shoulder.  “Kinda feel like spanking you anyway,
Cas.”
Cas leans back, letting Dean nuzzle him.  His blue eyes are big and worried,
his kiss-plump lips poking out just a bit.  “Do I hafta have a spanking, Dean? 
Can’t I have it tomorrow instead?”  His voice is small and soft; there is no
whine of protest, just a little wistful request.  He puts tiny apologetic
kisses to the side of Dean’s throat; he knows he’s not supposed to ask for
things unless it’s really necessary.  But Dean is usually lenient if Cas goes
about it the right way.  He likes to know what Cas is thinking, even if it
doesn’t affect his decisions.
“Hmm.”  He feels the dick inside of him twitching, but then Dean is pulling Cas
up and off, slowly and gently.  He helps Cas to stand; he has to lean almost
all his weight on Dean because his legs are all rubbery.  He shuts his eyes
against the clenching of his bottom as it tries to reshape itself, trying to
ignore the wet come/lube mix spilling down his legs.  Dean is rubbing his
bottom while Cas leans halfway over his lap; though it occurs to him that this
isn’t the best way to convince Dean not to spank him.  Cas keeps his eyes on
Dean’s face, watching for minute changes in expression.  Right now, Dean only
looks thoughtful.  “I could give you options, baby.  Would you like that?”
Dean pets Cas’s hair, and Cas leans into it, ignoring how uncomfortable he
feels with a sore hole and sticky thighs.  “Yes, please, Dean.”  He blushes;
it’s such a weird time to be using the manners his mother taught him.
Dean touches his fingers over Cas’s cheeks, his lips; he never seems to tire of
Cas’s face, always pressing kisses there, or tracing his features almost
reverently.  Cas doesn’t know how to feel about it.  It’s a big complement, he
figures, if someone like Dean thinks he’s pretty.  He has even implied that Cas
is beautiful the way that Dean is, which Cas knows isn’t true.  But if Cas was
ugly… (I wouldn’t have to, I wouldn’t be…)
He lowers his head and schools his face, feeling a sudden stab of fear.  Maybe
he should just take the spanking.  The more he tries to conceal stuff from
Dean, the angrier Dean will be, and the worse the punishment.  It gets…it gets
really bad.  It’s stupid of him to ever try.
He feels Dean’s fingers under his chin and his heart skips a little; he hopes
Dean didn’t feel it.   “Naughty thoughts, Cas?”  Dean doesn’t look particularly
mad; he knows Cas is still learning to think right.
Cas nods and blushes, “Sorry, Dean.  I…I’m bad again.”
“Who do you belong—“
He looks fervently into Dean’s eyes, holding tighter to Dean’s legs.  “Yours,
Dean, I’m yours.  I promise! I-I know that one.  I never think I’m not yours.”
Dean pauses, watches Cas.  “Okay, baby.  You’ll get there.  Poor little puppy
brain…too little to get it right sometimes.”  He runs his fingers through Cas’s
hair, always sticking in all directions after Dean fucks him.
Cas blinks, hurt.  Nobody ever called him stupid before; but Dean does it a lot
now.  Other times he calls him smart, but Cas believes him more when he says
mean things.  He always looks like he really means it, whereas when he’s being
nice, Cas…he just isn’t sure.  He lowers his head shamefully.  “Yes, Dean.  S-
sorry.”
Dean strokes his back soothingly.  “Okay…so…either you can take 5 spanks today,
right now.  10 spanks tomorrow.  Or…you can work on learning to clean my cock
with your mouth after I fuck you, and then you don’t have to get spanked.” 
Cas frowns, lips pouting again as he thinks.  This is a real problem for him;
luckily Dean acknowledges it.  It took him so long to suck Dean’s dick and
swallow his come without throwing up after.  He really doesn’t want to try it
after it’s been inside his bottom where he poops from. 
Dean laughs the way he does when he thinks Cas is being cute.  “You know, I
have kissed you before after licking you down there.”
Cas can feel his face get all hot again.  “But…but your tongue doesn’t g-go
that far, Dean. “
Dean is getting hard again, his dick still wet from being inside Cas.  “Sounds
like a challenge, Cas.  Maybe I should eat you out, huh?  Lick your little boy-
pussy and feed you what’s inside from my tongue?  You can get used to the taste
that way first.”
A slight twitch of Cas’s dark lashes shows what he thinks of the term ‘boy-
pussy’ being applied to his bottom.  Not a girl, he thinks, eyes slid down and
away.  Dean tips his face up again, and this time there’s a shadow in his
expression that freezes Cas’s insides.  “You know I don’t have to do anything
for you, right Cas?”
Cas swallows; feels the color drain from his face.  His voice is almost non-
existent, yet the apology is there.  “Yes, Dean.”
“Mmm,” Dean agrees, sliding a thumb across Cas’s cheek, into his hair, touching
the back of his head…squeezing.  “I can push your face…down on my cock…,” he
starts to push and Cas lets him, even though his muscles are screaming at him
to resist.  “Make you get me all nice and clean…and if you throw up…I can beat
you, Cas.  I can take my belt off and beat your fucked little ass…and probably
that’ll make me horny, won’t it…my stupid, stubborn little baby crying on the
floor.”  Dean stops his face close enough that if Cas breathes, his lips will
be on Dean’s sloppy dick.  He can smell the mix of his and Dean’s sweat and
Dean’s come, a scent as familiar to him as his own at this point. 
Dean puts his lips against Cas’s ear and his voice is low and dangerous.  “And
I can rape you on the floor.  Every hole you have.  As hard as I want.  Wanna
bleed today, baby?”
And Cas is shaking and terrified and Dean is right, he’s so fucking stupid. 
Why can’t he just do what he has to, why does he have to make Dean so mad all
the time? 
He’s not allowed to say no, but he can beg.  “Dean, please…please…I’m stupid
and bad, I know it.  Please, please, I’ll be good!”  He sticks out his tongue
and laps the shaft of Dean’s dick, the part that’s closest to his face.  It
does taste different, but he’s too scared to slow down.  He licks and swallows,
almost trying not to breathe, hoping that will help him hold it together.  He
can feel it getting on his face; he is too desperate for control, and he wishes
he could just wipe it off, but that’s suicide.  Then Dean is lifting him onto
his lap on his knees and holding him, and Cas burrows into his chest,
whimpering, “Sorry, Dean, sorry, sorry!”
Dean holds and hushes him until the shaking stops, then tugs him back.  “Gotta
try harder, Cas.  Not gonna say anything else about it.”  He smacks his ass
hard while they’re looking at each other, watches the pain play across Cas’s
face.  Cas cries out and braces against Dean, shutting his eyes.  The skin of
his bottom stings but it’s his used-up insides that hurt more from being
jostled (along with the odd jolt of pleasure from there; Cas doesn’t even know
how to process it.)  Dean hits him again, harder, and Cas whines.  He knew this
would happen; Deanloves spanking him.  If Cas looks up, he’ll see Dean’s eyes
all dark and hungry on him, or he could just go by the half-hard cock pressing
against him. 
Cas tries to take it and at least cry quietly, but he thinks even a grown-up
would scream and squirm at how hard Dean hits, how big his hands are.  Dean
gives him only 5 though and Cas thanks him for being so nice.  He didn’t even
make Cas count them out and thank him for each one, which he likes sometimes. 
"Tell me who you belong to."
"I belong to you, Dean."
"Why are you alive, Cas?"  
"To do what you want me to do and so you can use me any way you want."
"What happens if you're not a good boy?"
(whispered) "I get punished."
"What happens if you try to escape me or tell?"
"Dean, please, won't ever--"
SMACK.
"What happens if you try to escape me or tell?"
(sniffles) "My mom or Sam get h-hurt.  People get h-hurt if they get in your w-
way.  You take me and I...I get h-hurt bad or...or y-you ki-ill me."
"Good boy."  Dean helps him stand, his hands under Cas’s arms like he is going
to pick him up.  “Bath or shower, angel?”
“Whichever one you want me to have, Dean.”
Dean smiles and pecks Cas’s kiss swollen lips.  “Bath it is.”  He scoops Cas
up, holding him on his hip and Cas curls against him, tucking his head on
Dean’s shoulder.  Dean kisses his head, carrying him up the stairs.  “So glad
you didn’t go to school today, Cas.  I really needed you.”
“Needed you more, Dean.  Needed you so bad,” Cas says zealously.
He says it so perfectly even he believes it.
 
                                     * * *
 
It’s a new year, and Dean has a big birthday coming up.  Dean is turning 18,
and will officially no longer be jail-bait.  From prey to full-fledged
predator, and all the dirty old men (and women) in town will weep at the loss
and cast their eyes on younger flesh.  The funniest part is how he’s already
better at it than any of them.  This isn’t quick fondling in a bathroom stall,
or even the more respectable molestation-to-rape over time.  He full on owns
Cas.
Dean has done a lot of wicked, fucked up things to a lot of different people. 
But he’s never owned a person before, body and soul (wanted to, though, Sammy,
wanted so bad to make you mine).  And after almost three weeks of owning the
second sweetest ass at Lawrence Elementary School, Dean is here to tell you:
He’s hooked for life.
He was born for this.  Cas was good before but once Dean (fucked him) convinced
him that his only hope for long-term survival was to submit completely, he
became nearly perfect.  He does almost nothing without checking in with Dean
first.  So when little Kevin shows up, Cas is like, sure, I’d love to go look
at that bug over there and see if we can find it in the pages of your boring-
ass book (as if that’s what a person does outside), but be right back, I gotta
offer to suck Dean’s dick first.
And of course (yes, Cas, take it, suck it, fuckin’ bitch, fuck, yes,
mine)that’s not an offer Dean passes up very often.  So sorry, Kevin.  Get Sam
to look at it.
Cas is hyper aware of Dean, too.   (Sam thinks he has a crush, and ain’t that
some shit.)  All Dean has to do is frown slightly and he sees the little body
tense, the dark brow furrow as Cas tries to figure out A:  if he did anything
wrong, and 2:  how he can make the situation better for Dean.  He also tells on
himself for the most insignificant, crazy shit and Dean is more than happy to
punish the living daylights out of him for it (‘I had a nightmare about Jimmy
again, Dean!’…’Well, that means you still think about him too much.  Better get
over my knee!’)  It’s so, so good.   It’s a heady feeling, an intoxicating
feeling, holding that kind of sway over Cas.  He has to restrain himself or
he’d want to do nothing other than spank and fuck him into oblivion.
And because it must be said…thatass.
Drawn out over three weeks, Dean has fucked him in every room in his house,
including (maybe especially) Sam’s.  He was iffy about taking away Cas’s safe
place (he wants him obedient, not deranged), but he couldn’t help suggesting it
and Cas was only too eager to please.  They fucked on Sam’s bed, on his rocking
chair, over his desk.  Sam’s spot at the kitchen table, in the shower covered
in Sammy’s baby shampoo (the kind that doubles as body wash and smells like
nothing an adult would ever use—yeah, Dean made sure Cas has his own at home
now). 
Sam knows Dean gives Cas his clothes to wear; he thinks it’s Dean’s way of
helping Cas fit in better at school.  Sam doesn’t know that Dean makes him wear
clothes directly from Sam’s hamper, so that Dean can fuck into Cas while
breathing in the delicious, familiar scent of Sam’s sweat.
It…might be fair to say he still thinks about Sam a lot. 
And okay, watches him sleep sometimes.  Like maybe a few times (per week).  He
gave Cas the cough syrup but he bought another one just in case.  He hasn’t
used it though, not even for one stray kiss or touch.  He just dresses up his
little Sam doll and makes do.
No need to point it out, he knows Cas looks nothing like Sam except in how
small they both are compared to other boys their age (Dean has added Cas to the
hand-made growth chart he keeps on Sam’s doorframe…that way he can always look
back and see just how small Cas was when he started taking Dean’s dick).  Sam
is all shades of gold and brown compared to Cas’s ivory skin and near-black
hair.  Sam’s hair is fine, spun silk against Dean’s rough fingers, where Cas’s
is thick and soft as cat’s fur.  And there is nothing similar to compare the
happy, mischievous tilt of his brother’s eyes to the wide, broken blue of
Cas’s. 
He can’t mistake Cas for Sam no matter how he layers their scents, but that
isn’t what he wants.  Cas is a beautiful child on his own; he will grow up
lovely for Dean (if Dean still wants him…if Cas stays compliant).  It just
makes him feel that Sam is part of this.  It is a small way that he can refuse
to do this without him.  He can come on his clothes or his sheets, the way he
did on his small body.  He can claim him this way, and Sam won’t know to hate
him.  He’ll just belong to Dean without realizing it and love him even so.  It
works. 
For now, it works.
So it’s a week before his birthday, but he already has everything he wants,
with the exception of Sam’s sweet ass and his Dad’s sweet ride.  
Oh, wait.  Except his dad decided not to wait until June, and he's giving Dean
the Impala for his birthday instead.  Dean being such a great son, and all. 
Everyone approves:  Dean deserves it, long time coming.  And doesn’t he look
amazing in that sinfully gorgeous car?  Wouldn't you just love for him to show
you the backseat?
Not going to say it again; said it enough already.  But, seriously.
Fucking Recognize.
Even for Dean, this is a new level of personal best, and he feels like
celebrating.  For the first time in a long time, he's having a bunch of people
at the Winchester house.  John knows about it and was told to clear out, though
he doesn’t usually have to be told.  In a rare moment of actual parenting, he
told Dean he doesn’t want Sam or Cas to be there, and they actually argued over
it. 
 “Now, Dean, I may be an old man in your eyes, but I know how it’s gonna go. 
 A bunch of teenagers drinking and doing God knows what, and ten year old boys
got no business in the middle of it.”
“Dad! Me and Cas are responsible, we won’t…”
“Stay out of this, Sammy,” both elder Winchesters said without looking at the
boy, who did not stomp his foot, even if the impulse was there.
“Dad, you worry too much.  I can look after Sam.  It’s kind of my thing,” Dean
smiled.  They were at the kitchen table, cleaning some of his father’s guns,
something they did together every once in a while.  His father had a decent-
sized collection, more to do with his being an ex-military man than any
interest in hunting animals.  But he believed his sons should both know how to
wield and care for a weapon, and it can be said that most of what little
quality bonding time with Daddy that Sam can remember involves shooting at
bottles and cans in the yard or cleaning guns at the kitchen table.  So far Sam
is only versed in pistols, but Dean can shoot anything.
“Think I don’t know that, Dean?  You’re more a Dad to him than I am.  Whole
town knows that,” John doesn’t look up as he says it, still focused on his
task, but both Dean and Sam are momentarily taken aback.  He’s never said it
out loud before.  Sam unconsciously moves a little closer to Dean, who reaches
out without looking to grasp and knead his shoulder.  
“Sammy, put your .45 in the safe and go outside, let me talk to Dad,” Dean
says, watching John.  Sam opens his mouth but Dean won’t let him.  “Go on,
Sammy.”  Dean flicks his gaze to Sam in time to enjoy a spectacular bitch face,
but his brother obeys.
“Dad—“
“Dean, I’m serious about this.  It’s your goddamn 18th birthday!  You're not
gonna spend it sober, I know that, I accept that.  I don't mind you lettin'
loose with your friends, being young for once in your life.  But you can’t
watch out for him that way.”
Dean bristles.  “I’m not some fucking frat boy, Dad; I know how to handle
myself.  Especially when I got my brother with me.”
“I know that, Dean, 'course I know that.  But at one point in time I thought I
had everything handled, too, and look what happened to you!”  John leans across
the table, tries to put his hand over Dean’s but Dean yanks out of reach. 
Sorrowed, John pulls back.  “I wasn’t a frat boy either, now was I, and what he
did to you on my watch—“
“Shut up,” Dean growls, and John is suddenly aware that his son is holding a
pistol.  It isn’t pointed, hell, it isn’t loaded, but he looks dangerous all
the same.  “We don’t talk about that.  Ain’t nothing like that ever happened to
Sammy, ain’t nothing like that ever will,” he slams the pistol on the table in
front of his father and snarls, “’cause I ain’t you.”
He stalks out of the room and as far as he’s concerned that’s the end of the
discussion.  Sammy will be there because he goes where Dean goes.  John
Winchester, at this point, ain’t got shit to say about it.  All he needs to
worry about is the usual:  just how far away from home he’ll be.
But the conversation makes him itchy, uneasy, and he does something strange. 
He takes Cas and the Impala and goes to see someone.  Someone who is not a
friend, but an important part of Dean’s life all the same. 
Chapter End Notes
     The chapters will be coming slower now, so that I can actually sleep
     at night (oops) but know this:
     I know how it ends.
     It won't please everybody, but it pleases the ever-loving fuck out of
     me. ;) ;) ;)
***** You Think it's Bad? (I'll Show You Worse) *****
Chapter Summary
     Cas meets someone from Dean's past; and Dean makes sure his birthday
     will be his kind of fun
Chapter Notes
     Umm, so I know I said slower chapters and now you get two in as many
     days, but this chapter just flew, especially the first part. The
     second part is just expository filler, sorry, but the stuff that
     happens next is long, and it couldn't overshadow Dean and Cas's visit
     here.
Cas is in the backseat of the Impala, but he doesn’t know where he’s going.  He
wants to ask, but sometimes Dean prefers him to just go without question. 
 Something about the grim line of Dean’s full lips and the tightness of his
shoulders makes Cas keep quiet.  Sam had seen them leave together, and Cas saw
his confusion, but Cas looked away.  He thinks Sam would be even more confused
if he knew Cas didn’t know what was going on either.  He wonders if Dean knows
he’ll have to come up with a reason why he would ever go somewhere with only
Cas and not Sam. 
Another question he isn’t going to ask Dean right now. 
When they finally come to a stop, they are on a pretty street with houses much
nicer than the ones in their own neighborhood.  Cas unbuckles his seatbelt and
lets Dean help him out of the car, even though he’s perfectly capable of
getting out on his own.  The neighborhood is pristine and quiet, without the
kids riding bikes or neighbors chatting over fences that Cas is used to.  He
looks wonderingly at the big white house and perfect lawn as Dean leads him by
the hand to the door.  He thinks Dean looks really out of place here in his big
leather jacket and combat boots.  He’s sure he does, too, a scrawny little boy
in his hand-me-down coat.
The door opens and an older blond man with a mustache and beard steps out.  He
matches the neighborhood in his neatly pressed slacks and crisp white button
down shirt, a big shiny watch at his wrist that catches Cas’s eye.  At first
glance he seems friendly, happy to see Dean, expressing surprise and pleasure
(And who’s this handsome young man with you?), but Cas has gotten good at
reading faces.
He sees the oily way the man’s faded blue eyes travel over Dean, and then Cas,
too.  As though Cas is a piece of candy and the man is imagining what he tastes
like without his wrapper.  Cas feels dread in the pit of his stomach, and he
steps closer to Dean, pressing against his leg.  Please, Dean, wanna go home…
But Dean goes inside and Cas has no choice but to follow.
“So good to see you, Dean.  I can’twait to hear what this is about.”  The man
laughs, and it looks like the sound makes Dean grit his teeth.  But he walks
familiarly into the huge house, tugging open-mouthed Cas behind him.  He brings
him into a large fancy living room that looks like the kind his Mom watches on
that home improvement channel, unused and perfect in shades of grey and white. 
Cas winces as Dean drops heavily onto a stiff looking arm chair and puts his
feet up on a somewhat delicate coffee table, one heavy boot crossing the
other.  The man loses his smile, his eyes narrowing, and Dean grins at him. 
“How’s the wife, Stottlemeyer?  Need me to stick it to her, so you can stop
pretending you like adult pussy?”  Dean holds out his hand to Cas, and he
hurries over, feeling the man’s eyes on his body as he moves in a way that
makes his stomach turn.  He’s surprised when Dean scoops him onto his lap. 
This isn’t something Dean does in front of people.  Part of Cas is glad, since
he’s so frightened and uncertain that he would climb inside Dean’s coat like a
nervous cat if he could.  But the dread in his stomach…why are we here, why am
I…
The man looks like he’s the one gritting his teeth now, but his eyes are all
hunger, running over their young faces, the places on Cas where Dean’s hands
touch.  His voice is nasty though, cutting back at Dean.  “Seems to me you
don’t want it any more than I do, judging by your lovely companion.  I know
that’s not Sam.”
“Keep his name out of your mouth,” Dean says evenly, his eyes lowered.  He
looks up at the man through his lashes, and even Cas has to hold his breath at
how pretty Dean looks like that.  “Castiel, this is my father’s good friend
Captain Stottlemeyer.”
“It’s Chief, now,” the man corrects, but his greedy gaze is on Cas’s lips. 
“Nice to meet you, Castiel.  Aren’t you…lovely.”
“Nice to meet you, Sir,” Cas’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s all he
can manage.  He feels frozen and he isn’t cuddling into Dean like he normally
would be.  He’s afraid to move at all, as though any movement or sound that
comes from him might make something bad happen.  This room feels like it has
all the potential for bad.  He can barely breathe.
“He’s beautiful, Dean.  Yours?”
Dean smiles, looking at Cas in a proprietary way, sliding his fingers over
Cas’s face.  “You have no idea.”
The man licks his lips; he’s trying for casual and failing.  “May I…take a
closer look?”  The man stands eagerly and Dean warns, “Not too close.”
“Of course, naturally, wouldn’t want to overstep,” the man says it funny; the
words are correct but the tone makes it rude.  So strange the way they talk to
each other; hate between them, but other things, too (history.)  Cas doesn’t
understand it; he just knows he wishes the man weren’t coming closer.
Dean lowers his feet to the floor, making room between them and the table and
the man kneels in front of Cas, who is pure ice. 
“How old is he?  Can’t be more than 8…so tiny.”  He reaches out a shaking hand.
“He’s ten, actually.  Cas, stay still.”  Cas didn’t know he had moved, but he’s
closer to Dean.  He stops breathing and the man’s hand slowly pushes his curls
away from his forehead.  “Open your eyes, Cas, you’re being rude.”
Cas forces a shallow breath and opens his eyes, looking reluctantly at the man,
knowing what he’ll see.  The man’s mouth is wet and he keeps swallowing.  His
eyes on Cas aren’t hungry, they’re ravenous and terrifying. 
“Jesus, look at that fear,” the man whispers, and his fingers slide down to
trace Cas’s lips.  Cas wants to move away so badly, but Dean’s hand on his
hip is tight, warning.  He wants to cry but he won’t do that either, he can do
it later when he’s safe.  Please, let it get to later…
The man starts pushing at his lips and Cas parts, but Dean’s hand is suddenly
on the man’s wrist in what looks like a punishing grip.  “No.”
The man glances at Dean’s hand as if he’s furious, but he forces out a laugh,
tries to cover.  “Fingers in the mouth don’t count as penetration; you know
that, Dean-o.”
Dean smiles sweetly.  “Counts to me.  Watch yourself or don’t fucking touch
him, how’s that?”
“All right, all right,” The man’s hand is back, on Cas’s chin, sliding down his
neck to play with the collar of his t-shirt.  “He’s very obedient, I see.  Lot
more than you ever were, if I recall.  I hope you’re not going to make him as
foul mouthed and disrespectful as you turned out to be.”
Dean laughs, showing his perfect teeth, and licks his lips.  “Can’t say
anyone’s ever complained about my mouth before.”
As if he can’t help it, the man looks at Dean’s mouth and Cas can breathe
slightly better without his attention.  “Yes…” the man says lowly, “I remember
that mouth well.  Still beautiful, Dean.  How are you still so pretty?”
“It’s a gift,” Dean answers but his smile is gone and there’s some kind of
warning in his tone.  The man sighs as if Dean is a wayward child and not the
big scary man that Cas sees.  Then his eyes are on Cas again and Cas tries
staring at the wall behind him; maybe Dean won’t mind.
“Don’t suppose you’re here to sell him?  Looking for a trade?”
“Enough touching, back off.  Can’t breathe with your fucking aftershave all
over the place,” Dean tugs Cas back against him and the man sighs again,
obviously irritated with Dean's blatant insolence.  Dean waits until he’s back
in his chair.  “You really think I’d give this up?  Cas, kiss me.”
And Cas does.  Even though his mouth feels numb and strange and there’s a fine
tremor coming from all his skin.  Sell me, what’s that, what does that mean,
trade, Dean, what does he mean, want to go home, please, please, take me home,
want my Mom…and when he pulls back he keeps his eyes wide, because the tears
want to fall and he can’t let them, he bets the man likes tears as much as Dean
does.  The man makes a funny sound and when Cas and Dean look, he’s adjusting
his pants.  He looks enchanted by both boys, almost worshipful.  “You could
make a fortune, Dean.  One live stream of him kissing you, just like that, but
no clothes…both of you so beautiful…he’s so small next to you, but you’re still
so young yourself…”
“Careful, now, don’t come in your pants.  You know I don’t need all that.”
“Dean—“
“Seriously, fuck off,” he glances at Cas, making eye contact.  “Not right now,
anyway.”  He looks back at the Chief.  “I just brought Cas here because I
thought he’d like to meet my friend the Police Captain—sorry, Police Chief.”
The man nods and there’s a brief expression of understanding between them.  He
looks at Cas and (because Dean is watching) Cas looks reluctantly back.  The
man strokes his mustache.  “Yes, I’ve known Dean a long time, and I’ve helped
him out in the past.  He would’ve gotten in big, big trouble with the law if
not for me.” His look becomes a little devious; Cas gets the impression he’s
trying to annoy Dean again. “I know he can be a little rough around the edges
though…Castiel, was it?  What a lovely name.  In any case, he might be a bit
much for a delicate thing like you…should you ever want a change, I feel sure
that I could…”
“Yeah, like you could protect him from me if it came to that,” Dean shoves Cas
to his feet and stands.  “Don’t misrepresent our…relationship.  I own you
almost as much as I own him.  Lucky I don’t wannafuck you or I’d own you that
way, too, wouldn’t I.”
The man is on his feet, too, and he’s opening a drawer on an end table.  “Maybe
we’ll see who owns—“
It happens so fast, Cas can barely understand what he sees.  The man had a gun,
was turning, was lifting it, but Dean was somehow already there with a long,
wicked-looking blade to his throat.  “Uh-uh,” Dean was smiling, his body tight
and tensed against the man.  “Hand it over.  Nothin’ to me if you die today.”
“You wouldn’t,” the man grits out, but something about him tells Cas he
believes every word.  “I’d be dead, who’d save your ass from jail?  Kill the
police chief, they'll lock you up and throw away the key.  Too pretty for jail,
Honeypie.”  He gasps, because Dean sawed the blade slightly, there’s a line of
blood dripping freely onto the man’s white collar now.  Cas presses his fists
to his mouth in pure horror.
“Don’t call me that, you know better,” Dean’s smile is more of a baring of
teeth than anything else now; his jaw twitches.  “And don’t kid yourself.  I’d
love to be the one to kill you.  Give me a fucking reason.”
The man meekly hands over the gun.   Dean takes it with his other hand and
steps back.  He levels it at the man, who raises his hands, licks his lips and
smiles.  “Should have frisked you when you came in.”
“Yeah, probably,” Dean agrees.  “But I’d never come around you unarmed, you
should know that.  And now I know you’d draw down on me.”  Dean grins and steps
forward, presses the gun to the man’s forehead, finger on the trigger.  “What
was the plan?  Rape Cas?  Make us fuck each other for one of your photo
shoots?  Would’ve thought you’d learned your lesson there.” 
The man licks his lips again and swallows.  Cas doesn’t know what passes
between them but Dean laughs, pulling back slightly.  “You still wanna fuck me!
 Grown up as I am, you still think about my sweet ass, oh, that’s priceless. 
Good to know, Lenny.  All information I needed.”  He releases the clip and
hands it to the Chief; opens the chamber and takes out the bullet.  “Wow, live
round.  You live dangerously.”  He looks at the bullet, then back at the man,
who now looks more livid than scared.  “I’ll keep this one.  Maybe for you
someday, huh?  For now, just watch your fucking back.  You got punishment
coming.”
Dean stalks out, forgetting about the frightened boy in the corner.
 Cas doesn’t move immediately, his brain all foggy and cold.  “Cas!”  He tries
to leave and the man grabs his arm, and puts his wet, disgusting mouth on Cas’s
ear, making the boy whine and try to pull away. “Dean!” he screams.
“Be careful with him, boy,” the man whispers, and Cas is squirming, Dean is
already stomping toward them.  “He’s dangerous, capable of any—“
Dean yanks Cas free and shoves him toward the door so hard he falls.  Cas turns
in time to see him punch the older man in the face.  The man hits the ground,
looking more stunned than when he had a gun against his head; Cas guesses he’s
not a man who gets punched.  Dean crouches and looks almost sympathetic.  “Now,
now, don’t be upset.  You have to admit you had that one coming.”  He stands
and shakes his head and points at the man.  “Told you a long time ago never to
touch what’s mine.  Now I gotta wash him.”
The man laughs, touching the blood at his mouth, but Cas thinks he sounds
shaken.  “I suppose you’re right, Dean-o.  I apologize.”  He struggles to get
up, having to use the coffee table for support when Dean just watches
impassively.  “You know, I believe I was overcome by seeing you after all this
time…and your fine-looking companion.  I may have let things get a bit out of
hand.”
Dean rolls his eyes, huffs a laugh.  He goes to pick up Cas, which is good,
because Cas doesn’t know if his legs work.  Dean presses his head into his neck
and Cas welcomes the darkness there, breathing in a scent that is terror and
pain but at least familiar, and for the moment that means good. “Yeah, pulling
a gun is pretty out of hand,” Cas can feel Dean walking towards the door; he
hears the man follow.  “It’s okay, how many times did you tell me about
learning from mistakes?  Punishments make us better men, isn’t that how it
went?  You told me I’d understand when I was a big boy and guess what?”
Dean opens the front door and turns; Cas can hear the smile in his voice, and
it isn’t the nice one.  “Now I do.”
Dean puts Cas in the car and this time he has to buckle the seatbelt, because
Cas’s hands are shaking too hard to be useful.  Dean runs his eyes over him
thoughtfully and then gets in the driver’s seat, pulling out.  He keeps
glancing back at Cas, who is still trembling, tears slipping quietly down his
face.  He doesn’t drive far before he pulls over next to a park that’s mostly
empty.  He gets out and kneels next to Cas’s seat.  He unbuckles him and turns
him to face Dean, putting his arms on either side of Cas. “Do you know why I
wanted you to meet him?”
Cas just looks at him, and Dean slaps him across the face.  It helps though,
for some reason Cas can talk now.  “Dunno why, Dean, he was s-so scary!  I-
I thought…” you were going to let him…Cas can’t finish it, not even in his
mind. 
“Yeah, he is scary, and he also ain’t shit.  If I died tomorrow and he got his
hands on you, he still isn’t the worst that’s out there.  Do you understand? 
You don’t, do you?”  Dean punches the door of his beloved car and Cas jumps; he
doesn’t know why Dean is so angry with him.  He grips Cas tightly and looks
intensely into his eyes, and when Cas thinks back later, he’ll realize Dean was
trembling, too.  “You think it’s bad I like to spank you?  There are people who
would break your bones for fun.  People who would cut you and starve you, feed
you medicine that makes you sick.  Not just men, Cas, women, too.  Disgusting,
ugly, fat, old people, all trying to get inside you, and you…”  Dean cuts off,
looking down.  Cas thinks about reaching for him; sometimes he can calm him. 
But Dean looks at him again and Cas stills, because he is in danger.  Dean
crawls forward, looking like pure violence barely contained.  “...you...you sit
there like some scared fucking princess.  Got it so bad, huh?  I’m so fucking
scary.  Kiss.  Me.” 
It’s the last thing Cas wants to do, but he has no choice.  Moving slowly,
putting one ice cold hand after the other on Dean’s burning skin, touching that
snarling, threatening face, Cas kisses him, lightly, tentatively.  He’s
expecting violence, but he gets nothing, so he keeps going.  Dean starts
kissing back and then seems to remember himself; they are, after all, in a
public place.  And just like that, he’s calm; he smirks at Cas and pushes him
so he faces forward again.  “In any case, I guess you know now what would
happen if your Mommy goes to the police.  You’d get to fuck your third man.” 
He stands and slams the door.
The threat hurts, fresh hopelessness, and suddenly Cas is frustrated, angry,
and he’s tired of being so fucking scared.  It's supposed to be that he gets
punished when he's bad, but he does what he's supposed to and he gets punished
anyway!  “I won't tell!  I say it and say it!  You keep scaring me and I
already say I won't tell!”  Cas starts crying; he’s still really scared but
he’s angry, too.  He looks at Dean fearfully but a little defiantly.  Dean
turns, watching him, but when he doesn’t move, Cas looks down, all the fear
from the last hour, the hopelessness he feels making him weep.  “It's not fair!
 I'm yours!  You--you don’t hafta—“
“I don’t have to do anything, Cas,” Dean interrupts, but he’s driving now.  “I
wanted you to know and now you do.  Stop fucking crying or you’ll piss me off
again.  Nothing happened to you.  You’re fine.”
Cas whines in frustration and wipes at his eyes.  In that moment he decides he
hates Dean Winchester (shh, shh, don' think that, he'll know!), even if he
knows better than to say it.  He wants to kick something, punch something, so
he finds a bit of skin on his arm and pinches it hard.  It helps a little. 
“Sam saw us leave,” he says sullenly, thinking your fault, Dean, you messed up,
not me.  Dean’s gaze finds him in the rear view mirror and Cas can’t hold it,
but his voice is defensive.  “I’m just tellin’ you.  He—“
“That’s enough.  I’ll handle Sam.  What you need to handle right now is your
fucking tone.”
Cas finds he doesn’t have anything else to say.
 
                                     * * *
 
If Dean felt like admitting anything—which he doesn’t—he might admit that he
was a little volatile that day.  Taking Cas when Sam could see them (could’ve
waited for a time when Sam wasn’t around; that wasn’t very careful), attacking
the police chief to the point of blood (although that was mostly self-
defense—and also, fuck that guy), and worst of all, kissing Cas in public.  He
has no defense for that one.  Anyone could have, might have seen, and that
would be all on him.  Everything would come crumbling down.
But no.  Nobody saw.  Cops hadn’t been called, right?  At the very least, his
Dad should’ve gotten some kind of call if a person saw his teenaged son kissing
a small child like that.  Nothing happens, so Dean has to assume it’s just
another example of how everything goes his way.  And he moves on to bigger and
better things.
Dean likes parties, in general.  He likes to see the dark things that occur
when people purposely lower their inhibitions, likes to cause them even
better.  He never thought he’d want them in his house, necessarily, but because
he wants Sam and Cas to be there, he’ll make an exception.  He always prefers
fucking with Cas on his own turf.
He doesn’t necessarily invite people so much as humbly suggest that he might
like it if some people showed up on the weekend for his birthday, and let the
word spread on its own.  Dean doesn’t really adhere to high school social
constructs; he’s sort of welcome wherever he goes.  And teens are just begging
him to fuck with them (literally, sometimes).  It’s a smorgasbord of easy pain
and ruin, and they’re so innocent and hormonal, so no matter how he hurts them,
they keep coming back for more.
Good times.
There are some other teens that he considers more than sheep for the
slaughter.  Meg Masters is a girl from a good family who has a somewhat…odd
reputation.  It’s bad, but it’s not normal high school girl bad (though she
does drink, smoke, and fuck pretty openly).  It’s the kind of bad that Dean
likes.  The kind that leaves scars, that threatens lives.  Where kids change
schools, attempt suicide, or wind up in jail, and somehow sexy,
sarcastic little Meg is at the center of it all.
It's always something that can't actually be proven, but the circumstantial
evidence is compelling.  Like a girl that makes fun of Meg's reputation, who
then happens to get roofied on the wrong side of town, at a party she wouldn't
normally have gone to, but one where Meg's crowd is likely to be.  Meg
definitely didn't put the pictures online because that kid got caught and
arrested.  She didn't make the girl's boyfriend dump her, or kick her off the
cheerleading squad when her grades tragically started to slip either.  But
everyone blames her just the same (Dean's just impressed she apparently has a
rohypnol connection).
This is one rumor of many, but like Dean, the girl is Teflon: she gets in
trouble but nothing sticks.  Something to do with her big-shot lawyer father. 
She’s not as good as Dean, though, or she wouldn’t have a reputation at all. 
(Girl doesn’t know a thing about being careful.)  Still, she might not have a
lot of friends, but she has a certain healthy respect.  She's not somebody to
cross. 
Dean likes her just fine (bitch knows how to have a good time, in his opinion).
 She's also hot, with her matching dark brown waves and eyes, and tiny but
curvy body. The two of them flirt because it's axiomatic, but he doesn't think
they'll ever fuck.  Neither is what the other is looking for.  Everyone else
assumes they hook up and they both refuse to confirm or deny, united in
cheshire-cat mystery.  Obviously the adults in town are concerned (girl ain’t
right, good boy, mixed up, likes of her, blah, blah) and he just flashes a
devil-may-care smile and smothers them in charm.  
If he'd listened to the adults, he'd have heard the hint of something even
darker about the girl.  As it is, it's pure serendipity when he finds out.
 Just another break in the clouds, heaven shining down on him.  
Hes walking to his car after school and deep in thought, when he hears Gordon
Walker calling his name.
“What’s up, man, how you been?” Dean gives him one of those hand shake, half
hug deals, complete with pat on the back.  Gordon is another one of those teens
that Dean likes to be around.  Tall, strong black guy on the varsity wrestling
team, Gordon can handle his drinks and is just really unstable.  It’s as though
he walks around in a constant state of rage, which he can only satiate with
fists and blood.  Dean can relate; and he likes the way they make each
other…worse, really.  He’s the one to pull Gordon off just before he kills
someone, if only so he can go on to fight another day.
“It’s all good,” Gordon said, looking around, licking his lips.  “Listen, man,
I know you been hanging out with Meg Masters sometimes.”
Dean flashes a smile.  “Yeah, man, what of it?
“You wanna…”  Gordon frowns, looks kind of pensive.  “You wanna watch her
around your brother.”
Dean keeps his eyes averted so Gordon won’t see the sudden light in them. 
“What’s that now?”
Gordon sighs impatiently.  “Look, she’s hot and all and I like a crazy bitch as
much as anybody, right?  We hooked up a lot for a while; she used to hang at my
house.  One time I left to go get us more drinks and when I got back…”
“Yeah,” Dean encourages when Gordon trails off.
“I came in the back, I was gonna scare her…would’ve been funny, ‘cause that
girl don’t scare easy.  Except I couldn't find her at first.  She was in my 13
year old brother’s room.”
Dean lifts his eyebrows.  “What’d you see?”
“I didn’t see shit, and she’s lucky because she’d be dead if I had.  They were
both sitting on the bed.  Said they were just hanging out but I…you know how
many times she was alone with him?  I just…I can’t prove nothin’ and he says
nothin’ happened.  But I don’t fuck with her no more.”
“Maybe he’s telling the truth?” Dean suggests, but he doesn’t believe it.  He
trusts Gordon’s instincts.  Besides, in his experience, it looks like the thing
because it is the thing.
“Yeah, maybe,” Gordon says, getting pissed.  “Look, I’m just warning you.  Do
what the fuck you want, Winchester, I just heard you protect the kid.  Thought
you’d wanna know.”
“All right, settle down, don’t start cryin’.  Good lookin’ out, Gordon,” Dean
tells him, mind already racing.  Gordon’s right, this is information he really
does need.  “You comin’ Saturday?  She’ll be there, I warn you.”
Gordon’s leaving but he looks back at him darkly.  “I told you, do what the
fuck you want.  I’ll be there for the free drinks, and let’s just say she
should stay outta my face.”
“I’m an extra large in shirts!” Dean calls after him.  “If you were wondering!”
Gordon flashes him back a smile, “I was gonna bring you a new knife, but sure,
I’ll get you a shirt.”
“Green brings out my eyes!”  Dean calls, giving him a thumbs-up. 
It’s gonna be a really good party.
***** Too Much, Too Soon (And Way Too Careless) *****
Castiel has never been to a party before but he...he's looking forward to it.
 It’s Dean’s birthday, and he’ll be surrounded by people, so Cas hopes “Nice
Dean” will make an appearance all night.  And maybe he’ll want Cas to play
“Regular Kid”, which means  he gets to just hang out with Sam.  He gets to
drink, too, which he thinks he's really starting to like.  And that way...if
Dean wants him...but no, he won't.  Too many people around for sure.
And if Cas is looking forward to the party, Sam is losing his mind over it. 
Not that he’s showing it; in true Winchester style, he’s playing it cool to
everyone but Cas.  Only Cas gets to see all the puppy excitement.  “Kids at
school are freaking that we get to go," he's telling Cas; and if he said it
five times already, Cas won't point it out.  "Anyone who has a high school
sister or brother tried to get invited and couldn't.  Dean doesn't want anyone
but us," he says proudly, and today his shining, tilted eyes look more hazel
than blue.  "Mick Davies thinks we’re gonna start hanging out with 9th graders
after this.”
Cas smiles, because he can’t help it when Sam’s around.  “You never know.  Are
you going to drink?”
“Yeah, obviously.  Well, let’s see what Dean says.”
What Dean had to say was, “One beer each, and make it last.” And when Sam would
protest, “Suck it up buttercup, or go wait this out at Cas’s.  You’re ten and
you’re tiny; I’m not having you get sick, or somebody take advantage because
you’re drunk and stupid.  You told Dad you’d be on your game tonight, Sammy,
and I promised him you’d be good to stay.  Don’t make me a liar.  Got your
knife?”
Sam pulls out a steel folding knife from his pocket, rolling his eyes.  “We’re
in our house.  You’re here.  Who’s gonna hurt me, Dean?”
“On your game, Sammy,” Dean insists, holding onto Sam’s small shoulders.  Sam
pushes into Dean’s arms, eyes closing, smiling a little, and Dean hugs back. 
Cas has to look away; Sam loves his brother so much.  If you knew, you wouldn’t
love him.  You’d run from him. 
“I'll be careful, Dean, I promise.  You want your present Dean?  I…I made you
something.”
Dean pulls back, and Cas peers curiously into his eyes.  Even he thinks Dean
might actually be touched, but he...he can't be.  Yet his sea green eyes are so
light and clear when he looks at his brother, his smile so affectionate.  “You
didn’t have to do that, little brother.  But yeah!  Hand it over!”  Cas chews
his fingernails that are already bitten to the quick.  
Sam hands him a lump that's vaguely box-shaped and wrapped in old newspaper,
with probably a thousand pieces of scotch tape.  When Dean opens it, it’s an
old wooden box that that says ‘Emergency Car Kit’ in big childish lettering on
the side.  In the box is a small first aid kit, a flashlight, batteries, jumper
cables, protein bars, a window scraper, and a folded up emergency blanket. 
“It’s for the Impala…for your Baby!” Sam is smiling shyly, but his eyes are all
lit up.  “I…I mean I took some of it from the car already.  Some from the
house.  I found the box in the garage, but…”
Dean smiles down at him, still looking genuinely moved, pleased with his gift,
charmed by his brother.  It makes Cas feel like maybe he's crazy, imagining
things.  “It’s great, Sammy.  It’s awesome, I love it.  C’mere.”  He puts the
box down and picks Sam up, squeezing him tightly.  “Love you, Sammy.  Love you
so goddamn much.  You're the best thing in the world, you know that?”  Cas
chews his lips, though he knows Dean will complain if they get chapped, because
that's what he thinks about Sam.  Dean can't love Sam.  He can't.  
“Love you, too, Dean!  Happy birthday, old man!”  Dean ruffles his hair and
kisses his cheek and Sammy presses one to the corner of his mouth. 
“All right, enough chick flick moments,” Dean puts him down and Cas becomes
extremely preoccupied with the pattern of Sam's rug.  “Was my gift too big to
carry, Cas?” Dean says lightly and Cas looks up.
“I…I don’t have…”
“Cas, he’s teasing you, Dean doesn’t care about that stuff,” Sam tries to aim a
kick at the back of Dean’s knee, hoping he’ll stumble.  
Dean effortlessly yanks him forward in a headlock and messes up his hair, only
letting go when he begs for mercy.  He looks at Cas.  “Could use a birthday
hug, Cas.”
Cas sort of slides upwards into his arms and Dean lifts him.  Cas doesn’t have
to sneak kisses anymore; Sam time is still free time.  “Happy Birthday, Dean. 
Thank you for everything,” he says automatically.
“It’s all good,” Dean says for Sam’s ears, then presses his lips to Cas's ear
and whispers hotly, “already gave me my present, didn’t you baby.”
When Cas is set back down, his face is red and Sam smiles knowingly.  At least
he waits until they’re alone to tease him.  “Why didn't you give Dean a
birthday kiss, Cas?  You know you wanted to!”
“Shut up!  I don’t like him!” Cas says and shoves Sam, but he forces a laugh. 
Anything that keeps Sam in the dark.
When Dean’s friends start showing up, Sam and Cas keep a low profile at first,
spying on the party instead of being a part of it.   The party seems to flow in
and out of the house, just a bunch of teens holding beers, standing around or
sitting on random mismatched lawn furniture.  The boys are up in the tree house
with a pair of binoculars, giggling and passing them back and forth and talking
about the disappointing lack of 9th graders of either sex.  Cas feels like he
really likes that part, being able to watch without being watched.  He feels
safe and relaxed.  He even watches Dean, fascinated by being able to observe
him without any danger.  He sees the easy magnetism, how he draws everyone in,
and doesn't seem to be trying.  Sam has some of that, too, Cas decides.  But he
sees the things only he can recognize, too.  The way he watches the people
around him, the dark thoughts Cas imagines he can see in his eyes.
The way he’s looking for Cas.
When Dean goes inside, Cas turns to Sam, feeling tense; he's not where Dean
wants him to be.  “W-we should go, right?  C-can’t tell Mick we stayed all
night in the tree house, even if there aren’t any 9th graders.  He’ll say we’re
pussies.”
“He never even kissed anybody yet, at least we have,” Sam grumbles and Cas
feels a flush of pleasure from Sam bringing it up.  "Cas, you okay?  You seem
nervous all the sudden.  Maybe we should stay a little longer.," Sam suggests,
putting a hand on his arm.  
Cas feels himself redden.  It happens sometimes, and he hates when Sam notices.
 "N-no," he pauses, digs his bitten nails into his palms.  He tries again,
slower this time.  "No...I'm just...cold."
"Okay, Cas," Sam says kindly, but not like he believes him all the way.  But
he’s slipping easily down the rope ladder and Cas follows.  He tugs Sam into
the house, looking for Dean.  They spill into the living room and every female
on the first floor loses her mind.  “Dean, oh my God!  Is this your little
brother, oh my God, he’s so cute!  Oh, look at his little friend, what’s your
name, sweetie?”  And they’re instantly surrounded by pretty high school girls
and a cloud of warring cheap perfumes.
Cas lets Sam take the lead, even though he’s honestly not doing much better. 
He’s pretty shy with all the attention and he blushes and stutters, but that
almost makes them like him even more.  Cas tries to stay in the background, and
he’s embarrassed when a girl he doesn’t know tugs him into her lap.  “I’ll
watch you, baby,” she tells him drunkenly, but he wiggles free easily enough. 
No thanks. 
Cas is too edgy, and Sam is too shy, but Cas knows what they need.  He sneaks
away (with a glance at Dean first; not sneaking from you, Dean, promise) and
slips outside to find a cooler, grabbing a wet, icy can for himself and another
for Sam.  He wonders if it’ll be different because it isn’t warm and flat like
the ones in the forest.  He smiles to himself, remembering. 
“Hey, pretty.”
He looks up and of course it’s another girl.  Unlike most of Dean’s friends,
she doesn’t tower over him though.  She has rich brown hair and eyes and the
reddest lips he’s ever seen.  She’s wearing a low cut purple tank top under a
short leather jacket and jeans and looks…sexy.  Even the way she’s leaning
against the door.  She’s smiling at him like she knows him, but he’s never seen
her before.  “Hello,” he says shyly, shifting the cold cans in his arms.
“You supposed to be drinking?  You don’t look 21.”
Cas feels his face get hot.  “I…Dean said…”
“Kidding, Angel.  I had my first drink in the womb.  No big deal.”  She’s still
smiling.  Even her voice is sexy, Cas decides, low and purring almost, but not
the fake way when girls do it on purpose.  “What’s your name?”
“Castiel,” he says, as though he isn’t sure.  He glances at the door behind
her.  The cans are painfully cold even through his flannel, and he wants to get
back to Sam.  Plus, Dean will be looking for him.  He steps forward, thinking
she’ll step back politely, but she doesn’t move.
“I’m Dean’s good friend Meg,” she tells him, pressing her arms against the door
behind her.  Cas blinks; is she keeping him out here on purpose?  Something
about her smile… “He told me a lot about you, Castiel.”
Cas’s heart rate picks up.  “I gotta get back to my friend, please.”
She looks at him for a moment and he’s thinking about walking around to the
front of the house when she steps aside.  “Sure thing, Angel.  Talk to you
later, okay?  You go ahead and enjoy that beer.”
She pushes the door open but the way she stands, he has to squeeze past her to
get by.  He blushes, turning his face so he won’t touch her breasts.  She
laughs at his discomfort and he hurries back to the living room, thinking he
doesn’t really like that girl.
He feels Dean’s eyes on him when he comes in, and then he’s looking past him at
the girl.  Meg shrugs and makes her way over to him, and Cas doesn’t think he
likes the whispering that goes on between them.  He looks for Sam who is on the
loveseat, sandwiched in by two girls Dean’s age, with three more sitting at his
feet.  Cas has to laugh at how awkward he looks.  He comes over and gives him
his beer, much to the distress of the teenaged mother hens around him.
“He’s fine.  He’s my brother, ain’t he?  Winchesters are made of stronger
stuff,” Dean assures them with a wink, and of course they defer to him
meltingly while Sam tries not to preen at the compliment.  Dean's in an
armchair with a glass of brown liquid; Cas thinks maybe it’s the same stuff he
made him drink sometimes.  He could go over, ask for some.  Dean would let him
have it, too, though probably not in front of Sam.  Cas bet he wouldn’t be able
to say no; he loves watching him drink it.  The trick is whether or not Dean
would be able to keep his hands off of Cas afterwards.
“What about Emo boy?,” Meg asks, still with that smile; Cas looks at her,
stung, feeling his cheeks flush red.  She’s perched on the arm of Dean’s chair,
looking sultry and confident.   “He doesn’t look particularly strong.”
“Cas is strong.  He's not emo, and he's not your boy either,” Sam says sharply,
looking at her with dislike.  
"Sam," Dean warns, but Sam glances at Cas, who opens his beer and sips, looking
back at Meg.  His face is blank, there is none of the wince that Sam saw in the
woods (this stuff tastes like nothing compared to what Dean gives him).  Sam
hides a smirk of his own.
Meg looks amused by the little show.  “I stand corrected.  Maybe he is a big
boy after all.  Still looks like he could use a lot more happy juice.”
“Cas, come sit with Sam,” a girl with short, straight dark hair and tanned skin
speaks up, making room for Cas next to Sam on the couch.  Cas obeys, because
something in her face seems like she’s as uncomfortable with that Meg girl as
he is.  In fact, all the girls near Sam look ill-at-ease, looking down at their
drinks or off to the side.
“Looks awful cozy over there,” Meg says slyly.  “Think you have room for one
more?”
Cas can feel the tension in the girl to his left, but Sam doesn’t hesitate. 
“Nah, we’re all full up.”
“Sammy, don’t be rude.”
“Not bein’ rude, Dean, there’s no room,” Sam shoots back, and there is a moment
of brother vs. brother battle of the stares.  
"What a surprise, Meg Masters causing problems with some little boys."
Cas looks and it's another boy who spoke, a boy who is dark-skinned and big and
strong like Dean.  He's standing in the doorway, crushing a beer can in his
hand and looking like he wishes it were the girl Meg instead.
"Don't worry, Gordon, they'll come around.  I've got a way with kids," Meg
winks at him and Gordon is instantly wading roughly through teens to get to
her, teeth bared in a snarl.  
Dean is suddenly between them, and more boys rise on either side.  "Gordon,
chill, she's fucking with you.  Told you she'd be here, man; you can't handle
it, get the fuck out and see you Monday."
Cas feels the girls on the couch tense even more, and the dark-haired girl is
putting her hands on Cas and Sam, like she wants to push them behind her.
There's a moment of silence and then Gordon shakes his head.  "You've always
had my back, Winchester.  Wish you'd trust me on this one."  He looks around
Dean at Meg.  "One day he won't be here to stop me.  Let's see you run your
mouth then, you sick, twisted bitch."  He leaves the way he came, and the path
he made stays clear.
Meg opens her mouth as he's leaving, but Dean interrupts her.  “Come on, Meg,
let’s get some air.”
And Cas doesn’t see either of them for a while.
Then it’s late, and Cas is drifting upstairs by himself.  Sam is outside
playing beer pong (although he’s using Gatorade—his one beer is long gone). 
Cas is on his third, (he's pretty sure) but he knows Dean won’t mind.  Dean
likes it when Cas drinks; the rules were for Sam’s benefit, not his.  His head
is spinning, but he likes it.  He keeps tripping over people and giggling, and
it's fun to giggle and think everything's funny.  He'd been with Sam all night,
even cheering him on for Beer Pong, though he hadn't had the courage to try to
play, too.  Dean’s friends are all so nice to him; the girls want to baby him,
which can be annoying, but the boys get a kick out of seeing him walk around
with a beer and call him 'Little Dude', which he likes.  But he got a little
sleepy.  He told Sam he was going to go lie down in his room, but when he gets
there, there’s a couple in the dark, having sex on Sam’s bed.  They don’t
notice Cas and he stops to watch.  He can’t help it.
It’s a guy and a girl.  She has a dress on, but it’s up to her waist.  The top
is pushed down, but the guy on top of her is covering her, so he can’t see much
except the guy's butt (smaller, not as nice as Dean's, Cas hates himself for
noticing.)   What he also sees is how much the girl likes what the guy is
doing.  The moans can be faked; he knows that.  But her breathing…she’s
panting, lifting to  meet his thrusts.  She’s not in pain.  The boy on top of
her isn’t saying “bitch” or “slut”.  Just her name, Lisa, how much he wants
her, how much he likes being inside her.  He guesses it’s the girl from
earlier, the nice girl on the couch who didn’t like Meg.
“Like what you see, Angel?”
Cas jumps, and of course it’s Meg.  He feels a little embarrassed, but not as
much as he would before the beers.  Meg’s not looking at him; she’s looking
into the room.  “Didn’t know she had it in her...well I guess she does now.” 
She slides a cell phone out of her pocket, lifts it as though she’s going to
take a picture.  “Hmm.  Bad angle and the lighting's all wrong.  Come on; let’s
go talk, sweet cheeks.”  She reaches for him but he steps back, frowning,
spilling his beer a little.  She gives him a look that’s not completely mocking
for once.  “Hey, I won’t bite, unless you ask me to.  You’re the most
interesting person at this party.  Everyone else is so…,” she looks at the
couple on Sam’s twin bed, “generic.” 
Cas looks at Meg and tilts his head curiously.  He's used to being called odd,
but she called him interesting.  Not weird, or bad ('cause she doesn’t know
what's wrong with you).  She reaches for his hand and this time he takes it. 
Lets her lead him to Dean’s room, feels the familiar mix of terror, arousal,
and shame.  He hesitates in the dark doorway, but the alcohol helps, and she
tugs him over the threshold. 
It also helps that Dean isn’t there.  He knows she wants to lead him to the
bed, but he shakes off her hand and beelines for Dean’s desk chair instead.  He
doesn’t usually get a chance to choose, but she’s not Dean.  She smiles and
starts to close the door but he jumps up.  "No, please!"  He wants to run past
her, but he feels dizzy from jumping up too fast.
She holds out a hand, and pushes the door back open.  “Hey, hey, it’s okay,
Angel.  We can leave it open, just thought the party’s a little loud.  She
comes and sits on the desk, and not too close either.  Cas sits again, though
poised to leave.  “It’s okay, relax.  Drink your beer.”  She tips hers, a
bottle instead of a can, to her lips, and he likes the way it draws attention
to her red mouth.  He doesn’t think he really needs more but he takes a small
sip.
“Dean told me a funny story about you,” She says, watching him and he frowns,
looking at her, because that doesn't make sense.  All the stuff between Dean
and him is secret and none of it is funny.  What would he have said?  Does she
know… “Something about you asking a girl at school to flip up her skirt?”
He blushes and looks at his lap.  Weird and wrong, he knows now.
“Hey, it’s okay, what a bitch, right?  I mean all she had to say was no, she
didn’t have to rat you out,” Meg says peeling at the label on her bottle and
Cas blinks in surprise.   Everyone acted like Cas did something really bad,
really shocking that day.  Nobody has ever said April did anything wrong. 
“I…I scared her,” Cas tells Meg, trying to explain it.  “I made her cry.”
She looks at him and smiles.  “I guess you did come on a little strong.  Most
girls prefer you to work up to looking at their pussies.”  His face is hot
again and she laughs, but it’s okay.  She’s mocking him but she likes him, he
thinks.  “There’s usually an order to these things you know.  First base…,” she
touches her finger lightly to her red mouth, sucks her finger in a little,
“Second base…,” she runs her finger down her neck, down the vee of her tank
top, and Cas’s eyes follow almost helplessly, “Third…,” her hand slides down
her middle, over her jeans, between her legs...
Cas looks away uncertainly…he does want this, doesn’t he?  “I…I should…”
“You should do…,” she says slowly, touching the curls on his forehead,
“whatever you want to do.  That’s what I do, anyway.  All the time, whatever…,”
she runs her fingers to his neck, “I…,” they play with the collar of his
flannel, pushing it aside, “want.”
Cas looks at her reluctantly, but sort of interested, too.  He’s feeling so
good and warm and buzzed and she’s…different.  She puts a gentle hand on his
face (not as small as Sam’s but so soft), “Nothing wrong with being curious
about girls, Castiel.  Have you kissed a girl, yet?”
He hates how he keeps blushing; he shrugs and looks down again.  He’s not sure
if this is right.  She’s so pretty, but she’s still a grown-up, or almost.  He
bets she’s stronger than him, even if she’s a girl.  What if he wanted to stop
and she wouldn’t?  She shouldn’t be his first kiss from a girl…
Except that gets him thinking about his kiss with Sam, the way a first kiss
should be.  Remembering Sam’s mouth on his makes him feel…sort of the way he
feels when the good parts happen.  Like maybe he’s getting hard, a little.  He
guesses she caused that, too.  Probably better to get hard for her than his
best friend.  On impulse, he leans toward her and she meets him in the middle. 
Her lips are smaller than Dean’s but her mouth is bigger than his.  He’s used
to that.  She breaks the kiss slightly.  “Pretty good at this, Angel.”  He
looks at her and smiles shyly at the compliment, and she wipes at his mouth
with her thumb, laughing softly.  “Look kinda cute in red lipstick, too.”  She
kisses him again, and before he knows it, she’s taking his hand and putting it
over her shirt, on her left breast.  He tries to tug away, embarrassed, but she
hushes him.  “It’s okay.  Really.”
 “What’s this, Cas?” Dean asks gently from the hall, and Cas flies from the
chair, stumbling in his haste.  He stops in the middle of the room, staring at
Dean, because he’s not sure what to do.  Looking at Dean’s inscrutable green
eyes, Cas suddenly can't believe he's in this room on purpose; a fat, stupid
lamb playing games in a wolf’s den.  He feels like he's sweating, like he woke
up from a nightmare.
Except the nightmare is there in the doorway, and Cas hates the way he can’t
just be scared, can’t just hate.  He has to notice the beauty, the strength
that gets used mercilessly against him, has to anticipate the feelings those
lips and hands can coax from his traitorous body.  Because he’s weak.  Because
he’s stupid and fucked up and dirty and slutty.  That's what this girl wants,
too.  You don't see her hitting on Sam.  She knows what Cas is, after all.
Dean watches him, and Cas thinks he reads every thought as it crosses his mind.
“Hey, don’t be mean to him,” Meg speaks up, and unlike Cas, she doesn’t seem at
all perturbed to be caught.  “He’s at a big boy party, I’m just giving him the
tour.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Dean starts to close the door.
“No, don’t…I told him he could keep it open,” Meg says and winks at Cas. 
Dean stops mid-motion, leaving the door about halfway and gives her a doubtful
look.  “Your funeral.”
Meg rolls her eyes and smiles.  “Who knew you were so uptight, Winchester.  If
you’re gonna stay, quit killin’ the mood.  You scared the shit out of my date,
that’s a bad start.”
“I’ll fix it.  Cas, c’mere, let me talk to you for a sec, man-to-man.”
“Ooh, I’ll try not to worry my poor pretty head about what the big strong men
talk about.  Got anything I can sew, or clean?”
He ignores her and tugs Cas over to the bed.  Cas tenses a little; most times
things get really serious when Dean moves him to the bed, and he’s not sure he
wants an audience for what Dean makes him do.  But aside from the initial jolt
of fear, Cas tries to resign himself.  This is nothing new, other than the
girl.  Maybe it won’t hurt with her there.  Plus, as always, he does better
with this stuff if his brain is fuzzy; and he thinks this is the fuzziest it's
ever felt.   
Dean sits on the bottom edge of his bed and pulls Cas in front of him between
his legs, turning him to face Meg.   Cas sort of falls back on his hard chest,
not bothering to sit back up.  He’s looking at Meg, who’s looking back and
doesn’t seem at all weirded out by how familiar Dean and Cas are with each
other.  Dean rubs Cas's sides and whispers into his ear (and if he licks there,
tugs with his teeth, who can see in the dark?)  “Wanna watch you learn about
girls, baby.  Wanna watch you touch her and make her feel good…let her touch
you.  Fuck her if she wants, and you think you can do it.”  He turns Cas back
around, so his back is to Meg, and she can’t see Dean sliding his hand down
between Cas’s legs.  He’s rubbing, and Cas puts his mouth on Dean’s shoulder to
hide a gasp.  Dean’s plush mouth goes back to his ear.  “Be a good boy for me.”
Cas is half hard again when he turns to look at Meg, but he hesitates against
Dean shyly.  This is new territory on every level, and he’s not sure he can—
Dean gives him a light push between his shoulder blades (oh yeah…no choice) and
he walks back to her.  Dean stays where he is on the bed.  Meg looks Cas up and
down.  “Wow, good job, Coach.   He’s all ready to go.”
He looks at her and swallows and she smiles.  “Hey, remember?  I’m not gonna
bite.”  She tugs him up into her lap, which would be humiliating, but it’s kind
of what he’s used to now for sex.  “Can I have a kiss?” she asks, and he smiles
a little.  It’s nice to be asked.  He leans up and kisses the red mouth again,
trying to push his smaller tongue to play with hers.  She moans and it’s not
long before she takes it over, putting her hands on his small face and becoming
a bit forceful.  When he pulls back she follows him, so sometimes he can’t
breathe until she lets him.  He’s leaning back in her arms, gasping for air.
“Touch her, Cas…she wants you to.”
Cas jumps because Dean’s voice is at his elbow, much closer than he left him. 
He swivels his head and blinks in surprise, turning to see Dean in his desk
chair, sucking on a beer and watching Cas with green eyes glimmering in the
light from his window.  Cas’s heart pounds with the knowledge that he hadn’t
seen Dean move; he’s usually aware of every move he makes.  Too much to
drink…sorry, Dean.
“C’mon, Angel…remember what I told you?  What comes after first base?”
Cas looks at her, then down at her breasts.  “Second base,” he says and his
voice sounds so small and young, even to him.  He puts his hands at her flat
stomach and slowly pushes up.  He can feel her heart pounding, and she makes a
little gasping sound when his hands finally cover the small swell of her
breasts.  Her nipples are hard and he can feel them under his palms.  He lets
his curiosity take over and gently squeezes, looking at her face to make sure
it doesn’t hurt.  “That’s it…feels so good, Angel.  Do you want to see?”  He
nods solemnly.  He's never seen boobs in real life before and he almost wishes
Sam could see them, too.  Like if he could switch out Dean for Sam.  He
giggles, thinking of it.
“Castiel,” Dean warns, and the giggles dry up.  He blushes, getting scolded in
front of Meg.  “It’s not nice to laugh when a girl is showing you her body. 
Act like a big boy.”
“Aw, don’t be mean, he’s just having fun, right, Angel?” Meg hugs him, pushing
his head against her chest.  “Ignore him.” (yeah, nu-uh.) “now where were we…”
Dean leans forward and puts his mouth to Cas’s ear, licking and sucking
slightly before saying, “Ask her to show you her tits, Cas.”
Dean's mouth on Cas's ear always feels good, makes his mouth pant open, makes
his dick want Dean's hand.  He finds he’s breathing hard; they all are, and Meg
is staring at his lips.  “C-can I see…will you show me...your…tits.”  The word
is unfamiliar on his tongue, but he thinks he likes it.
“All you gotta do is ask the right girl,” Meg murmurs, and then she’s putting
Cas’s hands on her tank top, tugging it down.  She isn’t wearing a bra, so his
hands are immediately filled with her small, perfectly round tits.  He rubs his
little palms over her pebble-hard, pink-brown nipples, stroking his hands up
and down on her boobs (tits!)  She moans and looks at Dean over his head. 
“God, his hands are so tiny!”
He does like touching her there.  Her breasts are not much bigger than his
hands, and he likes the way they’re so firm and soft at the same time.  Dean
sips his beer; he’s looking Meg in the eye.  “Know what feels really good for
her, Cas…why don’t you suck her tits.  Just like a baby drinking milk.  It’s
hot, trust me.  She’ll love it.” 
Cas isn’t sure, but he knows that just because Dean is pretending these are
suggestions, doesn’t mean they are.  That’s for Meg’s benefit.   So he watches
Meg’s face carefully and licks over her left nipple.    He hears her breathing
change, just like the girl in the room, and he gets more confident, sucking the
nipple into his mouth.  “God, Angel!” she cries out.  He moves to the right one
when Dean suggests it, still touching and exploring with his hands. Meg puts a
hand to the back of his head, holding him there.  Cas looks and Meg’s eyes are
closed, her head fallen back.  He starts to get lazy in his movements, leaning
against her while he sucks, rubbing his hand over her other one.  His eyes
drift shut.
“Aww, Angel, getting sleepy?  You should lie down.”  She moves so she can lay
Cas on the desk; but it’s large and she’s small, so it works.  Lying down makes
Cas realize that the ceiling is sparkling and spinning. Dean stands to get a
better look and Cas gets a weird desire to touch his face. 
Meg barely gives him a glance; she only has eyes for the little boy in front of
her.  Cas recognizes the look on her face from when Dean first started doing
things with him.  Like she can’t believe she has him there, doing these
things.  Like she wants to eat him up.  He whimpers in sudden fear and she
bites her lip.  “It’s okay, Angel, shh…you’ll like it.  All boys do.”  She
straddles Cas, starts grinding against him.  It hurts more than feels good
though, her weight is too much against his hard little dick.  He squirms a bit,
trying to free himself, or at least turn sideways, so she won't be against him
like that, but somehow it's not working. 
“Huuuurts,” he whines and she moans, but she lifts up. 
“Okay, Angel, okay, shh, you’re okay,” she says, breathing hard.  “Still want
this, right?”  She unbuckles her chunky belt, tugging at the buttons with
shaking hands.  
Suddenly, Dean is there, stopping her hands.  "Wait."  Meg looks daggers at him
but stops.  "Listen, he can't exactly wear a condom.  You clean?"
Cas blinks, not understanding, but Meg's face clears and she digs a cell phone
out of her pocket.  It takes some doing, but after a moment or two she hands
Dean the phone.  "It's current.”
Cas closes his eyes and loses some time.  Then Dean is shaking his shoulder and
Meg is climbing back on the desk, straddling him without leaning her weight
down.  Her jeans are gone now.  Cas's sleepy eyes widen when he sees her purple
lace panties, a grown up kind that he can see through in places.  He looks
toward the door and sees that one of them closed it; probably locked it. 
Doesn’t matter; he was never under the impression that he could leave.  He
struggles to sit up, so he can see her panties better and Dean helps him. 
“That’s it baby…here, touch, it’s okay.”  She puts his right hand on the top of
her panties and he marvels at the silky feel, the texture of the lace.  She
pushes his hand lower and the panties are wet there, startling him, but she
keeps his hand.  “Don’t you wanna see what’s under here, Angel?”
He does.  He leans forward even more and she uses his hand to push the panties
aside.  His mouth falls open as he begins to touch.  Her skin is soft and wet
and she only has a little hair down there, a line at the top like she did it on
purpose.  “Yeees, good boy, touch me…” she moans.  Cas pushes his fingers into
her folds, but he doesn’t really know what he’s feeling for.  It’s wetter here,
reminds him of how wet Dean’s dick gets; he can feel it on his fingers.  He
finds a warm, wet hole and pushes his finger inside, watching Meg’s face for
pain, but she seems to like it.  It’s easy for him to put another finger
because it’s so slippery and his fingers are nice and small.  He doesn’t know
what to do so he just feels around inside.  Then he thinks of what Dean does to
his hole, so he starts fucking in and out.  She seems to like that a lot.
“Taste your fingers, Cas,” Dean tells him and Cas’s head turns at the sound of
his voice.  He takes his hand out of her panties, causing her to moan in
disappointment.  He watches Dean and holds up a wet finger.  He assumes he’s
not going to like the taste, so he barely touches his tongue to it. He thinks
tasting bad things is probably not a good idea right now.
Dean takes his hand.  “Open,” he commands, and shoves the two wettest fingers
into his mouth, pushing them onto his tongue and it tastes...weird.  “That’s
how you taste something, Cas.”
“You think he can fuck me?” Meg asks, seemingly not offended at the faces Cas
is making.
Dean looks at her and shrugs.  “He’s kinda young.  Don’t know how much there is
for you to fuck.”  Cas blushes, looking away (as if Dean doesn’t know how much
he has). “Cas, take your dick out for her.  Bet you can’t wait to show her.”
Cas bites his lower lip and tries to think.  He’s really not sure he wants to
show this grown girl his privates; he bets she’s used to seeing big ones like
Dean’s.  She’ll make fun of it; call it small, especially after what Dean
said.  “I…I don’t…” He stops and slumps forward a little.  Stupid beer is
making him forget he doesn't get to say no.  Dean won't spank him in front of
Meg, but punishments can always come later.
“Aw, no fair, Angel, I showed you mine.  Don’t you know how that other half of
that saying goes?” Meg smiles sardonically. “Don’t worry about it, sweet thing,
here; you just need a little more courage.” 
She picks up her own beer and tips it to Cas’s lips.  He doesn’t want anymore,
but he doesn't bother to say so.  He tries to swallow fast enough but she has
it tipped too far, he ends up choking, letting some spill down his chin.  Same
thing Dean likes doing, he realizes, and both Meg and Dean are looking at his
wet mouth as he wipes the back of his hand over his dripping face. 
Then Dean is pushing him gently down on his back again and Meg is undoing his
jeans.  He looks at the ceiling, telling himself it’s just like all the other
stuff Dean makes him do, except at least it won’t hurt.  But he’s not really
feeling turned on anymore.  That beer that went so fast into his belly isn’t
sitting very well; it’s like he can feel it moving around.  And he keeps
thinking how it's different for a girl to see him than a boy, who knows penises
are supposed to be small at his age.  She pulls his pants down to his knees,
taking his underwear with them, so he's just suddenly bare and cold in front of
her. 
And having her look makes him not hard at all, and that makes him want to cry. 
He won’t though; this is just something that’s happening to him.  It’s just
another thing.  He closes his eyes, but it turns out his dizziness gets a lot
worse with his eyes closed and his stomach starts to churn.  He whispers,
"Dean," and shifts uncomfortably, feeling the hard desk under his bare bottom.
 Dean hushes him, putting a cool hand on his forehead that helps a little.
“Ohh,” Meg breathes, “Lookit you…don’t worry, Angel, I can fix this.” He wishes
she wouldn’t, until she starts touching him.  Her hand is gentle and soft,
unlike any he’s felt there, and she’s skilled, stroking him hard for her
easily.  He still doesn’t feel so good, but his body is going on without him.
 Then suddenly she leans down and takes him in her mouth, sucking and licking
the tiny head before lowering to engulf him.  Her mouth is like Dean's and he
knows what to do.  He moans and pushes up his hips, fucking into her mouth.  
Dean tugs Meg up by her hair and she glares at him.  “He can’t last like that,
he’s too young.  Up to you, but you said you wanted to fuck him.”
“Like I couldn’t get it back up.  I wanted to see if anything comes out.” 
For his part, their voices are starting to sound a little muffled and he isn’t
feeling so hot.  “Dean…don’t feel so good.”
Meg rubs his stomach under his shirt and that helps a little.  “Shh, you can do
this, this is even better than my mouth, Angel…you’ll love it.”
Cas tries to sit up.  “Noo, I…I think I…”
Meg pushes him back down. 
“Maybe you should give him a minute.  If he drank too much, he will get sick.
 Guaranteed,” Dean tells her, stroking the hair on Cas’s forehead and Cas looks
at him, a mix of gratitude and shame.  Dean doesn't have to do anything for
Cas.
Meg hushes.  “You’re okay, aren’t you baby…still nice and hard for me.  Gonna
feel so good.”  And then she’s lowering herself on him, guiding him inside her,
and it does feel good, silky and wet, like her mouth but hotter, but it’s far
away, and his head is hurting.  He tries to sit up and she pushes him down
again, holding him lightly as she moves her hips, squeezing to try to keep his
little bit inside her.  “Stop it, Angel, just...just lie still...let me...let
me...”
“Noooo, wanna…wanna stop…don’t feel good…”
“It’s okay, Cas, it’s okay, shhh, relax, come inside her and you're all done,
just let go,” Dean whispers soothingly in his ear, dropping kisses that would
normally soothe and arouse him, but the way she's pushing moves his small body,
makes him feel worse.
“Noo, noooooo…,” he whimpers helplessly, his voice jolting with her thrusts,
trying to tell them, but all that comes out are more 'No's that get ignored.
“Castiel, is that you?  Cas, hang on!”  It's Sam's voice, muffled because he's
on the other side of the door.
Dean and Meg look at each other in shock, and then they’re both moving; Meg to
jump off Cas and slip back into her jeans, Dean to pull Cas’s pants and
underwear back up.  He's pulling at Cas, making him sit up too quickly, trying
to force him to stand on the desk and it's too much.  Cas turns sideways and
throws up on the desk.  His stomach feels instantly better, but he looks at
Dean in pure horror.
Of course Dean had locked the door, but he is Sam Winchester, and he picks it
with no trouble.  Meg is still fixing her pants with her back turned and Dean
barely steps away from Cas toward the door when Sam is through, easily
sidestepping his brother to get to his friend.  Cas slumps against the wall and
blinks at him.  “Cas, are you okay?”  Sam slides a skinny arm under Cas’s
shoulders, supporting him.
“Threw up.  So sorry, Dean...all on the, all on the desk,” Cas tells him,
leaning on Sam’s shoulder.
“Got you, Cas, I got you,” Sam tells him, then says sharply to Meg.  “What were
you doing to him?”
“Just a little kissing,” Meg says, still smiling, but it's kind of tight.  With
her lipstick all over Cas's mouth, that part would be hard to deny.  (Cas
wonders if it's on his dick, too, and he giggles.  Lipstick dick.)  Her clothes
are rumpled, but she at least appears fully dressed, with the exception of
shoes. “He wanted to hang with the big kids.”
“He just drank a little too much.  It hit him all at once; told him to stick to
one.  He’s fine, Sam.”
“His pants are open, Dean!  He’s not fine!" Sam yells, and Cas is suddenly so
ashamed.  He fumbles to fix his pants and Sam pushes his hands away, buttoning
him properly.
“Sammy, lower your voice, it’s no big deal.”
“No big deal?” Sam says shrilly.  “Okay, can she touch me then, Dean?  I want
to play with her, too.”  He leaves Cas leaning against the wall, and steps
towards Meg, looking at Dean.
Meg smiles, amused, and reaches a hand out to Sam's fringe of brown bangs. 
“I’m sure we could work something out, Sugarpants.  Awfully pretty yourself,
aren’t you.”
“Meg,” Dean warns.
“See?  It’s not okay, you know it isn’t.”
“He was having fun, weren’t you Angel?” Meg reaches for Cas and Sam steps
between them, blocking her.
“You don’t touch him,” Sam says fiercely.  “I heard him…he was saying no.  
You…you better never let me see you near him again.  You’d get in trouble, I
know that.  You’re not allowed to touch him.”
Meg’s eyes narrow, her lip curls in a sneer, but Dean interrupts.  “Sammy,
that’s enough.”
“No!” Sam rounds on Dean, and now his eyes shine with tears.  “What were you
doing, Dean?  Why are you in here with the door locked, letting her...,"  his
voice wavers.  "You don’t come near him either!  You stay away!”  And he’s
helping Cas to his feet, tugging him toward the door.
“Sam, ’m fine,” Cas slurs.  He’s going to be sick again any minute now, but he
still knows this is bad, Sam seeing this.  “Don’t be…don’t be ma-mad.  Wanted
it.  Saw pussy, Sam.  Saw boobs—tits.  Wish you’d seen ‘em.  Wanted you to see
‘em.”
“Shh, Cas, getting you out of here, okay?” Sam brushes angrily at his eyes.
“Come back here and sit down,” Dean says sharply, the tone that usually checks
Sam.  “We’ll talk about this.”
“No!  We’re going to Cas’s, you stay here and do perverted stuff with your
skank friend!”  Sam snaps nastily, and his tears spill over at last.
“Sam!”  Dean starts forward angrily.
 But Sam stands stone cold, though tears are leaking steadily, and looks him in
the eye.  "Don't.  If you try to stop us, if you try to spank me, I’ll tell! 
I’ll tell Dad!”  
 
* * *
 
Much to Meg's consternation, Dean lets them go.
He can't stop seeing Sam's tearful, disillusioned face.  Hearing those words.
 Impossible words; because Sammy isn't telling anyone.  Least of all a man who
is barely involved in Sam's life.  It's Dean who keeps Sam safe.  Dean who
raised him, really.  He has no higher authority than Dean, and he should...he
should recognize that, he should respect it.
All true, but this isn't Sam's fault.  It isn't even Cas's fault, much as he'd
like to lay the blame solidly on the boy, and all the punishment and grief that
comes with it.
This is Dean's fault.  He wasn't careful.  He wasn't even slightly careful this
time, unless you count the fact that he kept his clothes on and his hands
(mostly) to himself, knowing how much better it would be if he hadn't.  He
hadn't even stroked it; his dick is still half-hard, the raging erection only
semi wilted after being caught by Sam.
The truth is, he heard about this sexy girl pedo and all he could think about
was watching Cas try to fuck a woman; watch him be molested by her.  See if he
liked girls (a successful experiment, it turns out), see if he's capable of
fucking into any of her holes (inconclusive...well, her mouth, for sure.)  So
he wasn't careful and now he's exposed, and stuck with a pretty crappy co-
conspirator with a reputation for getting caught. 
But it’s going to be okay.  He sighs and cleans up Cas's vomit.  Even that was
his fault.  Cas told him he was sick and he hadn't listened, had wanted too
badly to watch her ride him into the desk.  Apparently turning 18 had just made
him stupid and reckless.
“Are you fucking crazy, Winchester, how could you not go after them?!” Meg is
putting her shoes on, looking furious, all that languid, sexy energy suddenly
gone.  Dean thinks Sam just made himself a formidable enemy, but it's okay
because she'd have to go through Dean first.  And she ain't up to it, no matter
who her Daddy is.
“It’s fine, relax,” Dean tells her, though he’s not exactly relaxed himself. 
It really does bother him, thinking of Sam over at Cas's, what must be going
through his mind.  He honestly does wish he could go follow him right now and
force him to get over it.  But he (not an idiot) knows that would be a
mistake.  He has to let Sam win this one, so he won’t feel forced into making a
move they’ll all (Dean will make them all) regret. 
Besides, he has a drunk little ace in the hole.  Meg is his biggest problem
now, and he has to focus on her, no matter how he feels about Sam.
“Right, I get it, he’s your brother, that’s your brother’s best friend, so
naturally you won’t be the one getting in trouble right?”  She turns, gets in
his face, snarls, “I won’t go down for this alone, Dean.  Surely you’ve heard
that about me.”
She turns to leave and he grabs her, slams her up against the wall and smiles. 
“You must be fucking joking,” she snaps, slapping his hands away and trying
again for the door.  This time he grabs her and pushes her back, sending her
stumbling.  He kicks his door shut and turns to her.
She licks her lips and smiles.  “Thinking of raping me, Winchester?  Wouldn’t
recommend it.”
“Why would I want to do that?” he says, but he crowds up against her, backing
her against the wall.  She lets him, then tries to knee him in the balls, but
he was ready and easily blocks her, getting a knee between her legs and pushing
them apart..  He catches her wrists and pins them behind her back.  It does
feel rapey, and he likes it, likes the way she struggles and curses and finally
stills, eyes spitting hate and promising vengeance.  “Relax.  I’m not the one
you want, remember?  But if you ever want another shot at him, I’m the one you
need.”
She laughs mockingly, “Oh really?  Did you not hear your boyscout little
brother?  I don’t think that’s in the cards.”  But her eyes are curious, less
hateful, and her body relaxes slightly.  
He holds her wrists easily with one hand, trails the other down her face.
 “Hmm, you’d think,” He says softly, and puts his hand lightly around her neck,
not holding at all.  Her eyes light up and he smiles; he so loves a bad girl. 
“But you kind of suck at this.  You’re right, I’ve heard about you, and why is
that?  You don’t know how to get away with things.”  He lets go of her wrists,
but keeps her throat.
“Oh, please,” Meg pushes lightly against him, and he shoves her back against
the wall because he knows she wants him to.  “Like you don’t have a rep for
fucking around.  Only difference is, you’re a man, so you get a pat on the
back.”
“Officially, today,” his lips are inches from hers.  He doesn't tell her he
wasn't talking about fucking rand-o's, or not exactly.  
She sighs.  “You really don’t care that your brother caught us molesting his
friend and just ran off threatening to tell?”
Dean touches her hair, tugs it.  “You don’t know Cas like I do.  Once he sobers
up, he’ll take care of it.  He'll tell Sam he wanted to mess around with you,
get him to promise not to tell.”
She looks disbelievingly at him.  “Why would he do that?  Sure, he liked some
of it, but that last part…I can admit I got kinda carried away,” she drawls,
looking chagrined if not sorry.  Like a cheater who's only sorry she got
caught.
“You don’t need to know why, just ask yourself why I’m not worried?” He puts
his lips to her ear.  “I can get you what you really want.”
She swallows.  “Oh, and what’s that?  Why would I take a chance, even if we did
get away with it tonight?”
“Because you didn’t get to take all his clothes off,” Dean whispers, and she
licks her lips.  Dean slides a hand to the front of her jeans and opens them
effortlessly…shoves his hand roughly in her panties.  “See that little body
naked against yours...touch him while he whimpers and squirms…kiss him all
over...look down between your legs, see a fifth grader licking this little
clit…”  She cries out, and he teases her, as good with his fingers as he is
with his tongue.  “Make him fuck you, feel his tiny dick inside you.”  Her legs
start shaking, she’s coming apart in his arms.  “Think he’d beg you, Meg? 
Think he’d beg you to stop?  But next time no one will hear him…you could use
him.  Force him.”  He knows when she comes, and he takes her mouth, kissing
her.  Grateful, she drops to her knees, and it turns out he was wrong; they do
end up fucking.  They fuck hard and rough and desperate, all the time telling
each other about Cas, how it would be, with his small naked body helplessly
fucking them both. 
It’s Cas who finds him first the next day and Meg is thankfully long gone (not
the staying over type).  The house and yard look like a bomb went off, but Dean
isn’t worried.  There are still a few kids who stayed over, promising to help
clean up.  Cas comes in without Sam, and for a moment Dean just looks at him. 
He looks like shit, pale as death, and Dean bets he did end up getting sick
again last night.  He guesses he'll have to be more careful when it comes to
Cas and alcohol, and he sighs again.  More careless mistakes.  “Where’s Sam?”
“He's sleeping.  I was sick, he was...helping me.  I-I wanted to come talk to
you, he...he wouldn't let me, so I waited...,” Cas looks shaken.  He looks
around, but they aren’t alone.  He nods at Dean to follow him and walks
upstairs without saying anything, going into Dean’s room and closing the door
behind them.  Dean lifts his brows; he’s never done that before.  Cas drops to
his knees, looking miserable and afraid.  “Dean don’t be mad okay?  I-I’m s-so
s-sorry, he heard me, I…I know better than to say no!  Just punish me, okay?! 
I’ll fix it!  I told him I was doing stuff with her, I said I…I just wanted to
try it and then my stomach and head hurt so I was gonna stop and—"
“Shh, that’s a good boy, that's just what I want you to do,” Dean tells him,
pulling him up and helping him sit on the bed.  He strokes his hair and lets
him lean against him.  "Don't worry about what you said, okay?  I just need you
to focus on Sam like you're doing.  Your only job right now is making him
believe you."
Cas pulls back fearfully.  “You’re not m-mad?  You…you won’t hurt Sam?”
Dean pulls Cas up, so they're eye to eye.  "Make no mistake.  He's getting over
this one way or another.  But we'll try to fix it first."
“He…,”Cas speaks reluctantly, swallowing his fear.  “He asked me if…if you
touched me, Dean.  I said no!”
Dean blinks, shocked.  He looks grimly out his window, towards Cas’s house.  He
had hoped it wouldn’t even occur to Sam to ask…that was sobering in itself. 
“Definitely gonna have to be careful for a while.”
And he really means it.  But the cost is a bit higher than he thought.
 
* * *
 
"You promise you didn't touch him, Dean?"
"I already promised!"
"I...I know, Dean."
"C'mon, man, I hooked up with a high school girl when I was around his age!"
"...yeah..."
"You know I told you I started this stuff early.  I just figured he's an early
bloomer, too, like me."
"I remember, Dean.  I know you did."
"It's  not the same for you, that's all.  You don't understand."
"It hurts him, Dean.  That stuff hurts him."  
"If you say so."
"Why were you there, Dean?  Did you...did you want to do stuff with him, too?
 And he said he wanted it?"
"Sam, don't ask again."
"Sorry, sorry."
"We good?"
"...yeah.  No more high school stuff with him, Dean, okay?  Even if he asks?
 For me?"
"Sam, goddammit, I'm not the one who--"
"I know! Don't get mad, I just...I just need to look out for him.  Okay, Dean?"
"You're crazy.  I didn't hurt him.  I didn't think she was hurting him."
"Yeah, I know...okay, though?  For me?  Please?"
"Sure, Sammy.  Whatever you want."
 
So Dean stops touching Castiel.  For a while.
***** Three Boys, Four Months *****
Chapter Summary
     Sam tries to keep Dean and Cas apart, but they team up against his
     efforts and Dean finds a way to break him down.
The first few weeks are the hardest (no pun intended—don’t go there.)  Sam
keeps Cas away from Dean as much as possible and Dean pretends this doesn’t
affect him in the slightest.  It does, though, and not only because he’s lost
his favorite toy (slave?  He’s gotta come up with a word he likes for Cas.) 
He’s lost Sam, to some degree.  Sam claims to have forgiven Dean but it’s
obvious he hasn’t.  He goes through the house like a ghost of himself; he can
barely drum up a smile for Dean.  But then he’s barely home.  Sam is attending
to Cas (even if Cas keep s insisting that nothing bad happened to him), and
because he keeps his word that Dean will not come near him, that means he does
it at the Novak house.  Dean could force him to stay at home; it’s his decision
when and where Sam is permitted to go. 
He doesn’t.
It’s infuriating, of course.  He wants to shake Sam; no that’s the least he
wants to do to him.  He wants to tie him up and make him scream, so he’s sorry
he hurt Dean, so he’d realize how wrong he is to deny himself to Dean.  Because
it does hurt, or at least it’s a constant irritation, like an itch he can’t
scratch, somewhere under his skin. When he isn’t furious, gritting his teeth
and dreaming up punishments, it turns out he’s capable of missing his brother. 
How his smile takes up his whole face, the way he rolls his eyes and tries to
hide a little smile when he’s pretending he doesn’t think Dean’s jokes are
funny, and the goofy laugh when he finally gives in.  The open and endless love
that he readily pours into Dean, sweet little brother hero-worship with a good
healthy dose of stubborn, willful pain in the ass (so like Dean).  He is like
this one precious thing that the world would tear apart if Dean let it.  He
needs Dean.  He belongs to Dean.  And Dean...well he needs…no, he doesn't need
anything, anybody, but...he's used to...that's it, he's used to, and...
It’s a difficult month.
Cas is the one who tells Sam he’s being ridiculous.  That he’s tired of being
cooped up in his much smaller, too-depressing house with his desktop and his
not much else.  Especially when he could be at Sam’s with his Playstation, his
treehouse, and yes, his brother, Dean.  Because, Cas says, he misses him.  And,
Cas insists, so does Sam.  Sam doesn’t agree at first, but after a few tries
(he really does miss his brother) Sam gives in.
So Sam stays home more and Cas starts coming around.
The second month is trickier, but Dean almost enjoys it, pitting himself
against his brother.  He's a fifth grade child, more innocent than Dean can
ever remember being, but he won’t underestimate him.  He bets Sam is good at
watching so nobody can tell he’s watching, too.  He bets it’s a hereditary
skill.  So the trick is to go through the exact motions as before (minus
fucking/fingering/kissing/touching/blowing Cas.)
It would still mean cuddling him and even spending time together alone, but Sam
is not having it.  At first he tries to forbid it completely, but Dean and Cas
both act really hurt and offended. 
“Right, because now I’m going to touch him in front of you, Sam.  I’m that
crazy,” Dean gives Sam his most remote, disappointed expression and shakes his
head.  He tries to lower Cas to the couch, but Cas clings to him, refusing to
go.  “He sits on my lap in the first place because you told him to do it.”
Sam’s expression clouds with confusion for a moment, but he shakes his head. 
“I just think—“
“You think I’m so stupid, Sam.  I know it.  I’m so stupid I need you to tell me
not to sit with Dean, even if he’d hurt me the way you think,” Cas looks at
Sam, his small face a mix of misery and shame.  Dean presses him close, drops a
kiss on his head, and actually tries his best to comfort him.  He’s being such
a good boy, and he’s obviously tormenting himself to do it.  Because of course
Sam is exactly right about this, about all of it. 
“Cas, no, you’re not…I’m not saying…I just…,”Concerned, Sam steps over and
reaches for him, but Cas curls away, hiding his face in Dean’s shoulder. 
Dean feels the slight body tremor and he rubs a hand over his back. He’s glad
he isn’t hard right now; he wants to be as non-threatening as possible for Cas
to help him pull this off.  He gives Sam a look of pure reprimand and the boy
looks down.  “Sam doesn’t think you’re stupid, Cas.  Sam loves you; he thinks
he’s keeping you safe.”
Cas turns and looks Sam full in the face and his eyes are wet.  “You don’t need
to keep me safe from Dean.  I told you a hundred times.  Please stop making me
say it.”
Sam looks distraught, like he’s dying to say more but he just can’t say it
again in front of Dean.  It doesn’t matter since all three of them know what it
is (you were sick, should have made her leave you alone, why were you locked
in, why didn’t he stop it.)  Dean feels instant fury that he must swallow; he
can’t even dig his fingers into Cas, knowing the boy will misinterpret the
gesture.  It doesn’t matter because it’s obvious Sam has lost this first
battle.  Somehow, out of a desire to help, Sam ends up feeling like he’s
hurting both Dean and Cas and that’s not what he means to do at all.  He stops
trying to forbid Dean from holding Cas, but he’s still too stubborn to just
give up.
So he just invents any reason to keep them apart.  Sometimes he needs Cas’s
help in the kitchen to get snacks, or he’s suddenly tired of watching movies
and wants to go play cards in his room.  He chooses activities Dean won’t like,
shows and games that would never interest him, and when his friends come
around, he sends them away.  It’s always completely transparent, since all
three of them know that Sam should be joining them in Dean’s lap, not trying to
leave or make Dean leave.  Both Dean and Cas roll their eyes at him but go
along with it each time, which serves to make Sam feel both relieved and
slightly guilty.  Then Dean finally thinks up a punishment for Sam, because he
is really getting sick of his shit. 
Sam initially avoids Dean, and is less affectionate (only out of hurt and
anger, not any belief that Dean would ever touch him inappropriately), but Dean
knows he can’t hold out forever.  So when Sam finally does try climbing into
Dean’s lap one night when they’re hanging out alone, Dean stops him, gently
keeping him in his own seat.  Sam looks wide-eyed and his pretty face heats up
red, but Dean shakes his head sadly and tells him, “Sammy, you’re kind of
accusing me of wanting to molest Cas or something.  I ever catch you in
somebody’s lap when you think he touches kids, you wouldn’t sit for a month.”
Sam looks so shocked, his mouth falling open, and Dean sees the pain he was
looking for in those gorgeous tilted eyes.  “But…we’re brothers.  You love me.”
“I do love you,” Dean tells him.  He reaches for him then stops himself, acting
embarrassed.  “Always will.  Guess I’m just a little hurt, Sammy.  And a little
uncomfortable, to be honest.  Nothing worse a guy can be accused of in this
world, is there?  Especially a guy like me, who looks after a little guy like
you.”
“Oh,” Sammy whispers, looking so dejected.  “But you still hold Cas--”
“Cas trusts me.”
“Oh,” Sam whispers again and settles on the couch.  He tries to sit close
enough that his arm is against Dean, but Dean moves to the armchair.
This is a surprisingly satisfying and effective punishment.
It’s also especially cruel.  He doesn’t just stop holding Sam in his lap, he
barely touches him.  Cuddling Dean is something Sam needs, because if it isn’t
Dean, it’s nobody.  He can count the times John Winchester holds him per year
using the fingers of both hands.  Dean normally obliges in spades; Sam can
never be close enough for him.  Never mind the smaller touches that are just
part of the relationship neither even thinks about.  A passing squeeze of a
shoulder, or a half hug, a kiss on the forehead, or smoothing fingers through
Sam’s silken hair.  Little thoughtless touches, but each one says ‘you’re
safe’, ‘you’re loved’, and (because it’s Dean) ‘you’re mine.’ 
Losing those takes an immediate toll on Sam.  Oh, he tries to accept Dean’s new
boundaries; Dean is actually pretty proud of how stoically he handles himself. 
He still meets his responsibilities at school and at home.  Yet it’s obvious he
grieves the loss.  More importantly he becomes distracted in his efforts to
protect Cas from Dean, a Cas who keeps insisting he doesn't want to be
protected.  He finds it painful to watch his brother shower affection on his
best friend while ignoring him, and so when Cas refuses to leave Dean, Sam
takes starts to take refuge in his other friends...if only occasionally.
When Dean has alone time with Cas, he still has to be careful.  He doesn't take
it for granted that Sam is as preoccupied as he seems.  He falls into a routine
that feels familiar, because it’s basically everything he was doing right
before he called Cas a slut for the first time.  He wonders how it makes Cas
feel, sitting at the table doing puzzles in his lap.  The last time they did
this, Cas was so happy, so content.  Dean thinks of that day often, how small
Cas was sitting on the table, how beautiful his tears.  He doesn’t whisper the
memory in Cas’s ear the way he wants, though, just to feel him tremble, see his
eyes fill up, the way the blue gets so bright and wet. 
Cas is so beautiful when he's scared and sad, but this isn't the time.  He
needs his broken little baby to be a teammate, and he really has been trying so
hard.  He needs Dean to help him through.  So instead, he asks about school. 
Tells funny stories.  Makes fun of Sam.  When he can, he offers little
encouragements and praises.  And above all else, he stays chaste. Only on
occasion, when he's very, very certain that Sam isn't around, Dean will
introduce a new game to Cas.  Like passing notes in class, he writes and lets
Cas respond, except it's always the same:
Who do you belong to?
I am yours
Why are you alive?
And so on.  Sometimes it's just the first question and once he even brought out
crayons and made a little art project out of it, getting Cas to pretty up the
word 'Yours' with bright colors and little moons and stars.  He praises a job
well done, even wishes he could keep it, but he won't.  He burns it like all
the rest.  
If you’re wondering how Cas is pulling it off, all of this "acting" he has to
do for Sam, he isn't.  Or at the very least, he’s not doing any better of a job
than he did before the Meg incident.  That’s okay; Dean thinks the important
part is that their relationship looks the same as it did in the past.  The only
difference is that now Cas shows a genuine impatience with Sam sometimes (I
told you I don’t want to go outside, you go!) even if he always feels guilty
about it immediately after. 
Dean knows why Cas is irritable with Sam; it’s not his fault.  Spending all
this time together, wondering when Dean will start fucking him again puts him
under a tremendous amount of strain, and Dean can tell that the wait is killing
him.  It’s amusing to Dean because Cas has practically become a wanton thing,
often trying to tempt Dean into breaking their fast.  At first, Dean figures
it’s just habit.  His mind is a little broken, so Dean forgives him when he
doesn’t really understand that good behavior before (checking in with Dean and
offering him sexual favors on a constant basis) is bad behavior now.  So Dean
has to lift him off his small knees and send him back outside to Kevin, or stop
him from climbing in his bed on Sleepover Nights and walk him back to Sam’s
room with a drink of water and some cough syrup if he thinks he can’t sleep. 
Turning him down when he’d much rather turn him out is a testament to how far
Dean will go to get his brother back.
Two months without touching him and Cas is the one who is coming apart at the
seams.  It turns out this could have passed for one of Dean’s best torments
yet.  He’s so certain that Dean is walking around in need, so sure that Dean
will eventually get tired of waiting and fuck him bloody.  Dean doesn’t really
think he deserves the distrust (though he enjoys the shit out of the fear.)  He
has never fucked Cas without proper preparation.  He threatens it sometimes,
but that’s for Cas to understand that he could do it.  That preparation is
something to be grateful for every single time.  Both Dean and Cas have learned
this the hard way, and Dean just doesn’t want Cas to forget how good he has
it. 
By the third month, Sam stops trying to make excuses for Castiel to get out of
Dean’s lap.  Figuring this means the time is near makes Cas even more anxious,
and he starts trying to ask about it.  Tries to whisper in his ear when Sam
leaves the room.  “Is it soon, Dean?  Will it happen soon?” he’ll ask in a
shaky voice, and Dean refuses to say anything, won’t move his hands.  He just
looks at him and thinks about how much he wants that tight hole.  All the
things he wants to do to that little body.  He’ll cup his chin gently and
smolder at him with all the violent need he can muster, while drinking in the
panicked response.  “W-when it happens, I’ll be—,” Cas tries, but Dean never
lets him, tapping his mouth with a finger and looking at him pointedly enough
for it to be an order.  No more.  And Cas will squirm on his lap and bite his
chapped lips (sigh) and wait until the next time to try again.
By the fourth month, Sam is wilting at the edges.  He clings to Cas almost
desperately (Dean makes note of how much Cas enjoys their closeness and files
it away for another time.)   It isn’t enough, though, he needs Dean.  Finally,
instead of trying to get Cas out of Dean’s lap, Sam starts trying to get
himself back in.  Dean wants him back, too, but he makes him work for it.  He
has to, he decides, for the lesson to be effective. He doesn’t know when he
started thinking this way towards Sam, but he likes it a lot.
“I want to hold you, Sam, I just can’t,” Dean tells him regretfully.  He is,
though, because his hands are on Sam’s arms, which is a lot more than Sam has
gotten in quite a while.  As soon as he put them there, Sam’s eyes tear up and
Dean realizes how needy he really is.  Dean is actually dying to hold him, but
he won’t.  Not until Sam makes it right.
“But I do trust you, Dean!  I know you’d never hurt me!” Sam whines
desperately.  “I…I…but…Cas…” 
Dean lets go of him roughly and stands up straight, hearing the little whimper
Sam makes.  “Right, right, why was I in there, why was the door locked, why
didn’t I “save” him.  Listen up:  you’ll get this one more time and never
again.  And if you can’t accept it, we’ll just have to figure out how to be
around each other now that you think I’m some kind of fucking freak.” Sam opens
his mouth and Dean rushes on, “No, you sit down and you listen; you’ll get your
turn to talk.  Here it is, last time, accept it or don’t:  I came back to my
room and Cas was kissing and touching Meg, notthe other way around.  I stayed
because it’s my fucking room and I locked the door because I thought they were
crazy to make out with the door open.  I didn’t stop it because I didn’t think
there was anything wrong with it.  Told you again and again, I’ve done that
myself when I was around his age.  And like as not, Sammy, once again, Cas
isn’t like you.  He’s a guy who asks girls at school to show him what they
got.  Would you ever do that on your worst fucking day, Sam?  No, no you
wouldn’t.”  Sam looks away at that part like he always does; like he knows it’s
true, but he makes excuses for Cas.
Dean is worked up, talking fast as he flies through the familiar points.  He
runs a hand back through his hair.  “And yeah, I knew he was too drunk, but ask
him if I gave him a single sip of beer.  Ask him, Sam!  I told you both one
beer each, but he’s not you, he doesn’t have to listen to me.  I figured he was
gonna learn a good lesson with his hangover the next day, and the damage was
already done.  I told her to let him up when he said he was feeling sick and
she didn’t—and yeah, if it was you, I’d react differently, but I can’t help
it.  Lookin’ out for you is just my thing.”
And here Dean kneels down in front of his brother and takes him by the
shoulders, gently but firmly.  He adds a new part to a very tired discussion.
“Hear me, Sam.  You want me to be as morally good as you are and I’m not.  You
know I’m not.  I do a lot of things you’ll never do when you grow up, and I’m
glad.  I love that you’re better than me; no, you are, Sam, it’s okay.  Just…I
can’t be like you.  I’ll never think like you.  I’m different, I’m…I’m so
different,” Dean stops finally, surprised at himself. 
Sam is out of his seat and throwing his arms around Dean as soon as he stops
talking.  Dean doesn’t hug back and Sam squirms, tries to get closer.  “I don’t
want you to be different than you are, Dean!  I didn’t think about it.  That
you think different than me.  I’m sorry I’ve been so mean,” Sam is still
pressed against Dean.  Only when Dean feels the wetness against his shirt does
he allow his arms to wrap around his brother.  He picks him up and sits himself
on the loveseat so Sam is in his lap.  He holds him while he cries and presses
kisses in his hair. 
“Okay, Sammy.  And before you ask, yes, I’ll still keep my promise to you:  if
I see Cas trying to do high school things, I’ll stop him for his own good.  But
he might not want to be stopped, little brother.  Some kids are just…different
like that.  Like I was,” he tells him, while for the first time in months, he
gives in to the pleasure of holding his small brother.
Sam sniffles and wraps his arms around one of Dean’s, his head on his older
brother’s chest.  “Th-thanks, De,” and Dean closes his eyes; he loves the
nickname Sam gave him as a baby, loves the rare occasions he still uses it.  “I
just…,” Sam struggles to explain without giving away Cas’s secrets that Dean
already knows.  “I don’t want him hurt,” he says finally.
“Can’t save him, Sam,” Dean tells him, pressing his lips against Sam’s
forehead, breathing in the world’s best scent.  “Not if he won’t let you.” 
“Can we not talk about Cas right now?” Sam asks, and Dean thinks it’s because
he still doesn’t agree but is too afraid to argue and lose this closeness.
“Sure, baby boy,” Dean revels in using his own most secret, most private
nickname; the one Sam would hate even Cas to hear.  “Missed this so much.”
And that night when Sam asks if he can sleep in Dean’s bed, he’s more than
happy to allow it.
So four months in, and Dean gets both his boys back in his lap.  The only funny
part is how these days when he holds them both, he always puts Cas on his
dick.  Cas is a good boy and doesn’t squirm too much (even though sometimes
Dean kind of wants him to.)  Dean’s more than ready to start fucking him again,
he just needs the right time.
Then Cas goes missing for a few days.
 
                                    * * * 
 
Cold tile under his cheek.  Sam lifting him up, touching his face with a
chilled, wet washcloth, so gently.  “It’s okay, Cas…I got you…you gotta throw
up again?”
“Don’t think so, Sam.”
“Okay.  Just rinse your mouth and we can go to bed.” 
Bedroom so far away, but Sam, so good to lean on Sam.  Who helps him put on
pajamas.  Who doesn’t mind when Cas curls up against him under the sheets, who
rubs his back and says, “I’ll keep you safe, Cas.  You’ll be okay.”
Does he sound tearful?  Cas doesn’t check, can’t pry open his eyes.  “Don’t
need saving, Sam.  Just got too sick is all, told you.”  He presses reassuring
kisses to Sam, whatever part he reaches.  He was aiming for cheek but he gets
neck.  Sam smells so good there, and Cas does something he’s thought about
before, giving Sam the kind of kiss there that he normally saves for Dean.
 Yum; Sam tastes even better than he smells.
Feels Sam gasp a little; knows that means it’s working.  Cas has a hand on Sam,
but he could move it.  So many things Sam doesn’t know that Cas could show
him.  He wouldn’t hurt him even a little bit; he’d only make him feel so good. 
Make the tears go away.
“Cas…Cas, s-stop,” Sam is saying, and Cas stops right away, even though he’s
not sure that’s right.  Maybe you’re supposed to keep going if you know better
than him that he’s going to like what you’re doing.  His eyes open as he tries
to puzzle it out.  He checks and his hand is still on Sam’s chest; he didn’t
move down, he onlyimagined moving it.  He tries to remember what he’s supposed
to be doing, feels the anxiety try to squeeze up his chest again, flip his
abused stomach.  But Sam is turning, facing him, and their faces are close, and
Sam just smiles sadly.  “You’re drunk, Cas.  Just try to sleep, okay?”
Cas does, until he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing.  Then he sneaks
off to see Dean.
                                       ~
Dean needs me, Dean wants me, I have to go, Sam, please…
“We can’t keep just hanging out here all the time, Sam, it’s dumb.  My…my mom
always uses the TV, and…I only have the few games on my computer.  I…this is
stupid, Sam, let’s…let’s hang out at your house again.”
But Sam puts an arm over Cas’s shoulders and squeezes (feels amazing; nothing
better than a Sam hug.) “No, Cas, let’s stay here.  Since when do we need
“stuff” to have fun?”
Sam doesn't really want to have fun.  He wants to talk about that night.  He
tries so many times, but Cas is a robot.  He repeats the words he knows Dean
wants him to say and never says anything else.  Never tells Sam the parts where
he was afraid.  The parts that hurt.  Can’t tell Sam how extraordinary he
looked, barging in like that, getting past Dean without any trouble.  Yelling
at Meg, yelling at Dean.  He’d looked fearless and so beautiful that when Cas
thinks back, his heart aches.  He plays it over and over in his mind.  Somehow
this boy, who is everything good and pure, thinks Cas is worth saving, thinks
Dean is wrong about Cas.  He thinks  Cas doesn’t deserve this kind of life.
He’s wrong, Cas knows that (don’t worry, Dean, I know it.)  But Cas loves that
he believes it.
                                       ~
It’s Sleepover Night and Samis trying to stay awake but Cas knows he will lose
the fight.  It’s true he’s not the same as he was before, when he would slip
into deep, dreamless sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.  Too many
troubles in his life now (all of them Cas’s fault.)  Cas regrets causing Sam
pain; but it’d be worse if Sam didn’t care about him.  He needs Sam to care.
Sam falls asleep and Cas mumbles about the bathroom, just in case he’s half-
awake or pretending.  But he isn’t going to the bathroom.  He’s going to Dean. 
He knows Dean said they’re not supposed to touch; they have to stay apart until
Sam stops being upset.  But Dean also said that Cas is supposed to always offer
himself to Dean, especially on Sleepover Night.  And whenever Cas didn’t do it,
Dean got really angry and scary.  Cas feels like he just can’t take a chance
that this isn’t some kind of trick.  Like when Dean tries to make him say he
doesn’t want things, knowing he’ll get in trouble if he does.
Dean is still awake when he gets there, sitting up on his bed wearing sweats
and a tight t-shirt.  “Cas, what’s wrong?”
Cas crawls onto the bed.  “Need you to fuck me, Dean…”
Dean looks swiftly toward the door; he jumps up to look in the hall, and Cas
kneels on the bed, waiting.  He looks relieved when it’s empty and when he
turns and looks at Cas, his emerald eyes darken.  Not angry, but like he likes
what he sees.  Cas can always tell the difference, even when it’s both mixed
together.  “Baby, remember what I said, okay?  We can’t do this stuff right
now.”
Cas frowns.  “It’s Sleepover Night though, Dean.  Should I…should I suck you
first?”
Dean walks to the bed and touches Cas’s face, his eyes on Cas’s lips.  Cas
tries to catch his fingers, suck them into his mouth the way he knows Dean
likes.  Dean lets him, pushing a finger in, pushing down on his bottom teeth
gently so Cas will open wider.  Cas can see him getting hard in his sweats and
he’s about to reach out when Dean groans and takes his hand away.  “No, Cas.  I
know you don’t mean to, but you’re being bad.  Try to remember, we can’t be
together until I say so.  I’ll tell you when it’s time, and until then, I need
you to remember your new rules.  It’s okay, no punishment, don’t cry.  I’ll
help you.”
But he does cry, because he’s still sure he’s going to get punished for not
doing things on Sleepover Night.  Dean helps him stop.  Then gets him a glass
of water.
                                       ~
It’s been months, and Casunderstands that he’s not supposed to offer himself to
Dean.  He’s supposed to wait.  He knows he should be enjoying this time, the
way his bottom is never sore (either outside or inside).  He does enjoy Sam,
who seems to need Cas almost as much as he needs Sam.  He doesn’t think other
guy best friends at school cuddle up as much as they do together, but he
doesn’t care.  He’ll take everything Sam has to offer.  He’d take more.
Dean is nice to him, too, and it’s so tempting to pretend that Dean cares about
him.  The way he thought when they first met.  Even when Cas made mistakes and
tried to go by the old rules, Dean was kind and understanding.  He keeps
praising him, telling him what a good job he’s doing with Sam, how convincing
he’s being.  And when Cas accidentally treats Sam badly (and wants to die from
guilt), Dean is the one to calm him.
“It’s okay, Cas, you didn’t mean to snap at him,” Dean will say, holding him
close the way he used to, and even though Cas knows the way that turned out,
he’s upset enough that he needs the comfort.  “This is hard on you, I know. 
But you’re doing so great.  I’m really proud of you, Cas.  Why don’t you go
find Sam, okay?  You’ll feel better if you say sorry.”
Cas does feel better.  He feels grateful.
                                       ~
Sam doesn’t ask about that night anymore and Cas knows how he longs to be back
in Dean’s good graces.  It’s a relief in a way, but he took too long, and Cas
is really worried.  Dean looks, feels so…Cas doesn’t have a word for it.  Like
he’s barely holding back.  Any moment feels like it could be the one where Dean
is pushing into him again.
Is there any way he can make it so Dean won’t hurt him too much?  He tries to
ask about it and he’s not allowed.  But if only he could talk to Dean.  He’s
been a good boy, hasn’t he?  He’s done everything Dean has asked.  He’ll let
Cas ease back into it, right?  His bottom isn’t used to it again; he knows it’s
all small now because when he tests it, even his smallest finger doesn’t want
to go in.  Should he…should he try to stretch it himself?  He doesn’t have the
greasy stuff that Dean uses though.   He wants to ask, but Dean never lets
him.  He wouldn’t even know how to get some, and he’s not crazy enough to try
to steal Dean’s.  He wishes he was, though.  He wishes so bad that he was.
                                       ~
“Hello?”
“Cas, it’s Sam, you…you didn’t go to school today and we haven't seen you.  Are
you—“
“Fine, Sam, but…I can’t come over for a while.  And don’t come here.”
Sam pauses, and when he speaks again he sounds wistful, maybe a little hurt. 
“Okay, Cas.  When…when do you—“
“Cas, who’s on the phone?” his Mom asks, and even frowning she looks happier
than he’s seen her in at least a year.  Her blond hair is curled, she has
makeup on, and clothes that are flattering, clean, and pressed.  Something she
hasn’t managed in a very long time.
“It’s Sam…I was just telling him—“
“Well, hang up.  It’s family time, you know that.”  She touches his face
lovingly and he stares at her.  “Winchesters can do without you for a few days
at least, can’t they?  I’d really like you to give this a chance, Cas.  We’ve
been so unhappy, don’t you remember the good times?”
“I’ve got to go, Sam,” he hangs up while Sam is talking, still staring at his
mother.
“Oh, don’t look like that.  Hear him out.  It’s a miracle!  He’s been cured;
Jesus has saved him!  We can be a family again!”
***** The Prince in the Tower (Choose Your Dragon) *****
Chapter Summary
     Cas is trapped with Jimmy and Amelia, but things are different this
     time.
Chapter Notes
     Time for some warnings.
     If you're having a hard time with just how severely shitty Cas's life
     is, you might want to skip this chapter. You can either skip to
     Dean's part, or skip straight to the end, and I'll put a synopsis in
     the bottom notes so that you won't miss any plot points. This is a
     tough one, mostly because of how his mother behaves.
     Also, the first paragraph is one that was originally included in the
     chapter, A Little Boy, His Mommy, and a Man. I took it out so nobody
     would guess that Jimmy was coming back, but it explains why he's
     free. :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
...but the Mommy made him promise that whatever they asked him, he would say he
didn’t know who hurt him.  And he was still her good, big boy, who had made her
lose her boyfriend and cry.  So even when the police woman was so kind, he lied
and lied and lied.
The Mommy pretended she didn’t know for sure either, but the police still
thought the man did it.  They came to the house and made the Little Boy’s room
all messy, but his sheets and pajamas were already gone.  And they couldn’t
find the Man.
Then one night the Man tried to come inside the house.  The Mommy wouldn’t let
him and he didn't have a key anymore.  The Man was crying and begging, and she
was crying, too.  The Man said, ‘I’m sick, I need help’ and ‘you’re all I have,
Amelia, the only one who loves me’.  And the Little Boy got really scared
because his Mommy was turning, she had her hand on the doorknob.  The Little
Boy held her tight and begged her not to.  She picked him up at last and told
the Man she would call the police.  He left and she promises the Boy,"He'll
never come near you again."  And he forces any doubts from his mind.  The
Little Boy needs to believe her...
 
Cas doesn’t notice anything strange that Friday after school.  As usual, he’s
preoccupied (Sam would say his head is in the clouds).  That's not true.  His
mind is where it always is, Sam and  (where it's supposed to be) Dean.  But
even if he  looks, he won’t recognize the car that doesn’t belong.  The Novaks
don’t have a driveway either, so if he sees a car that doesn't belong to anyone
he knows, he would never guess that it concerns him.  His mom never has anyone
over.
His first clue that something is wrong is inside his house.  He steps in and it
smells different but still familiar; lemon-scented cleaning agents mingled with
spaghetti sauce.  He stays in the doorway, touching his book bag strap at his
shoulder, and looks around as if maybe he’s stepped into the wrong house. 
Except he remembers a time when his home did smell like this.  Just not since
they’d moved.  An odd mix of hope and fear moves through him and he drops his
book bag at last.  Maybe…maybe she’s feeling better…maybe she decided to go to
the doctor again.  “Mom?”
“Cassie!” His mom descends upon him looking lovely, smelling sweet, and
envelopes him in a hug.  He’s dazed but he’s hugging back desperately.  In that
moment he loves her.  He has always loved her.  He has always regretted that he
couldn’t be whatever it is she needed so she wouldn’t be endlessly sad.  So
she’d find a little joy, even when it’s just them.  He would’ve been fine with
just them.
He feels an odd tension in her, underneath the happiness, and she's the one to
extricate herself from the hug first.  “What is it, Mom?   Did you…have you
tried a new doctor?”
“What? No!” she exclaims, reddening a little, glancing toward the kitchen.  
“Listen, sweetheart, come with me, we’ve…we’ve got something important to talk
about.”
Cas frowns, licks his lips nervously, follows her gaze toward the kitchen. 
“Is…is someone here, Mom?”
“Couldn’t keep it in the bag, Amelia, he’s too smart.”
Panic explodes in Cas and he claws at his mother, clinging to her desperately,
“No, make him leave!  Mommy, make him go, please!!”
“Cassie, Cas, calm down, shh, Cas, listen, okay, listen!” His mom is trying to
hold him, then trying to pry his fingers off her shoulders.
Chills are sweeping his body , because the Man is walking in the room, with his
dark hair, and blue eyes, and scruffy face and he’s in his house, this house,
the safe one, where she promised he’d never go and he guesses he’s saying it
out loud now, “You promised, you said he’d never, please please no no no no
no—“
Jimmy stops in the doorway and his expression is utter sadness, and Cas gags,
remembering that face, how he used it when he wanted something bad to happen,
and stupid Cas would fall for it.  He guesses his mother is the stupid one
now.  Jimmy kneels down, still far away, and tries to look non-threatening and
sorrowful (as if Castiel could ever look at him and not see what’s really there
ever again.)  “It’s okay, Cas…I don’t blame you for wanting me out of here. 
What I did to you was evil…Satan’s power had a hold of me, making me want
terrible things.”
Cas’s mom is stroking his hair, nodding along, a tear or two slips down her
face and Cas realizes what's off about her, what's been wrong since she first
walked in.  She's holding him, going through the correct motions, but she's not
looking in his eyes.  Seeing him without really seeing him...because she
doesn't want to.  She wants to pretend this is okay, that he'll be okay.  He
reaches up and tries to turn her face down to him.  “Mom, please!”
His mom reluctantly looks but her eyes skip away immediately; his stomach
drops.  “Jimmy, why don’t you go sit at the table, let me talk to Cas, okay? 
Remember, we agreed.”
Jimmy puts his hands up in surrender, smiles his charming, regretful smile
(oops, I goofed, silly me), and stands.  “Sorry, you’re right.  I got
overeager.  I’ll be in the kitchen.”  He stays for a moment, trying to catch
Cas’s eye, but Cas refuses to look at his face, watching his legs to make sure
he doesn't move closer.  He doesn’t want to see what’s in those eyes.  He
already knows what’s there. 
Cas is trembling and he shoves himself closer in his mom’s arms.  “Please, Mom,
please make him go away, please, I-I c-can’t—“
“Cas, shh, listen, he’s not gonna hurt you.  Jimmy, what he did to you, it’s a
sickness, an evil sickness that makes him do those things.  But when we kicked
him out, he got help for it.  He’s better now.  Wouldn’t you want him back, if
you thought he was better?  I remember how you loved him—“She seems to notice
the agony on Cas’s face at the words, even though she’s gone back to not
looking at him straight.  She sighs and takes his shoulders in her hands. 
Cas shakes his head frantically.  “I don't care, Mom, I don't care if he's
better, I don’t want him h-here, p-please Mom!”
She rubs his shoulders, “He's only going to stay for a few days; he has a job
to get back to and a place of his own this time!  Let’s just try, okay?  I
won’t leave you alone with him.  I won’t let him out of my sight, I promise. 
Do you promise to try?”
“N-no, I can’t,” he clings to her, willing her to understand, willing her to
remember and to care, the way she did when she found him bleeding.  How can she
forget how it was?
She sighs and shakes him a little and smiles almost desperately.  “Cas, please,
what difference does it make as long as he's better now, right?  Try to
understand, I love him.  I'm lost without him but I let him go, for you,
because of what he did!  Only now I don't have to because he fixed it!   You
have your little friends, you run off all the time and all I have is work…I
make a lot of sacrifices for you—“
He puts his face by her ear and whispers, terrified of being overheard, “Mom,
he's lying!  He’ll hurt me.  He’s here to hurt me again.”
She stiffens at first, but then she’s pushing him back, shaking her head
fervently.  The smile looks painful now, like a mask.  “No!  He won't hurt you.
 You...you just don't understand because I haven't brought you up religious!  I
was, you know, but I...I've made mistakes with you.  But that can all change
now!  Cas, you—you just need to hear him out!  I-it really is a miracle!” and
her voice is loud and he cringes, knowing Jimmy is listening to everything.
He doesn’t know how she gets him there, but somehow he’s at the kitchen table. 
Jimmy is talking but the words buzz uselessly around Cas’s brain.  How he’d
found refuge in some church where he begged for help, how he'd been sent on
something called a 'retreat', where he'd been away from civilization for a
whole month.  There he’d confessed and been absolved, and eventually had been
born again.  His soul was saved, and now he's going back to school to become a
pastor.  And Amelia is practically glowing next to him, holding his hand,
saying things she’s never said in Cas’s life, like ‘Praise Jesus,’ and ‘Amen.’ 
Bullshit.  Cas jumps; it's Dean's voice in his head, so clear and sharp, as if
he'd whispered it in his ear, leaving his heart thumping.  He frowns at his
plate, refusing to look at either of them.  "Aren't the police looking for
you?"  
He hadn't meant to say it; he's sort of shocked at himself.  Both adults
freeze, and the only sound is his fork as he pushes the noodles around his
plate.
"I...I answer to a much higher authority, Castiel.  And I've been absolved by
God.  The only forgiveness I need now is yours, son," Jimmy finally manages,
then looks at Amelia and gives a smile that's supposed to be humble, reaches
out his hand, which she takes instantly.  "And your mother's."
Cas hears it, but doesn't respond; in fact starts tuning them out.  He’s
looking at the spaghetti on his plate, which might as well be snakes for all
that he wants it.  But he has to eat.  Dean says so.  Dazed, he picks up his
fork and obeys his owner.  He eats slowly, pausing to drink his water every now
and then, because it's hard to eat when his stomach is churning and it won't do
if he throws it all up.  He’s supposed to keep himself healthy.  Amelia and
Jimmy exchange looks; they seem to assume this is a good sign.  Mindlessly
following Dean’s orders steadies him somehow.  He remembers that no matter
what’s going on for him, he’s supposed to think of what Dean wants first.
 Between Dean and Jimmy, Dean is the one to fear most.  Dean told him that and
he believes it.
If I’m your boyfriend I can protect you, Cas.  Even if your mom meets someone
new, you know I’ll hurt him to keep him from you.  Right?
Cas doesn’t know why he thinks of it.  He usually hates to think of that day,
almost never thinks of it now.  He’s not Dean’s boyfriend; Dean is long past
playing that game.  He is Dean's slut, his slave, his toy.  But maybe the
protecting part is still true.  All he knows for sure is that Dean won't like
this at all.  I’ll fucking see him dead, I’ll see you both dead
first.  I’m fucking you now, you got that?
Cas flinches, startling his mother.  He can’t let Jimmy touch him.  He can’t,
no matter what.
“May I be excused,” he asks softly when he’s finished as much of his meal as he
can stomach.  He sees a flash of annoyance on Jimmy’s face; he was mid-
description of some experience he had, where Jesus showed up and told him he
wouldn’t want to fuck little boys anymore or something.  Cas isn’t sure, but
his mother nods and he rises to rinse his plate in the sink.  Jimmy tries to
approach him and his body clenches tight, but Amelia puts a restraining hand on
Jimmy’s arm, shakes her head slightly.  Cas waits until they aren’t looking and
slips a small steak knife into his pocket.
As soon as he’s done, he goes back to the front door and picks up his book bag,
but Amelia and Jimmy have followed him close behind, forced smiles on their
faces.  “Where are you going, Sweetie?” she asks, and Cas thinks she sounds
nervous.
He blinks; he feels so odd and distant, he doesn’t even know how he’s doing
this, walking, talking.  “It’s Friday…me and Sam are going to—“
“Actually, I think you should stay in for a while, Cas,” his mom says,
frowning.  She's looking at Jimmy, who nods his approval, then she steers Cas
away from the door.  “Come on, I always let you have all the time with Sam that
you want, but right now...we just really need to focus on our family.”
Since then, they don’t let him outside even to get the paper from the lawn.  He
tries to call Sam, at least tell him he’s going to miss Sleepover Night, but
Amelia says she will call for him (she doesn’t.)  They don’t like Cas answering
the phone either.  They don’t forbid it, it just always seems that Amelia gets
to the phone first.  He only manages the one time and isn’t surprised that it’s
Sam, but his Mom won’t even let him explain.  He’s glad he got to talk to him,
though, or Sam would have come looking.  He can’t stand the idea of Jimmy
seeing Sam.  He wonders if Dean has seen him but he thinks not.  He feels like
he’ll know the moment Dean finds out.
On Sunday, the three of them go to some new church, and then Jimmy takes them
for pancakes (new Jimmy actually has a job, although he’d have to quit if he
comes to live with them…not that that’s on the table right now, hey, of course
kiddo, we’re taking it slow…but seriously, he will have to.)  Cas is not hungry
for pancakes.  He makes a bowl of cereal at home, though, because he does have
to eat something.  Cas is sure that Dean would probably rather he not take
anything from Jimmy.  He thinks Jimmy is irritated by the cereal and trying to
cover it up for his mother’s sake.  It makes him smile a little.
The nights are terrible.  Cas rigs his desk chair under the doorknob the way he
sees people do it on TV, even though he already locked the door.  He sits on
his bed and stares at the door all night, gripping the steak knife so hard that
his hand aches in the morning.  He knows he’s supposed to sleep, he’s supposed
to take his medicine if he can’t, but he’ll take the punishment.  He’ll confess
to Dean and take any punishment he gives.  He’s exhausted, but every time he
falls asleep he jolts awake.    He starts finding odd hiding places in the
house, small, tight corners in closets or under furniture where he can steal
some sleep.  He sleeps with the knife always near him and hopes he won’t
accidentally stab himself. 
On Monday he thinks he’ll finally be free, but his mother has called him out of
school.  He tries to convince her that he’s missed too much school already, but
she just forces a smile.  “No, Cas, this…this is too important.  It’s going
really well, I think.”  ‘It’s going really well’ must mean Castiel trying to
stay barricaded in his room as much as they’ll allow, and hearing them have sex
almost constantly.  “You just need more time.”  But he feels like she's just
saying the words Jimmy wants her to say.  He gets the impression his mom kind
of wishes it was just the two of them; that if it were up to her, Cas would be
staying at Sam's for a while.
She does keep her word not to leave Jimmy’s side; she actually calls out of
work for the first time Cas can ever remember.  He would want to stay as close
to her as possible, knowing Jimmy won’t touch him while she’s there, but she’s
clinging to Jimmy.  He’s painting a picture for her, a future as a Pastor’s
wife, a life in the church, where she won’t have to work as hard and the two of
them can spend more time together.  “That was part of it, too, honey.  I truly
believe that.  Idle hands and all, right?”  His charming smiles are sickening
to Cas, but Amelia eats them up. He’s still refusing to look Jimmy in the face,
knowing he’ll be giving him the same meaningful looks that he used to give
(you’re the one I really love, you’re the one I want).  He can feel the
impatience; the disgusting longing even without seeing it.  It’s like being in
the same house as a ticking time bomb, but Cas can’t see the clock.
The first time Jimmy tries something, Cas is coming out of the bathroom.  He
opens the door and Jimmy is suddenly shoving his way inside, blue eyes burning
and dark.  “Castiel—“
“Mommy!!  Mom!! Help me!!!” Cas screams, backing up so he falls over the tub.
 He scrambles back to his feet, fumbling in his pocket for the knife.  To her
credit, his mother is there in a flash, white faced, but Jimmy has already
backed into the hall. 
“I…I was just walking by, sweetheart, I think he…he had some kind of
flashback,” Jimmy tells her.  He looks genuinely shocked, even a bit shaken, as
though he never expected Cas to cry out.  Cas’s mother is frowning
suspiciously; she looks from Jimmy to Cas, standing in the tub. 
“N-n-no, h-he came in, h-he said my n-name.” 
Amelia comes forward and takes him in her arms, looks at Jimmy.  He sighs. 
“Okay, I did do that.  He’s right.  But I just wanted to talk to him.”  Cue sad
face, pouring it on really thick.  Cas digs his fingers into his mother and she
winces, but her hands rubbing his arms have already slowed, her eyes on Jimmy
have softened.  “He won’t even talk to me, Amelia.  He won’t let me say how
sorry I am, tell him about the penance I do…every day…,”Jimmy chokes up, blue
eyes going misty.  “I know it’ll never be enough, son—“
“I'm not your son,” Cas mumbles against his mother; he can barely force the
words out he’s so afraid, but he wants him to know. 
His mother hushes him.
“It’ll never work, Amelia.  He’s…he can’t forgive me.  And I don’t blame him,”
Jimmy tells her brokenly, and tears actually fall.   “I should...I'll leave
now.  I’m so very sorry, Castiel.  I committed evil acts on you and forgiveness
is too much to ask.”  He looks at Amelia longingly.  “I’d say to call me some
time, but maybe…maybe it’s just better if we…if we part ways.”  Castiel closes
his eyes and tries to hold his mother even tighter, but it won’t matter.  He
knows what she’s going to do.
“No, wait!  It…it was going so well!  You just…you came on a little too strong,
that’s all!  I told you not to approach him alone, it’s just…it’s too soon! 
Right, Cassie?” She looks at him pleadingly.
“Please make him go,” he whimpers hopelessly, seeing the disappointment in her
face, the way she closes herself off from him.  "Please, Mom."
“I will go, Cas.  I will.  You’ll never have to see me again,” Jimmy tells him
and heads to his mother’s bedroom. 
Within 20 minutes they’re having sex in there and Cas can hear it loud and
clear from his room across from hers.  He barricades himself in his room again
and curls up with his iPod, trying to calm down.  He doesn't cry or think about
his Mom.  He selects a playlist that Sam made for him (even if it is mostly
songs that Dean likes).  Miss you Sam…wish so bad I was with you.
She makes him miss school again the next day.  Because he just needs more time
to adjust.  That's the day she breaks her promise and it happens.
He’s in his room and it’s early evening, just starting to get dark, shadows
getting long on the ground.  Cas is at his window watching the kids outside,
hoping for glimpses of Sam.  He knows soon they’ll all be called inside for the
night, but the days are longer now.  Most kids get to stay out a bit later even
though it’s a school night. 
He hears the lock on his door turn and spins.  “Mom?” he calls shakily, but he
takes out the knife.  His mother would never enter his room without making
herself known first.  She’d never just turn the lock.   “Mom!” he shouts.
“She’s not here, Cas, she won’t hear you,” Jimmy tells him.  He tries the door
and finds it blocked by the chair.  “Told her I had a migraine and there's only
one type of medicine that'll work.  Your mom is so good to me, she just ran out
to get it!  She’ll be back soon, but I bought us some time together.”
Cas backs up to the window, trembling, holding the knife at his side.  “S-stay
away.”  He guesses he didn’t do the chair thing right, because Jimmy is able
open the door enough to slip his hand in, grab the chair and push it sideways. 
Cas holds the knife out in front of him.  “D-don’t!!”
Jimmy widens his eyes at the knife.  “Little boys shouldn’t play with knives,
Castiel.  Put it down before you get hurt.”
Cas doesn’t answer, breathing hard.  He has to get out, but Jimmy is blocking
his door now.  He’s stepping closer with his hands up and Cas whimpers.  “S-
stop.”
“I’ve missed you, Castiel.  I’ve missed you so much,” Jimmy tells him and he
has that same lovesick face he always made when his Mom wasn’t around.  “My
love, my little boy.  Your Mommy’s going to be back soon, but Daddy needs you
so badly.”  He takes another step.  “C’mon, little boy, let Daddy take what he
needs, just like you used to…I brought the nice stuff, I promise I won’t hurt
you.  Aren’t you still my good little boy?”  Another step.  If he steps again,
he can grab Cas.  He starts to sound irritated.  “Now, Castiel.  We don’t have
a lot of time.  Get on that bed and put that pillow in your mouth.  Daddy will
take your pants off for you.”
"N-no," Cas shakes his head, fighting the part of him that obeyed this Man for
so long, that is so afraid, that believes it’ll be better if he just gives in. 
He forces the words out that Dean would want him to say because he knows they
are true.  He’s glad they are true.  “N-not your boy.  Not yours.”
Pissed, Jimmy lunges for him and Cas sweeps the knife in a panicked arc,
thinking to push Jimmy away.  Jimmy hisses in pain and jumps back, enough for
Cas to duck down and run past him.  “You cut me!  Get back here, Castiel!  Your
mom will just make you come back, you hear me!  We’ll just drag you back!”
But Cas is running; he didn’t know he could be this fast.  He flies past the
few neighbor kids still outside; he doesn’t even look for Sam.  The back door
to the Winchester house is open as usual and Cas is through it, not stopping
until he finds Dean in the living room on the couch.  He lands at his feet in a
trembling, whimpering heap.
 
                                     * * *
 
Dean didn’t know that Cas was in trouble, and it’s a point that’s going to
bother him.  If things had gone differently (if Jimmy had fucked him again), he
would know it was something he could’ve prevented.  He will decide, after this
incident, that he was letting his toy have too much freedom.  Dean should
always know where he is and what’s going on with him.
But he doesn’t know all that yet.  Up until Cas shows up at his feet, Dean
doesn’t think much of his absence.  It’s odd for him to miss a Sleepover Night,
but he’s a kid.  He gets sick.  It wouldn’t surprise Dean at all, with all the
stress he’s been under.  Sam is more worried, insisting that Cas would’ve
called if he couldn’t make it.  Sam tries calling there, but Cas’s mother
answers each time and seems really impatient.  She tells him Cas can’t come to
the phone and hangs up before he can ask any more questions or even leave a
message.  It’s unusual, but Sam doesn’t think to question a friend’s parent. 
He reluctantly decides Dean’s right.
When Sam finally talks to Cas and is told that he can’t come out and Sam can’t
come over, Dean still isn’t that worried.  He feels like it’s one of two
things.  Either Cas is sick, and he doesn’t want Sam catching it (Sam did say
his voice sounded odd on the phone), or Cas is avoiding Dean now that it’s down
to the wire.  Now that Dean wants him again.  That’s why he made the decision
to wait it out a bit more.  If Cas is sick, no harm done.  If Cas is avoiding
Dean…let’s just say he’s spent some time with his dick in his hand, dreaming up
all kinds of ways to remind Cas of his place.  Specifically, writhing naked
under Dean and begging to be fucked.
Dean is just thinking of getting up to call Sam in for the night when a boy
speeds inside and lands at his feet.  He’s surprised when the hair isn’t brown
fringe but raven dark messy curls.  “Cas…” he starts, then notices the
hysterics.  He frowns a little but he’s still not particularly worried.  Cas
gets like this with Dean sometimes.  Belonging to Dean isn't easy on him. 
“Where’ve you been, Beautiful?”
Cas doesn’t answer, but he’s saying something.  Dean starts to bend closer,
realizes he’s gasping and whimpering the word ‘yours’ over and over.  No, he
isn’t saying it.  He’s asking.  As in, am I yours?
Dean tips his chin up and looks into terrified blue eyes.  “You are mine.  I
didn’t tell you to be anything else, right?  You belong to me.”
Cas whimpers again and clings to Dean’s legs, burying his face there.  Dean can
feel how he’s shaking against him.  Again, nothing he hasn’t seen before.  
“What is it, Cas?  Have you been bad?  Gotta tell me if you have.”
Another helpless sound, and Cas is shaking his head, bright blue eyes meet
Dean’s, screaming with urgency.  He points over his shoulder at the window. 
Dean sighs and frowns, getting a little impatient with the theatrics.  “Use
your words, Cas.  What is it?”
Instead, Cas grabs the remote off the end table and turns where he is, flinging
it hard at the window so it bounces off and the batteries go flying.  Dean is
on his feet and he grabs Cas’s arm, pulling him up roughly, though he just
sags.  “Cas, what the hell?!  Are you crazy?”  He stomps forward to the window,
dragging the boy with him.  “Heaven help you if you cracked the—“  He stops,
looking outside, tensing at what he sees.
There’s a guy talking to Sam and his friends, and he doesn’t know him.  Dean
instantly gentles his grip on Cas, tugging him against his hip, sliding his arm
around the boy’s shoulders.  His other hand pulls the window up and he leans
forward, trying to get a better look.  A tall man, with dark hair.  Smiling at
Sam.  “Stay here, Cas.” He turns but Cas whimpers and grips his waist.  Not
wanting to waste time, he scoops him up and tells him, “Not a sound.  Press
your mouth to my shoulder.”  Wanting to sneak up on the man for reasons unknown
even to him, just going on pure instinct, Dean slips out the front door instead
and moves in the shadows on the side of the house.  It’s not as close as he’d
like, but close enough to hear and dark enough that he can see without being
seen.  Even Sam doesn’t notice them there.
“…haven’t seen him?” the man is saying.
Sam is standing maybe three feet from the guy, his face polite but distant,
guarded.  He has a few friends with him but they’re standing behind him,
letting him do the talking.  “I don’t know you.  Who are you to Castiel?”
“Just a family friend,” the guy is saying in this oddly gruff voice, and he’s
got his hands in his pockets, wearing a sheepish, goofy smile.  He’s a good
looking but geeky guy, wearing cheap pants and a wrinkled button down shirt,
with his hair parted to the side and brushed way too flat.  Everything about
him screams “harmless”, like the cute, frumpy teacher that all the kids trust.
 Dean notes with pride that Sam isn’t buying what he’s obviously selling.  His
friends seem wary, too, following Sam’s lead. 
The way Cas has gone rigid in his arms tells him everything he needs to know
about his identity, but Dean can’t help but notice a certain resemblance
between the man and Cas.  He could’ve sworn Cas said Jimmy was just a
boyfriend…maybe it’s a coincidence.  Maybe it isn’t, and they just never told
Cas.  “I’m supposed to be looking after Cassie, but he…well he up and ran off
on me.  Say, I bet you’re the best friend—Sam Something, right?  Cas never
stops talking about you.  Wow, you’re some beautiful kid—bet you’re gonna be a
real heartbreaker when you grow up, just like my Cassie.”
And Dean is feeling it.  The exquisite rage that makes up the core of his
fucking being:  color all his days red, but save some for black.  His heart
pounds, he breathes hard through his nose, trying to keep it quiet, and he's
sure his grip on Cas hurts.  If anyone looked in his eyes now, they probably
wouldn’t be able to tell that they’re supposed to be green.  He knows now why
he didn’t just walk up to Sam in the light, order him inside, handle the man
that way.  He knows what he’s going to do, and it’s going to be so fucking
good.  He’s hard, thinking about it.  Better than sex, better than anything,
what he’s going to do.  And it’s been so long.
“I don’t know you.  You’ll have to ask Cas’s mom where he is,” Sam says
shortly and he's about to leave but he pauses.  "You're bleeding, by the way."
 The words are kind, but Sam's voice is hard, suspicious, and the man (Jimmy)
looks down quickly, tugs at his shirt.  He's sputtering excuses, but Sam
doesn't wait for a reply, loudly telling his friends he'll walk them home.
 Jimmy watches Sam’s lithe little figure disappear.  Now without witnesses,
he looks deeply worried, lifting his shirt and cursing at what Dean guesses
must be a wound, but he can't see from where they stand.  He runs a hand
through the flat hair, making it almost as messy as Cas’s, muttering and
starting back towards Cas’s house.
Dean taps Cas’s cheek, and when he would resist, he presses, forcing Cas to
lift his face from his shoulder and give him eye contact.  “Did he…,” Dean
grits out, then shuts his eyes, he can barely stand to ask because if he did…if
he fucking did…,”Did he…touch you?” 
Cas shakes his head urgently and his voice sounds strangled, but at least he’s
talking again.  “H-he tried to…tried to make m-me…he s-said I was his…told him
I wasn’t, Dean!  I-I didn't let him!  I cut him!”  He thrusts his fist out for
Dean to see,  and Dean blinks at the steak knife.  He hadn't seen it.  Cas
could have rid himself of two rapists tonight.  Dean adjusts Cas so he can hold
out his hand, and Cas puts the knife in his palm without hesitation.  
Dean feels it pulse inside him, the sheer violent need, and he hugs Cas
painfully tight, wanting to bite, to suck his skin.  “Mine,” his voice is
guttural, animalistic.  Beads of sweat appear at his temples as he fights for
control.  It’s going to be worth it, it’s going to be so, so good.
“Yours, Dean,” Cas agrees and presses his face against Dean’s, shuddering.
 Dean sighs and turns them, facing Cas's house where Jimmy disappeared. 
“Gonna take care of that for you, Cas,” Dean says, and he sounds almost like
himself this time.  “Would you like that, baby angel?”
Cas moves so he can look at Dean straight on, his eyes wet and afraid.  “H-he
might come b-back again.”
And Dean smiles, kisses Cas's forehead when he really wants to kiss his lips. 
“Not this time.”
Chapter End Notes
     For those who skipped:
     The part of the memory that I left out: Amelia made Cas lie and
     refuse to say who attacked him. The police still suspect Jimmy but
     they can't find him. He shows up one night and tries to get Amelia to
     let him in. She almost gives in, but Cas begs her and she finally
     tells Jimmy to leave, that the police know he did it and if he ever
     shows up again, she'll call them on him. Cas blocks this part out,
     because he can't cope with the fact that his mother almost let him
     in.
     Now:
     Jimmy and Amelia won't let Cas leave or use the phone for almost 5
     days; they act nervous and guilty. Amelia promises not to let Jimmy
     out of her sight. Jimmy is trying to convince Amelia that he's
     changed and that he'll be able to take care of them once he becomes a
     pastor now that he's "born again". It's pretty flimsy but of course
     she eats it up. On the 5th day she breaks her promise and leaves to
     run an errand, and he immediately tries to attack Cas. Cas (since he
     feels like he is Dean's, and must protect what is Dean's) swipes at
     him with a knife, lands it but we don't know how well. He runs to
     Dean and tells him. Dean sees Jimmy talking to Sam and promises Cas
     he'll take care of the "problem". Jimmy never sees Dean watching him.
***** Torture and Reward *****
Chapter Summary
     Jimmy wakes up in a strange place at Dean's mercy. Dean talks about
     his past and takes revenge for Cas.
Chapter Notes
     Graphic torture scene; knives, blood, pliers. It could be worse? :)
Jimmy doesn’t know where he is or how he got there.  The last thing he
remembers is being at Amelia’s house, trying to pretend he isn’t panicked by
the fact that Cas has run off to the Winchesters’ and is refusing to come home
now.  Amelia was torn; worried that Cas was telling someone who would then call
the police on Jimmy (thus finding out about his outstanding warrant), and
worried that Cas ran away because Jimmy (despite all his charming protests)
attacked him again.  Jimmy knows she hates to admit to herself that it’s a
possibility; he’s impressed with her capability for denial.  She really is so
perfect for this, malleable and weak and god-awful fucking desperate.
She was really panicking though and secretly so was he.  Cas hadn’t been home
in over a day, without any word.  That’s when he decided to go looking for Cas
again.  The Winchesters had stonewalled Amelia (and of course she backed down
even though Jimmy berated her for it—it’s her fucking son for Christ’s sake! 
Who were they to tell her he didn’t want to come home and they weren’t going to
make him?!)  But maybe…Amelia usually had a way of putting people off, her
social skills were non-existent.  Whereas, most people were pretty susceptible
to his brand of absentminded lovable charm.  He had just set out to go next
door and that’s all he remembers.
His head hurts a lot, and there’s some kind of wet on the back of his neck. 
Jimmy blinks and tries to make the room make sense but it’s too dark, he doubts
he could see a hand in front of his face.  He’s so dizzy (concussed?)  He’s
freezing, lying on unforgiving concrete, and he hurts everywhere.  It’s when he
tries to put a hand on his head that he realizes his wrists are handcuffed
behind his back.  His ankles are tied together with rope and attached to the
cuffs somehow.
And he’s naked.
He starts panicking, squirming and screaming, but the noises are muffled
because he’s gagged.  He can feel tape on his mouth, but there’s also some kind
of fuzzy thing under the tape that fills his whole mouth, the texture dry and
uncomfortable on his tongue.
“Shhhhh,” a voice he doesn’t know, a male voice, hushing him gently, rough
fingers in his hair.  “Not gonna help to struggle, you know that.  I’m sure you
said the same thing to Cas…”
He goes quiet, heart thumping hard enough he thinks he’ll have a heart attack
and end this whole thing.  Nobody knows about that, who is this guy?  Amelia
would never have told anyone, he’s sure of it, and Castiel…they’d been together
for two years without the kid saying a word, even to his mother.  Who would he
tell?  The family has no one…
A light comes on.  He blinks at the harsh light above him, just one naked
bulb.  He hears the sound of a metal door closing behind him.
“Hurts at first, after the dark, right?  You know what sucks most about this
room; the light switch is outside the door.  So if somebody were to lock you in
here and turn it off…complete darkness until they come back,” the voice says
and sighs regretfully.  “Really fucks with you, I can tell you that.”
Jimmy can see what he means.  The room is small and made of concrete without
even a single window.  There’s a ratty twin mattress in one corner that looks
old and dirty.  There are two buckets in another corner and a roll of toilet
paper that’s nearly turned to powder.  There are stains on the floor, and he
doesn’t want to think about them.
“You’re trembling.  He does that a lot, too…my Castiel.  That’s right, mine. 
You know, that’s why he did this to you,” the voice tells him and there’s a
hand touching the cut at his stomach.  It’s not bleeding anymore, but the
fingers scrape at it painfully and he flinches.  His hair is grabbed, his head
pulled back roughly, and wet lips touch his ear, the voice turns to a growl. 
“He did it because I fuck him now.  Because he’s mine and he knows it.  And
that’s why you’re here, because you tried to take him back.”
Jimmy mumbles into his gag, tries to speak. 
“What’s that?  Sorry, I’m like you tonight; I don’t wanna hear shit while I
take what I want.  I guess I should introduce myself, though, right?” The hands
are on his shoulders, moving him so that he’s on his knees.  The position hurts
immediately and he has a hard time maintaining it.  He's becoming more and more
certain that he has a concussion, some kind of head wound.  He ends up propped
against a wall.  Then his attacker moves around in front of him.  “I’m Dean
Winchester.  I’m Sammy’s big brother and I own Castiel Novak now, body and
soul.”
Jimmy’s shocked, because he isn’t a man, he’s just a boy.  Strong, yes,
muscular and hard looking, but his face…this is a high school kid, tops.  And
he’s the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen.  He’s shirtless and there’s not one
hair on his sculpted chest, just the lightest trail at the top of his open
jeans only slightly darker than the short, dark blond hair on his head.  His
face is heartrendingly lovely; those wide green eyes, long lashes, the light
spray of freckles across his perfect nose and cheekbones, and the gorgeous,
sinful mouth, girl-pretty except for the masculine jawline.  He smiles now,
almost flirtatious.  “I can see what you’re thinking.  Still doesn’t do it for
you, I get it.  I mean, you could probably get it up for me if you tried,” he
gestures toward Jimmy’s limp dick, bared and vulnerable and Jimmy shudders in
fear.  “But I’m not what you want.  Still, imagine these eyes, these lips when
I was Cas’s age, right?”  He steps forward, lowering his voice, and Jimmy
swallows hard at the image he paints.  “Or younger?  Bet you’d have liked me a
lot, huh?  Here, let’s see.  You don’t have to imagine, I’ll show you.”
Then he’s taking out pictures.  He’s laying them out one by one and Jimmy can’t
help but look (he probably could but even now, even now there’s nothing more
that he wants than to see those pictures.)  And he groans into the gag, the
jolt of desire to his dick is almost painful, so unwelcome in the middle of
this terror.  But those pictures…that boy…
It’s him, his attacker, but he’s a baby.  Six years old, maybe seven?  All the
baby skin bared, photographed.  Lashes starred with tears, giant, limpid green
eyes, but just as fierce as they are now, a born fighter.  Jimmy feels his
saliva soaking the fuzzy, uncomfortable gag, but oh, God.  Cas had said no but
he’d never fought.  Whoever the lucky son of a bitch was had held this
beautiful baby down, had forced him, shown him that all the fight in the world
wasn’t going to help.  Pictures of his beautifully ruined hole, pictures of a
dick being shoved inside him, pictures of his mouth wrapped around a tip that
barely fit, hate and resentment in those eyes.  Bruises on his lovely skin,
finger prints and bites, dried blood. 
“See…I knew it,” Dean says, and Jimmy jumps; he’d almost forgotten about his
current situation.  His eyes still drift back to the pictures, and then he
feels a gloved hand on his dick.  “Nice and hard now, look at that.  They’re
pretty hot, right?  I mean, I didn’t like it, but whatever.  Beautiful and weak
gets fucked, every time, just like I told him.  I didn’t lie about that.”
Jimmy groans, because Dean is lightly jerking him.  “You’ll notice the pictures
have different backgrounds.  Different dicks, too.  Some of them come from the
camera phone of a certain police chief who shall remain nameless and under my
fucking thumb, ever since I got my hands on said phone.  Fuckin’ idiot, right? 
Fucked me for years so he trusted me.  Now I own his ass.  I had to, though. 
Sammy was gettin’ older…saw him lookin’.  Fuckin’ father didn’t notice; it was
up to me, right?   I took care of it.”
“Those ones,” he points to the ones where he looks youngest, the most roughed
up.  “They’re from here.  Not this room, exactly—this is the punishment room. 
But if I took you out of here, there’s a room next door.  Creepiest shit you’ll
ever see, or I don’t know, maybe you’d like it.  It’s all set up to look like a
little boy’s room.  Train wallpaper, big boy bed, teddy bears and whatever
other shit.  And cameras,” his voice drifts, sounding far away, his hand comes
away from Jimmy.  He looks at him again, coming back to himself.  “I’m gonna
tell you a story.  It’s a long one, but I want you to understand.  This house
was owned by a friend of my father’s.  You’d like him; he’s even more religious
than you pretend to be,” he says mockingly and Jimmy shifts uncomfortably.  “He
managed the con that you were just starting to set up for yourself.  He’d be a
real hero to a shitbag like you if he wasn’t dead.”
He moves, dragging over a duffel bag.  Jimmy’s eyes bounce back and forth
between him and the pictures, endlessly drawn back despite everything.  “Guy’s
name was Pastor Jim Murphy, and nobody knew about this place except the people
who were in on it.  Miles from civilization, and inside a bunker.  Paranoid son
of a bitch, right?  That guy knew how to be careful.  But he had to be.  You
and me, we ain’t shit compared to what he had going on.”
Dean takes out some kind of canvas carrier that’s rolled up, like maybe it has
a painting in it or something.  He unties the straps holding it closed and
slowly unrolls it.  He suddenly has Jimmy’s undivided attention as an array of
knives is revealed.  Jimmy whimpers fearfully and the boy smiles without
looking at him.  He takes out more supplies; some things like rubbing alcohol
and sanitizing wipes, Jimmy can see, others are wrapped in cloth and he can’t
identify the shapes.  “See, my mom died when I was almost 7 and my Dad was
fucking…useless.  He had this new baby and this first grader to deal with, and
a house that’s barely begun to be paid off.  He’s drinking all the time, you
can imagine, or maybe you can’t—guy actually loved his wife.  He can’t afford
the bills because his two income household just went down to one.  Got no
family to help, his in-laws hate him and us.  What does he do?  Starts pawning
us off on his friends.  He’s got lots of those.”
He chooses a knife, one with a brown leather handle and a seven inch black
blade.  He squats down in front of Jimmy and looks at the blade thoughtfully. 
“This was my Dad’s.  It’s a Marine Corps Fighting Knife.  He gave it to me when
I was 12.  One of my favorite gifts, I’ve…used it a lot since then.  You can’t
tell though.  You take care of your blade and you can keep it forever.”
He smiles fondly, and flattens it against Jimmy’s face, making him whimper and
close his eyes, breathing hard through his nose.  “Where was I…right.  So we
had this neighbor, and she wants little Sammy, but not his rough and tumble
older brother.  She’s older, out of shape, can’t handle it.  No problem. 
Neighbor takes Sammy, and he sends his older son to one of his best buddies. 
Local pastor.  Nicest guy in town, loves kids, great reputation,” the boy
laughs, and it startles Jimmy because it’s wild and beautiful and wrong, like
everything about this kid.  He tickles the blade against Jimmy’s face.  “Don’t
know why I’m so pissed he didn’t figure it out.  They never do, right?  You and
I know that much.  They look away, they make excuses—buy into the fuckin’ con. 
Even when I tried to tell him, he wouldn’t let me, beat me for complaining. 
Thought I was just whining, fucking around again.  Told me be a man:  make
sacrifices for the family, tough out the stuff I didn’t like.  I was fuckin’
six.”
He laughs and slides the knife down to Jimmy’s throat.  “Already told you, you
and me, we’re small potatoes compared to the good Pastor.  Guy was part of a
pedophile ring.  He musta wanted me even when my mother was alive.  Musta been
so happy when she died.”  Sudden rage in his eyes, and he’s dragging the blade
across Jimmy’s chest, making him cry out.  Slashes twice, opening up his arms
at both biceps.  Two shallow cuts, the third somewhat deeper.  Jimmy is
breathing hard, shaking, so afraid.  This kid is nuts and he’s thinking he’s
not getting out of here.  He closes his eyes, tries to imagine Cas’s beautiful
face, and screams when the blade slashes down his face, opening his cheek. 
“None of that…stay with me, eyes open the whole time...unless you want me to
take ‘em out.  Got no problem blinding these blue eyes, so like my pretty
boy’s."  Dean touches the knife to the delicate skin under Jimmy’s right eye,
making the man flinch and whimper, blinking frantically, pressing his head back
against the wall but he can't get away.  "Hate everything you have that’s like
his, anything that makes you think he’s yours.  Make it so you can’t ever look
at him again, how would that be?” Jimmy whimpers desperately, but he can't even
shake his head, so afraid that the knife will plunge into his eye.  “Story
ain’t over, that’s just fuckin’ rude, James.  Is it James, or is your name as a
grown fucking man really ‘Jimmy’?”
He pulls the knife away and Jimmy tries to answer, shakes his head helplessly. 
The boy nods understandingly; he seems in control of himself again, or as much
as he ever was.  “I get it; you can’t answer without your voice.  I forgive you
but stay focused.  Be a good boy.  I might not kill you, you know.  Not
everyone who comes in this room dies.”  He slashes across the cut on his chest
almost nonchalantly, watches the body shudder, the blood drip.
“So, the good Pastor gets to keep me, sometimes for weeks at a time, so my Dad
can work his 16 hour days, pay his mortgage, whatnot.  He should have just sold
me himself.  There he is busting his ass to make a blue collar living and his
best friend is fucking and selling his elder son’s ass, making fat bank. 
Fucked up, right?  I hate that shit.  I’ll never do that to Cas.  Keep him all
to myself.  Can’t imagine another guy even fuckin’…touchin’ him, I…”  He shakes
his head, wipes a trembling hand over his face.  “Just seeing you, knowing you
fuckin’…”
He turns, and Jimmy barely has time to recognize the rage on that perfectly
straight face before the kid is hauling back, punching his face hard. 
Again.
Again.
Again.
                                       ~
He comes to and Dean is wiping his face with a wet wipe, almost gently, and
each one comes away red.  His face is a solid mask of pain, and he can barely
breathe through his blood-caked nose.  “I’m not sorry," Dean tells him.  “You
had that comin’.  I know I said I might not kill you, but it’s gonna be hard
for me to let you outta this room, knowin’ where that dick’s been.  Kind of
wanna rip that shit off.  You’ll have to be a really good boy.”
Jimmy whines and Dean laughs lightly.  “Funny how you make those high pitched
squeals when you got such a low voice.  Let me finish my story, then we’re
gonna talk about you.  It’s okay, I’m almost done.  So, you know how Cas starts
fuckin’ up at school when he’s gettin’ it at home, right?  Sure, ya do.  Me,
too.  Except of course my thing was violence.  Breakin’ things, hurtin’ other
kids, goin’ after teachers and shit.  Pastor tries to beat it out of me, gets
my Dad to try to beat it out of me.  That just don’t work too well on me cuz I
don’t give a shit about pain.  But I start realizin’ that teachers, neighbors,
whatnot, all of ‘em sing a whole different tune as soon as I start actin’
sweet.  Saw how this face really works on ‘em.  Pretty face, good enough story,
pay some attention to ‘em, and you get anything you want.  Or I do, anyway.”
Dean’s quiet for almost five whole minutes.  Jimmy breathes shallowly, not sure
what to do, just kneeling there bleeding.  His knees are agony, but there’s so
much pain to compete, the stinging of each cut on his body, the wound on the
back of his head, his rapidly swelling face. Dean blinks at him as if he’s the
one who’s disoriented, licks his lips.  “Sidetracked,” he manages, and then
clears his throat.  “I’m telling it wrong.  Shit.” 
He covers his eyes with his hands, shakes his head.  “How did it go?  He fucks
me, at some point starts selling me…I’m nothin’ like Cas, though, I always
fight back, even as a baby, even when it don’t do anything except make ‘em more
excited.  Then my Dad makes me spend a whole summer with him.  Almost the
entire summer I was down here, in that room or this one.  You know how long
summer feels like to a kid?”
He laughs and it’s an oddly broken sound this time.  “Be good to the johns, I
get to come home with him, eat like a normal person, use a bathroom.  Be
bad…get put in this room.”  He looks around at the walls.  “No light, no
window, no bathroom, no blanket.  Nothin’ but water bottles.  If he gave me
food, he threw it on the floor and I ate like an animal.  And if I wanna leave,
I’m supposed to beg him, let him fuck me into that mattress.  Like I gave a
shit, like that brought me down.  Just made me stronger, stupid fuck.”  Angry
again, he slams his knife into Jimmy’s shoulder, looking in his eyes while he
screams, leaving the knife in this time.  “I mean he broke me, sure.  Everybody
breaks, right?  Look at you, now.  I’ve only had you down here, what, a half
hour?  Bet you’d promise me anything to get out of here.  A blowjob?  Huh? 
Wanna suck my dick for me, Jimmy?”
He plays with the knife handle and Jimmy screams again and nods fervently. 
“Yeah, bet you do.  Bet you’d take it all the way in, swallow me up, like a
good boy.  If I said I’d let you go.  Let’s leave that there for a while, huh? 
Kind of stupid, bringing so many knives and then just use one, right?”  He
pokes the handle a few times, flicks it and smiles as Jimmy screams. 
He moves back to the travel case, looks over his options.  He pulls out what
looks like a weird pair of steel pliers and Jimmy tries to plead wordlessly,
shaking his head.  Dean comes over to him and touches the knife at his
shoulder.  “Shut the fuck up,” he suggests, and Jimmy masters himself, bringing
it down to whimpers.  “This thing is cool, you should appreciate it.  Instead
of a Swiss army knife, where the blade gets ruined, the pliers are the main
tool and the knives are in the handle parts.   They stay nice and sharp that
way.  Also has a wire cutter, scissors, bottle opener, all that shit.  Nice,
right?  I carry this one around with me a lot.”
“So where was I…,” he asks, thinking, looking over Jimmy’s naked body. 
Whatever hard-on Jimmy had is long gone and the dark hair on his pale chest is
matted with blood.  He taps Jimmy’s nipple with the pliers and the man makes a
shrill panicky sound.  “You’re right, that’s it, thanks.  That last summer,” he
closes the pliers lightly around the nipple.  “Summer starts to come to a
close.  Good Pastor starts keeping me at his house, trying to get me ‘back to
normal’ for my Dad.  Threatening me.  My brother’s turning two; he’s saying he
bets he can convince my Dad to give us both to him from now on if I don’t
behave.  Telling me how many clients he has for kids still in diapers.”  Dean
twists hard, gritting his teeth, thinking about those threats, how helpless
he’d felt, how angry.  He keeps twisting, wondering when flesh will break. 
Jimmy’s screams are a balm on all that fury.  He releases the nipple and
listens to the guy try to catch his breath, grunting and groaning.  He smiles
and moves to the other nipple, places the pliers around it. 
“My Dad picks me up and I’m his good, helpful son.  Upbeat, normal.  Going
along with all the stories the Pastor makes up about this awesome summer I had,
making up some of my own.  I know he was impressed.  Maybe a little worried at
how good I was after I spent that whole summer bein’ bad.”  He starts to twist
but so slowly this time, letting the pain build a little bit at a time.  “My
Dad takes me home.  Puts Sammy to bed.  Puts me to bed and I pretend to sleep. 
When my Dad’s been asleep a while,  I go to our safe, take out a gun, a .22
pistol, perfect for my little hand.  I don’t even know why he has that little
shit.  Wasn’t really trained on it yet, not then, but I knew how it worked,
where the safety was, how to load it.  Son of a marine, what can I say?”  He
takes a moment to enjoy Jimmy’s muffled screams of agony.
He lets him go, lets him catch his breath again while he pulls open the handle,
tugging out some blades.  He chooses a serrated one.  “I get on my bike.  It’s
dark out, nobody’s around.  I know where the Pastor lives, been going there
since my Mom was still alive.  Ride to his house, all the lights are off but
his car’s there.  Find a little basement window, nothin’ a grown up could get
through but easy for me.”  Dean takes the blade and starts carving swirling,
shallow lines across Jimmy’s chest, stomach, and thighs dreamily while he
talks, while Jimmy shrieks into his gag.  “Basement’s dark, but it has windows,
right?  So that’s not too dark for me to see, not with what I’m used to at that
point.  Start makin’ noise, get him to come down there.”  Dean starts laughing
and Jimmy flinches hard, making the knife go deeper by accident. 
“You’re…you’re not gonna believe me when I tell you but I…I swear I wasn’t
tryin’, wasn’t aimin’ for it…I shot him…in…” Dean’s laughing so hard, he stops
cutting, leaning on Jimmy’s stabbed shoulder as if they’re friends enjoying a
particularly good joke.  “I shot him in his dick!  No, really, I did!  It’s a
fuckin’ coincidence, that’s just the best I could do!  I was so small, and I
didn’t know how the kickback would be.  I’m lucky I hit him at all, but the
world loves me, man.  It does, everything works out for me.”
He calms down and sits on the floor, leaning against Jimmy, getting his blood
on his gorgeous bare skin.    “Anyway, he’s on the ground,
bleedin’…screamin’…it felt so good, but he wasn’t dead yet.  He’s even tryin’
to get away.  I didn’t know if he’d bleed to death or survive it, what the fuck
did I know?  I didn’t wanna shoot him again, it felt too loud.  Guy had
neighbors, I thought maybe they’d hear it.  Ran to his kitchen, got a big steak
knife…hey, that’s what Cas used on you!  Told you, he’s mine, in every sense.”
Dean smiles fondly, drags his knife along the outside of the bare leg closest
to him, liking the red line that appears in its wake.  “Come back and he’s
dragged himself up the steps but no farther, blood everywhere, man.  And I
just…stab the shit out of him.  None of the cute shit you and I are doing
either.  I just wanted him dead.  But I fuckin’…here’s the thing, I fuckin’
loved it.  Been so angry for so long, you know?  It’s like when someone teases
you but won’t let you come, and then when you finally get to, you know?  Like
that, but better.”
Jimmy starts crying and Dean sighs.  “I know; you wanna know what the hell I
did next.  A seven year old murderer, a dead pillar of society.  I didn’t know
I could’ve just called the police.  I didn’t know they’d be able to tell I was
raped; they’d investigate and find his fuckin’ hidey hole, all kinds of
evidence,” he shakes his head.  “I thought I had to get myself out of it. Call
my Dad.  Tell him where I am, to come get me.  I let him in the house, tell him
what happened.  Tell him why.  He’s on my side fuckin’ finally, cryin’ and
shit; it’s all his fault.  He’s gonna call the police but I convince him to
call his friend instead.  That Chief I told you about, just a Captain back
then.  Friend of my Dad’s, and one of the Pastor’s clients.  Knew he had a
thing for me.  Guy shows up, tells us to get the hell out of there.  Next thing
we know, the whole thing goes down as a robbery gone bad, and that Captain
starts hanging out with my Dad more and more so he can fuck his beautiful son. 
Who owes him.  Who thinks he owes him.”  He shakes his head.  “Beautiful and
stupid gets fucked every time, too.  But at least my Dad let me stay home by
myself from then on, and as soon as Sammy was old enough, he gave him over to
me to protect.  He gave him to me,” he repeats, like it’s the most important
fact in existence.
He blinks and looks at Jimmy, like he just remembered him again.  He uses the
knife to turn Jimmy’s face toward him, forcing eye contact with the crying
older man.  “Captain had an older boy he fucked, too.  Put us together a lot. 
He’s the one who taught me how to like it.  How to make others like what I
did.  Poor kid fell in love, and it was so fun making him my bitch.  Captain
liked it, too, he let me do it.  Guess I fucked with him too much and he went
and killed himself.  Captain was all broken up, but not me.  Kinda liked it,
pushing his weak ass over the edge.”
Dean’s silent for a while and Jimmy whines, trying to say ‘please let me go’,
though it comes out unintelligible.  Dean winks and smiles, knows what he’s
saying of course.  “Don’t worry, almost time for your real punishment.”  Jimmy
begs into the gag, but Dean is pushing him down, letting him hit his injured
face and chest on the unforgiving concrete, driving the knife in deeper to his
shoulder, making him move to try not to lean on it.  “Hmm, you’re right, that
won’t do,” Dean mutters, lifts him a bit, and then yanks the knife from his
shoulder in one swift movement. 
                                       ~
He comes to for a third time and his face and chest are on the ground.  His
legs are folded under him so that his ass is propped up on them, his ankles no
longer connected to his wrists at least.  He starts shaking again, figuring
he’s going to be raped.  And he’s right. 
“Glad you’re awake.  Gettin’ bored,” Dean tells him, taking his hard dick out
of his boxers, his jeans already open.  Jimmy can’t help but look.  The boy
isn’t monstrous but proportionate to his tall frame and kind of thick.  He
would wonder how Cas handles it if he weren’t so worried for himself.  “Time
for that blowjob you promised.  If you use teeth, just remember those pliers. 
Meth addicts will have more teeth than you when I’m finished.” 
Dean grabs his hair and yanks his head back.  He pulls the tape off and tugs
out something soft and brown and soaked from his saliva.  Dean shows it to him,
and it’s the arm from a stuffed animal. 
Jimmy feels his whole face redden, feeling so exposed.  “Yeah, I know.  I know
everything you did.  Cas didn’t want to talk about it, but I made him.  I
wanted to make sure I get this just right.  Our time together.  You see,
there’s a lot of differences between you and me.  I mean, you’re obviously a
total fuckin’ pussy who’s only tough when he’s up against a little boy.” He
gestures derisively at the sniveling, broken man.  “Typical pedophile.  You’re
a shit rapist, not careful in the slightest, just begging to get caught.  And
you don’t know what it feels like…the rough, careless shit you do to Cas.” 
Dean leans down, looking earnestly into his eyes.  “See, I do.  Everything I do
to him, I know it.  I’ve had it happen, I’ve had worse.  I know how hard to
push him, I know what’ll make him bleed.  At least everything I do is thought
out.  He’ll never bleed or cry unless it’s what I want him to do, and I’ll know
what he’s going through every time.”
He pulls Jimmy higher by his hair, making him scream in pain as he feels some
of the roots separate.  “Whereas you, you piece of shit…you just rape your way
into a seven year old’s mouth, his ass, and you don’t even know what the fuck
you’re doing!  It’s…it’s bullshit!  Vaseline, are you fucking kidding me?”
Pissed, he grabs his knife and slashes some x’s across the unmarked skin of his
back.  The older man screams and he stops, catching his breath.  “So I’ll show
you.  Tonight I’ll show you how…he…felt.”
With that he’s grabbing Jimmy’s head and lifting it, shoving into Jimmy’s
mouth.  Jimmy’s sucked adult dick before, but not in so long and this isn’t
sucking.  This is brute force; Dean’s dick slamming inside over and over,
seeming to get deeper each time, making him gag and choke around it, tears
streaming down his face.  Dean tilts his head and pushes farther, til his balls
touch Jimmy’s chin and his tip hits something that could be an esophagus for
all he knows.  Jimmy struggles uselessly, his body in oxygen-starved panic. 
Dean stares lustfully down at his face.  “How’s that feel, huh?  There’s Cas’s
first time, that’s what you did to him because he was a bad boy,” he pulls out
and shoves in again, closing his eyes as he feels the man’s throat convulse
around him, moaning his pleasure as he thrusts.  Over and over, he fucks
mercilessly, the meanest he’s ever been to a throat until he feels himself
coming.  He slows down, fucking his come down the man’s throat, liking the
swallowing sensation on his dick, wanting him to keep it all.  When he pulls
out, he’s gratified to see blood on his dick, mixed with saliva and pus.  Jimmy
hits the floor, gagging and spitting a disgusting mix of fluids.
“Clean it up.” He tells the crying, coughing man.  “Let’s go, hurry up.”  Jimmy
can’t lift himself again, so Dean does it, making sure to use the stabbed
shoulder, digging his thumb into the open wound.  He stops (so the screaming
will) and Jimmy starts lapping sloppily at his dick.  “The floor, too,” he
tells him nastily, dropping him back down and watching his pathetic efforts,
listening to him gag.  “Nicely done.  Good thing you didn’t recreate Cas’s
vomiting on your dick.  I’d have straight killed you for that.”
Dean tucks himself back in, but looking at his bleeding victim has him
twitching already.  He gets behind him and Jimmy starts begging, his voice
completely ruined by now.  “Shut up or I’ll rape you with a knife, instead of
what I have planned.  That’s what it really feels like, you know.  Your dick in
his tiny baby asshole, ripping him apart.  Feels like a dildo wrapped in barbed
wire.  But if I use that, I definitely have to kill you.  And I’m not sure
yet.”
“Please don’t kill me,” Jimmy croaks out, coughs up a little more
blood…pauses…licks it up.  “I-I’ll…be good.”
Dean laughs.  “Good boy.  You want out of here, you take what the fuck I give
you.”  With that, he reaches over to one of his covered objects.  He unwraps it
slowly and Jimmy tries to whine but the sound doesn’t even work; he thinks
there’s some real damage there.  Dean is holding a 14 inch dildo that is at
least 3 inches wide.  He’s looking at Jimmy and there is no compassion in his
face, nothing human to appeal to, just eager sadistic glee.  He rubs the dildo
against Jimmy’s face.  “Want me to push it in your throat first, or are we done
with that?”  Jimmy tries begging and Dean laughs.  “All right but you might
want to lick the head.  That’s all the lube you’re gonna get.” Jimmy whimpers,
starts crying again, but he opens his ruined mouth, licking at as much of the
dildo as he can manage before Dean takes it back.  It’s not enough, he knows,
not nearly enough.
“Okay.  I think this is the closest we’re gonna come to your dick verses his
virgin ass.  Still not the same, but since I’m not even using your bullshit
Vaseline, it’ll work.  See, I’m lookin’ for blood.  I want the kind of blood
that pours, that could fill up a bathtub, if you catch my drift.  And if I
don’t get it…I’ll just get more creative until I do.”  Jimmy starts begging
again, actually trying to wiggle away.  Dean grabs up his knife and slams it
hard into the back of his other shoulder.  “Bad move, asshole.  And I love the
screams, but I’m tired of the begging.”  He reaches into his bag and pulls out
the rest of a torn up teddy bear, shoving as much of it as he can into Jimmy’s
abused mouth.  “Keep that there or else.  Remember the rules.  Good boys who
want to live take whatever Daddy gives them.” 
Jimmy cringes, thinking it’s going to slam in him the way Dean’s dick slammed
into his mouth, but nothing happens.  Dean comes back around to the front and
pulls the bear out, dripping with saliva.  Jimmy swallows reflexively even
though it hurts, licking at his bloody lips.  Dean uses his foot to tip up his
face from the floor.  “That reminds me.  Cas looks an awful lot like you.  Kind
of funny, you both lookin’ so much alike…you makin’ him call you Daddy.  Could
just be a Daddy kink, I know all about that.  But still.”
Jimmy moans and twitches in a way that could be construed as a shrug, trying to
pull his face away so he can huddle in his misery.  He doesn’t see how it
matters. 
Dean sighs and bends forward, digging his thumb into his shoulder wound again,
making him try to scream.  “You are, aren’t you.  You’re his Dad.  Tell
me…right fucking now.  Still got a lot more knives there to try.”
Jimmy twists and writhes in pain, gasping when Dean finally lets up.  “Yes,” he
groans miserably.  “had…had a job back then,” he gasps, his voice gravelly and
pained.  “Didn’t…want…to pay.”
“What a fuckin’ surprise.  Showed back up in his life just in time to fuck
him.  How’d you convince Amelia not to tell him the truth?  He doesn’t know, I
know that much.”
“Told her…he couldn’t…handle it…told her…we’d…tell him…when…he’s grown.” 
Dean is silent for a moment.  “Ready to bleed you now.”
Jimmy clenches in fear, the exact wrong thing to do.  What Dean doesn’t know is
that he’s never even been fucked before; always been kind of afraid to have sex
with adult men.  He begs and gets the bear shoved back in his mouth as a
result, hating the dry, spongy thing more than ever against his raw throat.  He
whimpers, feeling Dean start pushing against his virgin hole immediately.  The
monster dildo isn’t getting inside him at all, but Dean isn’t discouraged.  He
uses a gloved finger to shove inside then pull at his rim, forcing it around
the ridge of the head.  Jimmy squirms and tries to pull away but Dean holds him
down mercilessly, stronger than he looks, certainly stronger than Jimmy, who by
this point has lost a good amount of blood. 
The dildo is dry, doesn’t want to move in Jimmy’s tight anus.  Dean shoves,
forcing it with brutal strength, and delicate flesh shreds inside to make way.
 Jimmy screams around the gag until there’s no more sound and even after, but
after some agonizing strokes, Dean sighs, yanks it out roughly.  “The blood is
acting as lube.  That’s not fair, is it.”  He takes a small towel out of his
bag, dries the dildo and rams it back in, dragging in and out and savagely
pounding when the blood slicks it again.  He doesn’t know how long it goes on,
hours, days, before he rips it out of him and dries it a second time.  It’s
when he shoves back in, catching his insides at a harrowing new angle that
Jimmy finally blacks out for the last time.
                                       ~
The next time he wakes up he’s been moved.  He’s in a car, still naked, still
cuffed, trussed up in the backseat.  It’s his car, he realizes, and Dean is
driving it.  The pain is overwhelming and he drifts in and out of
consciousness.  Then Dean is shaking him, sitting next to him in the backseat. 
He flinches away from him, trying to whimper but nothing comes out.  He looks
around, disoriented.  He’s on a deserted highway with only trees on either
side.  He has no way of knowing where he is, but he’s alive.  Dean is letting
him live, he thinks.  If he was going to die, he’d never have left that room. 
He starts to cry with relief.
“Oh my God stop with the water works.  What’s pretty on your son is disgusting
on you,” Dean snarls and Jimmy tries to stop.  “I’m letting you go.  Letting
you live.  Got you your car, Cas got all your shit out of his house, he better
never see any of it again.  You take this highway straight, you’ll get back to
where you came from.  Hope you can drive, but let’s face it…if you crash,
nobody’s gonna give a shit.”
Jimmy stares at him; he can’t believe this is happening, he’s so grateful, but
why?  Why would he ever…
“I’m letting you go in case Cas is more like me than I think, and he wants to
kill you someday.  I can’t take that from him, not when it was so good for me. 
That’ll be his right.  We both know I don’t have to  worry about you going to
the police…I’d be surprised if you even take your sorry ass to a hospital. 
Warrant out for your arrest, isn’t there?  Amelia really did get the cops on
you last time, and that shit doesn’t just go away.” He laughs, caressing
Jimmy’s cheek.  “That’s the best thing I found out about common kid fuckers
like you.  I can do anything to you and you can’t go to the law ‘cause all of
you got too much shit to hide.  Fuckin’ priceless.  Vengeance all the time, so
easy.”
“Of course, this is the first time I ever did it for someone else, but I never
owned anyone before.”  He trails off, thoughtful, before swinging his intense
green eyes back to Jimmy’s.  He grips his chin.  “Castiel isn’t your son.  He
isn’t your anything.  You come near him again, in any way, you even pick up the
phone to call his cunt of a mother…,” Dean tightens his grip on Jimmy’s face,
lets him see the sheer depth of his savage fury.  “I’ll fucking kill you.  No
hesitation, no torture, no games, just dead.  Got it?”
Jimmy nods, tears slipping down.
“Cas is mine.  Repeat it so I know you understand.”
“Castiel is yours,” a ruined whisper that takes him three tries, but the terror
in his eyes speaks volumes. 
Dean smiles, and his face is lovely.  He’s fully dressed now and his face,
neck, and hands are clean of blood, though Jimmy is still caked and covered in
it. “Good job.  Your clothes are on the passenger seat, I’ll leave the keys in
the ignition.  Gonna uncuff you but leave your feet tied.  My suggestion is you
get your shit in order before a cop finds you.  We both know you don’t want
that.”  He shoves Jimmy down on his face and finally the cuffs are released but
Jimmy makes no move to get up, still terrified that Dean will change his mind. 
“Remember what I said,” Dean tells him and slams the door. 
Jimmy has no idea how he gets home from there.  All he knows is that when he
finally finds the courage to sit up, the boy is long gone.
 
                                     * * *
 
Dean is exhausted when he finally gets home (he rode a bike that he had put in
Jimmy’s trunk by taking the front wheel off; undignified as fuck and he’s so
glad no one sees him, but he wasn’t about to walk.)  It’s a good tired,
though.  He’ll even still go to school tomorrow, because he’s so elated.  The
energy will carry him through the day.  Those kinds of nights feel so good, the
best release of his life, and now he’s all stretched and relaxed, the cat who
ate the cream.  He drags himself to his room and kicks off his boots, opens his
jeans.  He’ll have to burn them but he wants Cas to see them, see the blood on
them.  They'll burn them together.  A sound makes him turn, and it’s Cas in the
doorway, wide awake though it’s way past his and Sam’s bedtime. 
Dean watches him as he timidly steps closer, his eyes on Dean’s pants.  He
touches the red splashes and looks up, wide eyed and afraid.  Dean stares down
at him impassively.  “He’s gone, Castiel.  Not dead, but if he comes back I’ll
kill him.  Punished him real good for you, baby.”
Cas swallows and nods.  His small hand pushes up slowly…touches the waistband
of his underwear and starts to tug down.  By the time Dean’s dick springs free,
it’s plenty hard for him.  Cas puts both hands on the base, looking in Dean’s
eyes questioningly, wanting the approval.  Dean nods, glad he took the time to
clean Jimmy's fluids off his body, and Cas puts his small lips against the head
of Dean’s cock.  “Thank you, Dean,” he whispers against the sensitive flesh. 
His small mouth wraps around the head.  Sweetly, he kisses, sucks, his small
cheeks hollowing, little tongue lapping at the slit, the ridge of the head.  He
takes as much as he can, still not much, still needing those little breaks to
cough and struggle.  One hand slips low to cup his balls, just the way he was
taught.
Dean bites his lower lip, allowing himself to breathe hard, trying not to make
any other sounds.  At any moment Sam could wake, notice his friend missing. 
But this, Cas’s fucking mouth, offered up so sweetly.  He’s coming before he
means to, still too much for his baby to swallow, claiming him from the inside
out.  The come spills on his pajama shirt and Dean knows he’ll have to change
it, that Sam might notice and wonder, but he loves seeing it.  He picks him up
and sits him on the dresser and kisses him soundly.  “Mine, Castiel.  All
mine.”
“Y-“ One kiss, another. “Yours,” Kissing, again, again. “D-dean.”
***** Loose Ends *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean makes Cas see Meg; then makes it so he'll never see her again.
When Dean tells Cas they’re going to meet Meg at a hotel to have sex, he tries
to pretend he doesn’t mind.  Dean sees through it, of course, and sits him down
to talk about it.  He really does insist on always knowing what Cas is
thinking.  Even if he never acts on those thoughts.
They’re at Dean’s house of course, even though Sam isn’t even home.  It’s funny
how lax they’ve become with the rules again.  Sam knows about Jimmy, knows what
he tried to do, although not why he suddenly disappeared.  He believes that Cas
is hanging out with Dean more than ever since it was Dean who shielded him when
Amelia tried to drag him back after the attack.  Dean, fierce and unyielding at
the door, while Sam held his shaking friend within earshot and promised him,
“No, Cas, they can’t make you go anywhere, not while we’re around.”
This is how they’ve won the freedom to lie cuddled on the couch the way they
are, with Dean on his back and Cas on top of him, sprawled over his chest. 
They’ve already fucked and showered once today, and now Dean just has his hand
lazily down the back of Cas’s pants and underwear, circling his puffy, fucked
out hole.  It stings but his finger also slides down his perineum, pressing
there so nicely, so the stinging is mixed with pleasure and Cas is half hard in
his jeans.  If he sometimes humps his hard-on against Dean’s stomach, well,
Dean doesn’t mind at all.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about seeing Meg again,” Dean tells him, and Cas
shimmies higher on Dean so his face is at the bare skin of Dean’s neck.  He’s
always more comfortable sharing thoughts Dean won’t like if he can kiss him
while he tells them.  His thumb plays with Dean’s nipple as he talks.
“Sam doesn’t like her.  He’d think I was so gross and bad for doing stuff with
her again,” Cas says lightly, licking a stripe up the side of Dean’s neck. 
Dean taps a finger at his hole thoughtfully.  “Sam would think what you’re
doing right now is gross and bad, baby angel.  He would never understand about
you being my little slut, now would he?”
Cas flushes pretty pink.  “No…”
“What else about Meg?” Dean’s finger leaves his hole, plays with the delicate
taint skin, and Cas pushes his hips back, trying to get Dean’s finger to curl
further between his legs, where his little package is.  Dean smiles and lightly
touches the tiny sack.
Cas gasps a little and Dean stops so he can concentrate, tapping his hole again
in reminder.  “S-she didn’t stop when I was sick.  She’s kinda scary.”
“Hmm,” Dean hums in understanding and Cas likes the way it rumbles under him,
making Dean’s chest vibrate.  “Well, that’s my responsibility now to make sure
you don’t get drunk enough to get sick, right?  My baby’s too little to know
how to take care of himself.  Gotta look after you better, that’s all,” Dean
turns his face down to Cas and Cas readily responds, taking the kiss that’s
offered.
“Thank you, Dean,” he tells him, blushing at having to be babied.  He wants to
impress Dean, drink like a man. 
“As to her being scary…baby that’s your way of saying you didn’t like it when
you said no and she didn’t stop,” Dean looks a little skeptical, and scrapes
his finger painfully against Cas’s rim, getting the tiniest whimper.  His boy
is so responsive.  “But angel baby, you’re not allowed to say no, remember? 
You just do everything I want you to do, even if that’s fuck Meg when you don’t
want to.”  Dean looks at Cas.  “I know I didn’t punish you for saying no that
night, maybe that’s why you’re confused?  Do you need a spanking so you’ll
remember that you don’t get a say?”
Cas feels his little hard-on wilt and he looks pitifully at Dean.  “But you
said I didn’t hafta…”
“Shhh, just five spanks, how about that, and if you take them like a good boy,
I’ll let you fuck into my hand until you come again today.  But if you try to
squirm away like last time or hide your little bottom, it’s gonna get worse for
you.” 
Cas pouts his pretty pink lips in a way that makes Dean want to slide his dick
between them.  “Can you put your mouth instead of your hand?” he whines and
Dean laughs.  He’s been spoiling Cas a bit and it makes him bolder, asking for
the little favors that he knows Dean will indulge.  “Okay, I’ll put my mouth. 
No fucking into my mouth, though.  You move your hips, I stop and you get
nothing, not even to touch yourself.”
Cas nods.  “Okay, Dean.”  He opens his jeans and Dean watches hungrily, as
though he hadn’t had him naked only a half hour before.  He pushes down his
pants and underwear and climbs over Dean’s lap. 
“Count for me, baby.  It’s gonna hurt so you remember, okay?”
Cas shudders, his voice whisper soft.  “Yes, Dean.”
Dean can’t help but tug the cheeks apart, looking at his favorite puffy little
hole, still irritated from being fucked out.  Crazy, the way he never gets
enough of this kid.  He slams his hand down on the small bottom, easily hitting
both cheeks in one shot, feeling Cas’s little body jerk on his lap. 
“One,” Cas yelps, biting his lower lip.  His eyes are already stinging from
that one slap, his bottom feels like fire.  But he digs his hands into Dean’s
thigh, determined not to cover up this time.  He wants that reward.
SMACK.
Dean’s hand is merciless and Cas has to whimper for a second at the pain, but
Dean comes down again before he can even count. 
“Two, Th-three—“
“No, no, Cas,” Dean admonishes, rubbing his hand over the reddening bottom. 
“You’ve gotta keep up or it doesn’t count.  That’s only two.”
“Yes, Dean,” he says shakily.
“It’s okay to cry, sweetie.  My beautiful boy.  You know I love your tears.”
Cas stops trying to blink his tears away and lets them slip down his cheeks. 
He glances up at Dean, who immediately wants to lick them away.  “That’s my
good little angel, three more, baby, here we go.”
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
Cas manages to count fast enough this time, and is genuinely crying by the time
Dean’s done.  He earned his reward but can’t imagine wanting it now.  He knows
Dean’ll change his mind though.  Dean’s so good at that.
                                       ~
The hotel is small and dingy, one of those kinds where the rooms are in a
single row outside.  Meg already procured it before they get there, and Cas
holds tight to Dean’s hand as he leads him to the last room on the block. 
Inside it smells stale and the curtains block out most of the light.  His heart
is pounding with nerves and he clings to Dean, who offers reassuring touches
and half hugs. 
“Wow, he’s so attached to you…guess he doesn’t hold it against you, what
happened last time.” Meg comments.  Cas admits she looks pretty in a low cut
grey tank top and tight jeans, similar to the outfit she’d worn at Dean’s.  Her
eyes on Cas are hungry.  “Hey there, Angel.  Got you a present, something to
help you relax.  If Dean says it’s okay.”  She holds out her hand and has three
pills.  “One for each of us.  It’s a mild form of Molly, trust me, it’s gonna
make this amazing.”
Dean looks interested if skeptical.  “You first.  He can have half of one.”
She rolls her eyes and pops one in her mouth and holds the other two out to
Dean.  “Give your boy whatever you think is best,” she says, and the words are
right even if the tone is mocking.  Cas thinks that’s just how Meg talks.
Dean takes his and cuts the other one with his fingernail.  “Open,” he tells
Cas, and puts it on his tongue.  “You’ll like this stuff, baby, it’ll make all
the touches feel good, even the ones that hurt.”  Meg hands him a water bottle
and he drinks, eyes stubbornly on Dean’s.
                                       ~
The three of them are naked, covered in salty sweat and other fluids, including
the water that they keep pouring on each other’s hot skin and licking away,
endlessly thirsty.  Meg and Dean are worshipping Cas, it feels like a thousand
mouths and hands on his body, caressing, licking, and sucking.  He feels like
he must’ve come a bunch of times already, most of them dry, but his dick is
hard against his tummy once more. 
Meg wants him to fuck her again but Dean is stopping her.  “Let him fuck you in
the ass," his voice is low and suggestive, licking along her jawline, her
throat.
She moans, laughs a little.  "You know I don't have a prostate, right?" 
But her eyes on Dean's are intrigued and he smiles wickedly.  "Come on, that’s
the only way you’re gonna feel anything from him.  I’ll take care of you while
he does it.” 
Cas watches them kiss above him, his small, sweaty body pressed between
theirs.  He touches them, too, no hesitation or shame or fear, all curiosity,
using his mouth, his little fingers to explore, all of them groaning together. 
Cas doesn’t know what “Molly” is, but he wants to use it every time he’s with
Dean for the rest of his life.
Then Meg is on the bed on all fours and Dean is positioning Cas behind her. 
“Do it like I do for you, baby angel…open her up with your fingers.  Here,
bought you a new lube, cherry flavored.”  He drips it onto Cas’s fingers.  He
starts to finger her ass, thinking about what he sees Dean do between his legs
and trying to copy it.  Her hole is tight but not as tight as his own.  Dean’s
hand is between Meg’s legs as he watches, and she’s moaning, rocking back onto
Cas’s hand.  He doesn’t do much before Dean is pulling him up behind her, hands
on Cas’s hips, mouthing at his neck.  “Go ahead, baby…put it in.  You’ll love
this, gonna feel so good.”
Cas moans as he slips in easily; her hole so tight and wet around him, better
than Dean’s mouth, better than anything.  Lacking any sort of control, he
starts rutting against her wildly, making her squeal and let out shocked
laughter at the sensation.  Cas can't believe he gets to fuck somebody, and he
knows he can't last.  “Dean,” he whines as he comes inside her and Dean is
there, licking into his mouth.  “So fucking hot, baby…fucking that ass like a
big boy.”
Meg rolls over onto her back.  “Hey…thought you were gonna take care of me,”
she murmurs, her hands running over her body.  They’re all doing it, touching
themselves or each other constantly, needing the sensation. 
“We’re so sorry, Meg,” Dean says lowly, putting on a show between her legs,
making out with Cas while they both touch her.  “Cas is gonna make it up to you
right now, aren’t you, baby angel?  Gonna learn to go down on a girl now. 
Here, watch my tongue.”  Dean does it like a porn star would, leaving room so
Cas can bring his face close, watching Dean’s tongue flick and slip around
Meg’s engorged little clit, sucking it between his plush lips, humming.  He
shoves his middle finger inside her roughly and she’s bucking up against him. 
He pushes her hips down forcefully enough to leave bruises and she moans in
appreciation.  “Hey…none of that for him.  Be nice to the baby, no smothering
him.”
“Yes, Dean,” she simpers, mocking the way Cas does it and he slaps her thigh as
hard as he can, giving her a wicked grin as his handprint appears. 
“Watch yourself.  You want me to dominate you, I will.”
Cas nudges Dean and takes a kiss, hating to be forgotten.  Dean gives him a
filthy kiss back and hands him the cherry lube.  “Why don’t you use this on
Meg?  She’s already wet, but I know how you are about…flavor.  I’m gonna let
you figure it out and then I’m gonna fuck you.  Want that?  Want me to fuck
you?”
“Yes, Dean, please fuck me,” Cas whines, coming back for another kiss.  He
can’t seem to get enough of them and Dean is happy to oblige.
Meg comes up on her elbows, her face shocked.  “You’re not seriously gonna fuck
him…no way he can take that dick.”
Cas frowns and crawls up her body aggressively, making Dean’s eyebrows lift. 
High Cas is amazing.  “I can take his dick, I take it all the time,” he growls
through gritted teeth.  He kisses her, trying to play roughly with her tits,
but she loves it, arching into his touches.  Unable to help himself, Dean
pushes on top of them, though he keeps his weight on his hands and knees and
they become a mass of tangled kisses and touches again for an unknown amount of
lost time.  Dean manages to finger Cas open while they play, and he wants his
prize.  He moves backward, dragging Cas by his hips down Meg’s body, both of
them moaning at the sensation.  Cas dumps way too much of the cherry lube on
Meg and loses himself for a while, playing randomly with the greasy substance,
taking Meg apart with his clumsy attempts.  Dean has to push his head down to
remind him and he starts to lick.
“Wait,” Meg moans, pulling herself away slightly.  “Can I see you put your dick
in him?  I gotta see it.”
Dean nods, smirking at her as he lifts Cas’s hips, leaving his head down
against the mattress.  She sits up and moves forward to where she can see,
Cas's whole upper body in her lap.  Dean takes his time as he almost always
does when Cas is a good boy, letting Cas get used to each inch that he
manages.  The boy is still too small to take all of it, managing little more
than half.  Dean groans at that tight heat around him, feeling Cas clench and
release as he tries to get used to the feeling.  He’s not crying, though, the
drug induced haze protecting him, making the pain feel as amazing as all the
rest.  It’s not long before Dean starts to move, and it’s easier than it’s ever
been.  “Fuck, Cas, baby…so fuckin’ good for me…”
“Oh, God, look at that,” Meg breathes, touching herself.  “How is that
fitting…shit!  Oh, God, Angel...need that little mouth now.”
She slides back under him, doing all the work since all he can do at this point
is gasp and moan and bounce as Dean’s dick is hitting the special place inside
him, dragging mercilessly against it, sawing back and forth.  But he tries to
lick and suck at her clit the way Dean showed him, tasting the super sweet
cherry against her muskier flavor.  He decides sucking is the easiest and wraps
his lips around her, moaning around her clit, feeling her clawing at his skinny
shoulders.  She starts to push the back of his head and Dean stops fucking long
enough to smack her.  “Told you, none of that.  Be nice.”
“Tell him to use teeth then, dammit!”
Cas obeys, sucking her between his teeth but not biting down.  He doesn’t think
anyone would want that.  She moans and cants her hips up, so he figures he’s
doing a good job.  She comes hard, bucking under him and he collapses on her
pussy, so relieved to not have to focus anymore.  He already came against the
rough bedspread and now his insides that Dean is relentlessly moving against
are oversensitive enough that he’s crying.  But even that feels good, the
release of his tears, Dean’s hands on his hips, pulling him back onto his huge
cock.  His body moves without him, and he’s happy he doesn’t have to do
anything else.  Unable to take anymore, he passes out with Dean still fucking
into him.
                                       ~
Cas wakes up still naked on the bed, in Dean’s arms.  He’s mid cry when he
wakes and Dean is hushing him.  He feels funny, kind of sad.  The good feelings
are still there but so much less and he hates that they’re going away.  “Dean?”
he whimpers, wanting to cry.  His breath hitches and Dean hushes him, strokes
his face.
“He’s coming down,” Meg says and Dean rolls his eyes.
“No shit,” he mutters, tucking Cas against his chest like he’s just a tiny
baby.  Cas tries to get closer, as though he could climb inside him.  The
sadness seems to come and go; all he knows is he needs Dean.  “There, there,
baby, it’s gonna be okay.  You did such a good job today, did you have fun? 
Did you like it this time?”
Cas opens his eyes with effort and looks adoringly at Dean.  “Yes, Dean…doesn’t
even hurt this time.  Maybe you fit in me now?”
Dean chuckles and kisses the tip of his nose. “Not quite, baby angel.  That’s
the drug still.  You’ll probably be sore later or tomorrow, but we’ve got cream
for that, right?”
“He really likes you,” Meg marvels, seeming fascinated by them.  “It’s like
he’s in love with you, how did you manage that?”
Dean laughs, chagrined.  “Pretty sure it’s the drugs, mostly.  But he is mine
now.  He’ll tell you that himself.”
Meg takes a shower while Dean cuddles and kisses Cas, getting him to drink
water and snack on a protein bar.  They talk quietly, and when Cas dozes, Dean
lets him.  Meg comes back dressed in the same clothes as before and Cas is
sleeping again in Dean’s arms.  Dean slips out from under him so he can clean
up, too.  He was going to take Cas with him but wants to let him sleep.  He can
bathe him after at leisure.
As he’s leaving he sees Meg taking out her cell phone and aiming it at Cas.  He
grabs her wrist painfully and she frowns at him, trying unsuccessfully to pull
away.  “No.  No pictures.”
She huffs impatiently.  “Are you kidding?  You know how much money they’d be
worth?”
His eyes darken and she stills, licks her lips.  “No pictures.  Your phone
isn’t all I’ll break, get me?  He’s mine and I forbid it.”
“Got it,” she says, letting genuine fear show in her eyes.  She didn't
understand what she saw in his eyes just then; she doesn't want to.  “Hey,
don’t look like that, all right?  How am I not Team Winchester, when we've
committed felonies together twice now?  Trust me.” 
He stares at her silently for another minute and flings her wrist away.  “Don’t
fuck with me, Meg.  Not on this.”
“I said okay!” she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.  “Go! 
I’ll watch him.  You can take my phone with you if you don’t trust me.”
He does, smirking at her as he goes.
Cas blinks awake, feeling the blanket slipping away from him.  His throat is
dry; he needs more water, but he’s feeling a little more himself.  “Shh,” Meg
hushes.  “You don’t have to get up yet if you don’t want to.  Just gonna get
some pictures, Angel.  You look too pretty like this!”  She shows him a small
purple digital camera.
Cas comes awake fast, uneasy.  “I…I don’t think…”
“It’s okay,” she snaps one and he blushes, lowering his head.  He puts his
hands between his legs, trying to cover himself and she stops.  “Move your
hands, Angel.”  It’s an order and he remembers what Dean said about not getting
a say.  Maybe this is part of it.  He moves his hands and she snaps another. 
“Such a beautiful boy, huh?  Put your hands under your knees and pull
back…that’s it, just like that.”
Cas starts to cry, feeling so ashamed and afraid, still coming down from the
drug, too.  She puts the camera close to his hole, his spent little cock, the
sticky places where come has dried up on his skin.  “Touch yourself,
baby…that’s it.  Now put a finger in your little hole for me.  Nice.”
He doesn’t know how long it goes on, maybe only ten minutes, maybe an hour. 
She moves and poses him and never acknowledges that he’s crying the whole time
until she hears the shower cut off.  She grabs a rough tissue from the bedside
table and wipes at his face.  “Shh, all done, baby, you did such a good job. 
Better not tell Dean, though, okay?  He’d get really mad at both of us, but
especially you.  Because you’re his and you didn’t ask his permission first.” 
She hands him a water bottle and he takes it, needing it so badly.
Cas nods but secretly he knows she isn’t telling the truth.  He knows he’s
always supposed to tell on himself, especially if it’s something Dean will
really get mad about.  She stuffs the camera in the side of her bra; it’s
compact enough that you can only see the shape of it if you’re looking closely.
Dean slips out of the bathroom in just a towel, his eyes finding Cas
immediately.  Meg wolf whistles at him and steps forward, holding out her
hand.  “C’mon, I got places to be.  Can’t just fuck around with you two all
day, much as I might—“
“She took pictures of me,” Cas tells him and Meg sighs, rolling her eyes
heavenward.  “She said you’ll be mad at me.  Will I get punished, Dean?”
There isn’t even time for her to turn away before Dean has her in a punishing
grip.  “Where is it?” he grits out, body taut against hers, rage in every
muscle. 
“All right, all right…come on you can’t be that surprised, of course I tried,”
Meg tries to act calm but Cas can tell she’s afraid.  He is, too; he doesn’t
want that rage to turn on him.  She reaches in her bra and hands him the
camera.  “Please don’t break it, just delete his and I’ll go.”
Dean shoves her hard enough that she falls back on the bed.  "Asshole," she
mutters, but she sounds shaken.
Cas squirms away from her, tugging the blanket over himself.  The tension in
the room has him breathing hard, wishing he could disappear.
Dean’s playing with the camera, presumably deleting things.  After a moment,
Meg tries to get up, reach for the camera.  “Come on!  You have to have deleted
them all by now, I didn’t take that many.”  Dean shoves her back just as hard
the second time, not sparing her a look, and she mutters curses at him.  Then
suddenly the tension is gone from him.  He smiles and flips the camera back at
her, making her fumble to catch it.  “Fuck you, Winchester.” Meg looks
suspicious, going through the camera, but seems to find everything in order.
“Already did that.  Here’s your phone and now you can fuck off.  Say good bye
to Cas.  Don’t know if you’ll ever see him again, after the shit you just
pulled.”
“Don’t be such a spoil sport.  You’ve got a huge opportunity there.  You’re
missing out.”  She smirks at him and grabs her purse to leave, a new animosity
between the two that wasn’t there before.  “Bye, Angel.  Hope I see you
around.  I can always come by your house, come see you without Dean,” she
teases and Cas crawls to the end of the bed, reaching for Dean.  “No, thank
you,” he whispers and she laughs and shuts the door at last.
Dean tilts his chin up gently and Cas pouts.  “Am I in trouble?  I didn’t know
if I was allowed to say—“
“You’re not in trouble, baby, you handled it perfectly.  Nobody gets your
pictures, Cas.  Nobody ever.  Anybody tries, you tell me right away, just like
you did.”  Dean leans down and kisses him on the forehead.  “Give you a nice
reward for being such a good boy today, how’s that?  Take you and Sammy out for
ice cream later?  Or a movie…you pick.”
Cas smiles and hugs Dean tightly, getting himself all wet.  “Maybe we can do
both.”
Dean laughs and kisses the top of his head.  He likes Spoiled Cas, testing his
influence on Dean, asking for his sweet little favors.  “I guess so.  Let’s get
you cleaned up and take you home.  Whenever you want, go by my house, and play
with Sammy til I get back.  You guys pick what movie you wanna see.”
Cas nods and lifts his arms so Dean can pick him up to take him in the bathroom
(he could clean himself obviously, but Dean prefers to do it).  "Will you be
there, too, Dean?"
"Not for a while, baby," Dean tells him, putting a kiss on his lips.  "Got an
errand to run."
 
                                    * * * 
 
Dean's glad he and Cas fucked Meg; he had a great time doing it.  It was
honestly one of his top ten experiences, which for him is really saying
something.  But the truth is, even if she hadn't taken the pictures of Cas,
he'd be getting rid of her.  There's just no way he could let someone he
doesn't trust walk around knowing he fucks a ten year old.  It's not possible. 
The fact that she handed the keys to her destruction on a silver platter the
moment she'd handed over the camera is just things working out in his favor the
way they always do.
Dean drops off a somewhat subdued Cas and drives to a house he’s been to plenty
of times.  Gordon lives on the same shitty side of town as he does, though in a
somewhat nicer home.  He wasn’t home when Dean called, but he rushed to
meet him when he said it was important.  That it had to do with Meg and his
brother.
They’re sitting out back with a couple of beers and Dean gives it to him
straight.  “I’m so sorry, man, but you were right.  I don’t know what made me
look, but…she had this camera.  Who even has a camera anymore if you already
have a phone, right?  I grabbed it from her, fucking around, whatever.  Saw…,”
he stops, looking uncomfortable.
Gordon is tense, facing the other way, gripping his beer bottle.  “Say it.”
“Your brother’s on there,” Dean looks at the ground, jaw tight. “And he
ain’t…he ain’t dressed.  Fucked up shit, man.  Feel like I gotta scrub my brain
or something.”  The kid hadn’t looked like he minded having his picture taken,
actually, but Dean knew that’s because he didn’t know what would happen with
them.  Pretty sure Meg hadn't spelled it out.  Beautiful and stupid, every
time.  
He startles slightly when he hears glass break.  Gordon has crushed the bottle
in his hand, shards embedded in his skin, blood beginning to drip.  He's
looking at it like it's someone else's hand, then starts pulling at the glass,
not even wincing.  “Yo, dude, you—“
“It’s fine.” Gordon says distantly. 
Dean is standing, frowning.  “I’m sorry, man.  I should’ve.  I don’t know,
called the cops or something.  Thought I should tell you first.  Look, that
might need stitches—“
Gordon turns to look at him and his eyes are empty pools of nothingness, his
own version of the void space that Dean gets sometimes.  Dean feels a pang of
regret; Meg he was finished with, but this guy he'll miss.  “Nah, man, you did
good.  Just forget about it, okay?  All of it.  You never saw a thing.  Get
outta here.”
Dean hesitates and then nods.  “So sorry, dude.”
He leaves by the side gate and Gordon calls after him.  “You’re a good friend,
Winchester.  I won’t forget this.”
He nods and salutes.  The next time he sees Gordon, he’s wearing an orange
jumpsuit.
                                       ~
“Brain damage,” Mr. Masters tells him tearfully.  “Not reversible.”
Dean puts a hand on his shoulder.  “I’m so sorry, Sir.”
Mr. Masters nods jerkily, sniffs.  “Those for her?”  He gestures to the
flowers, 11 white roses and one red, for Cas’s virginity that she took.  Dean
likes poetry, even if she never did.  Dean nods and puts them on the bare
window ledge.  There are no other flowers, no cards.  He's not surprised.  Her
reputation is finally and officially wrecked beyond repair.  If she could be
cured, she'd be going to jail.
“Thank you.  She…she hasn’t had any visitors.  I suppose everyone’s heard about
what was on that camera.  I don’t know what possessed her.  I knew she was a
wild thing, but…kids…”  The man starts to cry and Dean thinks it’s lucky he
isn’t ordinary or he might feel uncomfortable.  As it is he pats the man’s
shoulder and moves to Meg's bedside.
“She was a good friend,” Dean tells him, touching her bandaged hand.  A doctor
comes and the father excuses himself.  Dean leans down and kisses her
discolored forehead, puts his lips to her ear.
“Told you not to fuck with me.”
***** Sometimes and Once *****
Chapter Summary
     Make no mistake, Dean is still...fucking...brutal.
Sometimes Dean looks at Cas like he’s pretty and precious and perfect for him
(Cas can pretend, it’s close enough that he can pretend.)  He showers him with
affection, and if it’s often sexual, if it’s mostly the kind of touches that a
ten year old shouldn’t experience, Cas doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking
about that anymore (it doesn’t help; it’s going to happen no matter what). 
What he notices is the way Dean’s green eyes light when he enters a room, the
way Dean’s gaze constantly finds him, delves into him.  The way he wants to
know every thought, every feeling that Cas ever has, like he wants to own them,
rearrange them to his liking.  And Cas wants to give them up, will give all of
it up if Dean will keep him forever.  Dean always wants him around, so…so he’s
attached, right? 
And you don’t know…maybe it is real.  He saved him from Jimmy, didn’t he?  Why
else would he hold him and kiss him, dry his tears, let him sleep in his arms,
in his bed?  Why would he spend so much time touching his face, telling him how
beautiful he is, how pretty?  Why would he touch him and make him feel good,
even using his mouth, putting his tongue everywhere as if no parts of Cas are
dirty, claiming every part of his body tastes delicious?  He doesn’t have to
take his time fingering Cas open the way he does, telling him how good he takes
it, how good he feels around Dean’s dick, what a good boy he is for Dean,
Dean’s good little boy. 
That’s secretly his favorite.  Jimmy used to say it, too, but it’s different
when Dean does, something about him.  Belonging to Dean is, has always been
from the start, an emotional roller coaster, intense highs and lows and
constant adrenaline rushes, whether from fear, pain, pleasure, or even all of
them at once.  Maybe that’s why his nerve endings ignite every time Dean says
it.  Even if he’s in pain, with Dean’s cock burning its way through him, if
he’s sweating and shaking with tears falling down, if Dean says he’s his good
little boy, he suddenly wants it, wants all of it.  He wants to be good for
him.  His dick likes it, too, when Dean says that.  Lots of times Cas can come
from those words, though he doesn’t know if Dean has noticed or not.  It’s not
like that much comes out of him.
Sometimes Dean likes hurting him.  Okay, most times.  Being cruel with his
hands, mouth, and cock, even if he’s sweet with his words.  It’s not just
having to take a spanking when he’s good or fucking himself on Dean’s cock
anymore.  It’s the scarier things Dean has started wanting.  Like tying him to
the bed (which is a little too close to being held down, but Dean talks him
through it, keeps him present) or fucking him with a belt tied around his
neck.  Putting a blindfold on him so he waits in darkness for pain, pleasure,
or both, while Dean walks around him saying alternately terrifying or
electrifying things. 
He likes weird things, too, like making Cas wait until Dean gives him
permission to go to the bathroom, even if he’s dancing uncomfortably by the
time he says it’s okay.  Sometimes that’s all, but sometimes Dean makes it
worse, forcing him to drink when he’s already past the point, or pressing on
his bladder to try and make him have an accident.  Then he likes to get mad at
him, shame him and punish him for having the accident.  And Heaven help Cas if
he points out the unfairness of being punished for something Dean forced him to
do.  That’s how he discovers there are two different punishing Deans, the one
who’s having fun messing with Cas and the one who is truly pissed because his
slut is talking back. 
Sometimes Dean makes him cancel plans with the few friends he has to spend
hours on his knees, tonguing Dean’s balls or noisily suckling the head of his
cock while he watches football.  It’s really not so bad.  Dean lets him take
water breaks and makes sure he uses lip balm to keep his mouth moist.  He pets
his hair the whole time, and if his knees start to hurt, he can hum around
Dean’s cock (or balls, depending) and Dean will either let him have a pillow to
kneel on or, even better, let him stretch out between his legs on the couch
instead.  And by the time he finally fucks him after, he never lasts that
long. 
He still likes making Cas talk filthy and put himself down, but Cas is getting
used to that now, too.  Heis a slut, there to be used and abused, but at least
he’s only Dean’s slut.  Dean is saving him from having to fuck other adults,
he’s sure of it.  He hasn’t had to fuck anybody else since Meg and Cas is
hoping it’ll stay that way (even though he knows he’s not supposed to have an
opinion on it—his brain is still a little rebellious, he guesses).  Doesn’t it
mean something?  That Dean won’t share him?
Dean makes him think it does.  After Cas endures these things, when he really
tries his best and maintains his rules, when he recites the answers to Dean’s
favorite questions (Who do you belong to?...I am yours), Dean is there to pet
and coddle him, kiss and soothe away the fears, aches, and pains, whisper the
sweetest praises Cas has ever heard in his life (some of the only praises,
really, but Cas can’t tell the difference.)  He cares for his skin (after he
bruises it, breaks it) with lotions and massages, tells Cas how cute he looks
when he curls into every touch, says he purrs like a little cat for him.  It’s
the kind of compliment that he’d be insulted if a friend at school said it, but
when Dean says it, he wants to rub up against him and meow.  He’d be Dean’s pet
if he wanted.  Isn’t that better than slut or slave?  He wants to ask but he’s
afraid of the answer (not good enough to be a pet, Cas, just a slut…Say it,
tell me why you’re alive…).
Sometimes…
Sometimes Dean’s eyes get really dark and empty, pupils so big, the green
nearly lost.  Cas knows when that’s going to happen, is attuned to the change
in atmosphere, every subtle shift in Dean’s mood that leads to this.  Leads to
Cas pressed against the wall in the bathroom with Dean’s big hand over his
mouth and tears streaming silently down his face.  Dean holding his leg up with
the other hand, fucking roughly into a hole that would barely be prepped (if
Cas couldn’t tell when this is going to happen; if he hadn’t kept that cherry
lube for emergencies so he can take himself aside and finger his hole as best
as he can.)  When Dean is like this, there are no favors or rewards.  Cas
doesn’t speak, not even to plead, because that’s a good way to get hit.  He
doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes, keeps his gaze on the floor.  He doesn’t tense or
pull away even though his every instinct is to fight, to scream, to run.  This
is the Dean that attacked him the first time they kissed; this is the one who
would leave him bleeding and broken, who wants to fuck him apart and leave
nothing behind but ruin.  But he won’t as long as Cas just lets him take.  So
Cas lets him take everything.
He can’t really be quiet during these times, though it’s important that he
tries.  He’s terrified and the pain is intense, even for him.  That’s why Dean
covers his mouth.  This is the one time that he doesn’t enjoy Cas’s sounds. 
Just his tears.  He likes doing it in the bathroom so he can watch Cas in the
mirror, but Cas avoids looking as much as he can.  It can happen just about
anywhere, though.  He even made him meet him in the treehouse once and had him
down on his stomach.  “Scream,” Dean told him that time, “Beg me to stop.”  (A
neighbor was using his riding mower; Cas guesses Dean felt confident it would
drown him out).  That was pretty close to holding him down, but he didn’t lean
on Cas’s back at least, only pinning his hips in place.  Cas thinks it would be
pretty catastrophic if he had a panic attack under this Dean.
When this Dean is done with him, sometimes he will come back to himself.  He’ll
lift Cas off whatever surface and help him.  He usually can’t talk right away,
but he will definitely find something to clean him off, help him put himself
back together.  But Cas can’t lie, that’s rare.  Most times it’s like this
one.  Where Dean is fucking him against the tiles in the bathroom and he’s
crying so hard and his dick is soft and Dean doesn’t care that he’s not into
it.  Then Dean will come, either inside him or, a lot of times, just pull out
and spurt all over Cas.  When he’s done, he wipes his dick off on Cas (his
clothes, his skin, whatever) and drops him.  Cas always hits the ground hard
because his shaking legs won’t support him.  Sometimes Dean throws him down. 
Maybe just shoves him into whatever wall is closest. 
Sometimes he’ll leave before Cas can even turn around.  It’s a relief,
actually, when he does.  So Cas can curl up and weep on the floor (into his
arm; can’t let anyone hear.)  So he can crawl to the toilet paper and try to
clean himself up, wincing at any drops of red he might see (his fault, didn’t
prep good enough).  So he can pull his clothes back on with shaking hands. 
Sometimes his jeans are torn and he has to hold them together when he limps out
of here, make sure nobody sees until he can change into another pair of Sam’s. 
Sometimes his underwear are completely ripped from his body, which leaves
burning red lines on his hips, or his ass, or one time his taint.  Later in
life he’ll see porn where panties get ripped off to the delight of the wearer
and he will look on in disbelief.  Because in his experience, it really hurts.
It’s worse when Dean watches Cas try to pull himself together.  Cas is usually
shaking so hard, but Dean will get impatient if he stays on the ground.  He’ll
admonish him if he tries to pull his pants up and Dean doesn’t think he’s clean
enough.  He’ll get angry and call him overdramatic if he falls in his attempts
(or worse, he’ll sneer and make fun of him.)  And if he keeps crying…Dean will
say, “It’s over.  Stop that fucking crying or go in my room for a beating.”
Sometimes he really can’t stop crying.
Hopefully, he can go home afterward, but not always.  If anyone else is around,
it’s automatic.  He’s supposed to sneak away if he can, and let Dean make
excuses for him.  If it’s just them…sometimes he can go, but sometimes…
“I didn’t say you could leave.”
“Sorry, Dean.”  (He’s supposed to talk again at this point; which isn’t saying
he definitely won’t get hit for it.  But he’s supposed to talk.)
What happens next lets him know how much longer this mood will last.  If Dean
banishes him to his room, it’s almost over.  He can curl up under his blankets
and Dean will be there soon.  He’ll take care of him.  He’ll make it better. 
He’ll let Cas cry his eyes out, all the fear and pain and self-hatred, and Dean
will hold him through it. 
If he makes him kneel in the corner, it’s still going and the next part hurts,
too.  Where Dean tells him he’s not sorry.  How much he loves doing this to
him.  How much Cas deserves it.  Then Cas has to say it, too.  “I deserve
this.  This is all I’m good for.  I like it.  I want it.”  He can cry for this
part as long as it’s quiet.  Because Dean likes to see that it hurts.  Then
Dean will drag him to the door and kiss him until he’s dizzy.  Cas isn't
supposed to participate (which is good; he absolutely can't).  He's just
supposed to cry and try to breathe.  “See ya later, Cas,” Dean will say when
he's finished, laughing, and shove him out on the steps.  "Thanks for
the fuck."
Sometimes Cas wants so badly just to die.  But he can’t kill himself because
he’s too scared he would survive it.  Dean wouldn’t like him to try to escape. 
Dean wouldn’t like him to take his property away.  So he prays to a God he
doesn’t believe in, please just let me die, please just let me die.  He doesn’t
believe anyway, so he’ll take his cough medicine and sleep.  When he wakes
he’ll go find Dean again, because he can’t stand it.  Because only Dean can fix
this, only Dean can help, and he will, he always does.
Just watch his green eyes light up.
 
                                     * * *
 
Once, Dean gave Sam his cough medicine but it didn’t quite work the way it used
to. 
The problem is (he thinks) he gives it to him to the point where the kid had
built a tolerance to it.  Besides, he was still giving him children’s strength
and he's almost 11.  Dean doesn't think it should be a problem anyway.  Sam is
usually such a deep sleeper, even without the medicine.  It’s so unlikely that
he should wake.
Sam is asleep and Cas is in Dean’s bed.  It's one of those good nights, pure
sex, no extras, because tonight Dean wants Cas to just be into it.  So he's all
over him but slowly, licking and sucking his most sensitive places, sharing
slow kisses, using his skillful fingers to take his baby angel apart.  Cas is
right with him, kissing back, grinding his baby cock against Dean’s lower abs,
leaving a trail of wet there.  He reaches to play with the head of Dean’s dick,
licking the pre-come off his palm while looking Dean in the eyes through his
dark lashes like a high class baby whore. 
No name calling tonight though.
Just gasping into each other’s mouths, and soft, sweet nothings that Dean can’t
hold back.  “Baby Angel…such a good boy for me…feel so good, taste so good
baby….love the way you taste…my baby, my good boy…want you so bad, Cas, so
pretty like this…”  Cas can’t communicate on his own when he gets this way,
overwhelmed and flushed and beautifully debauched, he can only make pretty
little noises.  Ever the good boy, he muffles his sounds against Dean’s skin. 
Dean knows he loves that Dean never makes him use a pillow or a stuffed animal,
he can press himself close, make his noises while he tastes Dean’s sweat and
breathes in his scent. 
They are kissing, tongues fully engaged, Dean’s hands cupping Cas’s small ass
and pulling him against him when there’s a knock at the door.
They freeze for only a second before Dean is moving, sliding into his boxers. 
It’s not good, his dick is tenting them obviously.  Cas is moving too, and to
his credit he’s fast, pulling on his pajama top and bottoms at lightning
speed.  His hard-on is already gone, stark fear sending it away painfully
quickly.  Dean opens the door, keeping his crotch hidden behind it.
Sleepy Sam is in the hallway, his hair adorably tousled, cheeks pink with
sleep.  “’s Cas in there with you?”
Dean opens the door wider to show Cas tucked under his blankets, facing away
from the door.  He doesn’t blame Cas; easier to pretend to sleep.  “Cas had a
nightmare.  He tried to wake you but you were knocked out.”
Sam is instantly worried.  “Was it about Jimmy?  Or…”
“I think so,” Dean tells him and shakes his head.  His dick is calming down
now, he’s about half-mast in his shorts.  “You know he can’t talk about the
details.”
Sam shifts uncomfortably and bites his lower lip.  “Can I…can I sleep with you,
too?”
Dean gives a slow blink, he can’t help it.  His dick wants his mind to go down
a dangerous path but he clamps down firmly on those thoughts, adjusts himself
slightly with the hand that Sam can’t see.  “Yeah, buddy, get in.”  He pulls
the door open slightly wider and Sam slips past him, climbing carefully on the
bed.  Dean watches as Sam pushes Cas’s curls back from his forehead, lightly so
as not to wake him. 
“Poor guy,” he says, compassion in his voice, love in his eyes, his touch. 
“He’s all sweaty still.  Do you think he’s having another one?”
Dean swallows.  “No…he’d be thrashing and stuff.  Don’t know how you can sleep
through it.  Then again, you could fall asleep on a picket fence.”  He starts
to climb in next to Sam, who stops him with a hand on his arm.
“You be the peanut butter,” he tells him, scooching over to leave the middle of
the bed for Dean.  “We’re the bread.”
Dean is the peanut butter.
He faces Sam at first, intending to hold him until he falls asleep.  Being Sam,
he'll drop off in no time at all, nestled as he is in his big brother’s arms. 
When he feels Cas tentatively brush against his back, he tugs him close, all
the encouragement Cas needs to cling to him.  When Sam is asleep, Dean turns,
finding Cas still awake, as though he was waiting for Dean’s permission to
sleep.  Daringly, because he can’t help himself, he taps his lips.  He can’t
move without Sam feeling it, but Cas can.  The kiss has to be slow, so it can
be silent.  With Cas’s face so close, Dean can kiss along his chin, his throat,
get the little sigh that he wants. 
He pushes Cas’s head lightly. 
Ever obedient, ever responsive, Cas flows like water, barely making noise on
the sheet as he slips under the blanket.  He takes Dean’s immediately fuck hard
cock out of the opening in his boxer briefs and sucks and plays with him as
only Cas can. 
And Dean is so fucked.  This is so amazing.  He can feel his beautiful little
brother’s warm body, his small ass tucked against his lower back.  If he were
to wake, if he were to turn and reach his arm around Dean’s waist, he would
touch Cas’s hair.  He wants to rub a hand back over Sam's hip, so he's touching
him with Cas's mouth around his dick, but he doesn't quite dare.  It’s still so
hot he can’t stand it, and he can’t make a sound, breathing out of his nose
when he can and pushing his face into his pillow when he can’t take it
anymore.  He comes silently, glad that he already came a few times that day so
it won’t be an overwhelming amount for Cas to handle.  Cas slips back up and
sticks his tongue out so Dean can see the white before he swallows, a new trick
that Dean taught him.  Dean smiles and touches his face, silently telling him
how grateful he is, what a good job he did.  He reaches out and strokes his
face, his hair, thinking about how to repay the boy, who deserves an orgasm,
who deserves a blowjob, really, but Dean doesn’t think they can pull it off. 
He gently puts Cas on his back and rubs his stomach, letting his fingertips
slip under the waistband of his pajama pants.  He raises his eyebrows in
question.  This time, he will let Cas say yes or no.
Cas’s mouth falls open, his blue eyes alight with the realization.  A gift.
He takes Dean’s hand, presses the back to his cheek.  Kisses it, looking
adoringly at Dean.  He nods.  Mouths the word, please, looking shyly through
his lashes.  Dean is moved, despite himself.  Castiel is undeniably
beautiful…and all his.  Again, he feels a pang that all the kid is getting is a
hand job.  He’ll make it up to him, he decides.  He’ll give him a good day.  A
full good day without a single torment.
For now he puts his palm against Cas’s mouth, getting the cute, sexy kitten
licks that he wanted.  He pushes his fingers in because he loves doing it,
loves seeing Cas’s cheeks hollow as he sucks.  He tickles his fingers down
Cas’s body, slipping his hand down his pants.  Cas’s cock is still so small,
not much to hold, but he wraps his fingers gently, sliding around him,
fingering an itty bitty slit, palming the tight little sack.  When Cas starts
rutting into his hand he has to put a warning hand on his hip.  Cas is
immediately chastised, and Dean smiles, not wanting him to think he’s upset. 
Cas is probably thinking that a regular handjob won’t be as good, but Dean can
fix it for him.  Because he knows.  Of course he knows. 
He leans forward slowly, and licks and kisses the tiny shell of Cas’s ear. 
“Come for me, my good little boy.”
                                       ~
Cas falls asleep soon after but Dean stays awake.  He doesn’t need much sleep
as it is and he’d much rather lie here and enjoy having both his boys in his
bed.  So rare and beautiful, he allows himself to imagine them naked, collared,
well fucked and sleeping.  His Sammy and his slave, gorgeous and perfect and
his.  He turns to face Sam, who is still lying with his back to Dean, his sweet
little ass pushed out invitingly.  Dean tugs him against his lap, even though
his dick is hard, reasoning that if Sammy wakes, he’ll pretend he’s asleep. 
God, all this time with Castiel, and he still wants Sam.  His little body is so
right in his arms, he breathes in the scent that’s been home to him for most of
his life.  Sam, who loves him.  Sam, whom he protects.
A whimper behind him. 
Dean is turning as soon as he hears it, dislodging his painfully hard dick from
between his brother’s pajama clad thighs.  Ironically, Cas is now actually
having a nightmare.  His whimpers turn to groans, his little brow furrowed and
sweating.  He tosses and turns, clenching his small fists, sliding his small
bare feet against the mattress.  “Please…don’t…” he groans, but doesn’t wake. 
His shaking vibrates the bed.
Dean whispers to him, tries to gather him against him, but Cas goes rigid, his
cries stronger, tears slipping from closed lids.  Dean thinks somewhat
helplessly that the nightmare is probably about him.  Chagrined, he’s just
about to shake him, force him awake, when a skinny arm slips over Dean’s waist,
little hand fluttering over Cas’s body.  Dean stills, watching Sam touch Cas’s
side, his shoulder, finally finding his face.  “Shh, Cas, got you…,” Sam
mutters.  Dean’s not even sure he’s fully awake, when he checks Sam’s eyes are
still closed, though his body is turned so his front is pressed against his
brother’s ass.
More amazing is the response.  Cas’s breathing starts to slow almost
immediately, turning to little whimpers, and he stops thrashing.  Sam’s hand
moves clumsily but gently over Cas’s face and Cas turns into it, breathing
deeply.  Dean watches the tension melt from him.  Still asleep, Cas puts a hand
over Sam’s, keeping it against his cheek.
The boys don’t wake again, but Dean stays watching them.  Wondering how
something on this filthy earth could be so beautiful.  Wanting so badly to keep
it all to himself, both of them, everything they share. 
Forever.
***** Moving on... *****
Chapter Summary
     Time Jump: the boys are 12 and 19. Cas is hiding his feelings for Sam
     from Dean, and Dean is planning for an indeterminate future
Chapter Notes
     (Not much going on in this chapter, I'm afraid. This is mostly set-
     up.)
It’s almost Halloween, just a few weeks after Cas turns 12.  The boys are in
seventh grade together at Lawrence Middle School, and a lot has changed (even
if the one most important thing is still the same.)
Both boys take most of the same Honors classes together (thanks to Sam never
letting Cas fall behind back when it counted).  Sam is also still effortlessly
popular in school, due to his innate kindness more than his deep dimples and
bright tilted eyes (though they sure don’t hurt.)  Both boys have gotten
taller, though they’re still the shortest in their grade, with Sam still edging
Cas out by an inch or so.  Sam is still tanned and slender, but now he’s
getting lean, coltish muscles from all the sports he plays and the sparring he
does with Dean at home. 
It’s no surprise he has a girlfriend now. 
Cas sighs.  Sam’s first girlfriend is Jessica Moore, whose tits are even more
perfect now.  Not that shy Sam’s seen them yet (Cas likes to tease him about it
because his face heats up so pretty). They’ve only been dating a few weeks but
they’re already the school’s ‘it’ couple.  He wants to hate her, especially
when he sees them kissing outside on the bleachers or holding hands walking
down the hall.  He wants to be jealous and pissy whenever she’s around (which
is…a lot now). 
Except she’s always so happy to see him.  He’s not exactly the most popular boy
in school, what with all his quirks, all the fights he’s always getting into. 
But even if Sam’s not with him and they pass in the hall, she’ll break into a
smile, tug on his arm, and fill his ear with bright, lively chatter.  She’s not
just some airhead either, but smart and funny enough that she can usually coax
him to smile.  If he’s being standoffish, sitting alone and staring at nothing
as he still does sometimes, she’ll sit near him and just….be there. 
Damn.
Cas would tell himself that she’s just using him to impress Sam (it happens),
but he doesn’t have the heart.  The truth is, like Sam, she’s a genuinely good
person.  For some reason, she sees something in Cas.
It makes it so much worse.
She’s only just started “going with” Sam, but Cas has to assume she’s in love
with him or will be.  How could she help it?  The thing is, Cas is in love with
Sam, like…really in love with him, just…painfully fucking….  He’s never felt
this way about anyone before (it’s different from whatever the fuck he feels
for Dean; he’d ask you not to make him define that…ever).  He sometimes thinks
he always was, but that’s not quite true.  He remembers loving him, and now
he’s in love with him.  It’s different.  It’s also completely stupid, the most
masochistic thing he does (and considering that he is a 24/7 slave, that’s
saying a lot).  Yet how could he help but love Sam?  As noble as he is, as
kind, as fun…
As hot.  As gorgeous.
Things are changing for Cas.  Along with a gratifyingly bigger dick (while
still so much smaller than Dean’s of course, but Dean says it’s still pretty
and perfect for him) came light fuzzy hair on his balls and under his arms
(he’d been terrified Dean wouldn’t like it, wouldn’t want him anymore when it
started to sprout, but Dean swears he does, pets and kisses and sucks the same
as ever…Still my good little boy, baby…still so pretty for me.)  But these days
he can get hard from a stiff breeze, never mind sharing a twin bed with his
unwittingly sexy best friend. 
It isn’t just nightmares that wake him now and it isn’t pee soaking his pajama
pants.  He dreams of being in that same bed, but without clothes, touching and
being touched the way he’s wanted for so long, moaning into each other’s
mouths.  Then Sam climbs on top of him, and he looks so shy and nervous but
sultry, too, like he can’t wait for this, and he’s pushing Cas’s legs apart,
and Cas begs him, “Please, Sam!”  He doesn’t need prep because in his dreams he
fits perfectly, sliding into him smoothly, and he can put all his weight on Cas
and it doesn’t scare him at all.  He’s inside him and they move together, and
‘I love you, Sam,” he’ll say, and Sam will kiss him, not sweet or innocent this
time, but hot and wet and needy.  Cas feels so close, and Sam is staring down
at him, and he’s going to say it back, because he does, he always has…
“That’s right, Baby Angel,” Dean is next to him, stroking the hair off his
forehead, and it’s Dean’s bed they’re in, room for all three.  Sam is still
fucking him, doesn’t seem to notice the change of scenery.  “Show him what a
whore you are…tighten up that loose hole for my brother’s cock…let him use you,
baby, show him what you’re good for…all you’ve ever been good for…”
That’s usually when he jolts awake.
When Cas tells Dean about the dreams, he does something crazy.  He pretends he
dreams of Dean fucking him, and it isn’t a total lie, since he’s there, right? 
It’s dangerous, he knows, keeping a secret from his Master (he’s supposed to
call him Master now that Dean trusts him not to say it by accident in front of
anyone).  It isn’t something he’s tried in years, because if there’s one thing
Dean has thoroughly beaten out of him, it’s disobedience.  Cas chews his stubby
nails and wonders if he’ll give in and tell, take his punishment.  Can’t he
just keep it to himself though?  It’s not hurting anybody.  He’s not going to
act on it.  Sam hasn’t brought up the kiss they shared in years, and he never
mentioned being attracted to any other boys at school.  So…he’s straight, Cas
figures.
Cas is very not. 
Despite everything.  He doesn’t think being forced to take dick your whole life
makes you like it or want it; if anything it should be the opposite.  Not that
Dean forces him.  He figures you can’t call it force when you beg as much as
Cas does (please, Master, please, want, need…).   And it isn’t as if he’s never
attracted to girls, or can’t admire them (and he definitely knows how to take
them apart; it’s not something he can forget.)  He just likes boys best. 
So what’s the big deal if he doesn’t tell Dean about some dreams that he can’t
even help?  Or, you know…the times he touches himself thinking about Sam while
he’s awake.  That shouldn’t count either.
He doesn’t do it that often, since mostly he feels so guilty about it.  Like
maybe it would mess up their friendship or something if Sam found out.  He
might feel uncomfortable that Cas…wants him that way.  It’s just that sometimes
he wakes up and he’s still hard, his mind full of scorching hot images:  Sam,
sweating, naked, lips parted, driving into Cas like a pro.  Sleepy, horny Cas’s
hand finds his cock, already wet with pre-come and he strokes himself.  “Sam,”
he whispers and immediately blushes, as if Dean can hear him from his house, or
maybe he’ll just read his mind the way he seems to sometimes.  The thrill of
doing something naughty has him arching even if there’s no one to see, and he
sucks two fingers into his mouth and pushes them into his hole.  “F-fuck me, S-
sam….please…please…”  He’s coming, then, imagining Sam’s dick inside him, Sam’s
hand around his cock.  Habit has him catching his come on his hand and bringing
it to his mouth.  He hesitates; Dean isn’t here.  He could wipe it on a tissue,
throw it away.  He blushes at his naughty thoughts and licks at his hand.  He
will tell Dean about that later and take his punishment.
But not about Sam.  Or not yet.  Please, Master, let me keep Sam…
Sam also has a new best friend (he doesn’t call him that, but Cas does,
especially when he’s feeling bitchy about it.)  Brady (that’s his last name
that he goes by, but Cas calls him Tyson just to be rude) is Sam’s “straight
guy” best friend, or that’s how Cas sees it anyway.  The guy that’s into sports
and burping the alphabet and snapping girls’ bras in the hall.  Tall, blond,
and blue-eyed, Brady thinks he’s some kind of young god.  He thinks Sam should
act the same way, that they should rule the school together.  He doesn’t like
Cas any more than Cas likes him, and often makes snide comments that he tries
to pass off as jokes.
They're hanging out at Sam’s house and Cas slips out to (check in with Dean)
use the bathroom.  When he comes back, he hears Brady talking about him.  Cas
stops just beyond the doorway to listen.
“—gay, isn’t he?”
“What’s your point, Brady?  If you want a date, you’re not his type,” Sam grits
out, and Cas ‘s chest squeezes just a little.
“Don’t get pissed, man, I’m not the only one saying it.  Doesn’t he like...stay
over all the time?  He might try some of that fag stuff—Ah!  Okay, man, chill! 
Fuck!”  Cas hears scuffling; Sam is short but capable and the puppy has grown
teeth.  Cas smiles, thinking Sam probably just took Brady down in his defense.
“Told you before, don ’t talk shit about Cas.  Anybody else has anything to
say, you send them to me.”
“Dude, I’m just trying to help you out!”
“Don’t need your help; Cas is family.  By the way, my brother fucks guys
sometimes.  You should go call him a fag.”
“I…I didn’t know—I mean, I…I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Sam.”  Cas comes back
in the room just in time to see how white Brady’s face is…funny how all the
adults in town think Dean is an apple pie angel come to earth, while young
people are instinctively intimidated.
“Tyson wants to talk to Dean?  I think he’s in the garage, working on his
car,”Cas says malevolently and Sam rolls his eyes the way he always does when
Cas snaps at Brady.  He thinks it’s stupid of Cas to be jealous.
Brady glares at Cas, running fingers through his disheveled blond hair.  Cas
maintains eye contact, thinking, Go ahead, call me a fag...know you’re thinking
it.
Brady smirks back.  “Awfully long time in the bathroom.  Fixing your makeup?”
“Nah, your Dad stopped by, begged me to let him blow me.”
Sam lets out an explosive little laugh; he still finds it really funny when Cas
says random explicit things.  He stops laughing when he sees how pissed Brady
is, but his smile is wide.
Brady scowls.  “That’s it, I’m out.  Call me Sunday if you wanna come watch the
game.”
“Probably gonna watch it here with Dean,” Sam calls after him.  “You can always
come watch with us…you can call him a fag then if you want.”
Brady leaves faster.
“He’s such an asshole,” Cas tells Sam, but he looks down when he says it.  He
knows Brady meets some kind of need for Sam that he can’t.
“You’re an asshole, too,” Sam says fondly and shoves the back of Cas’s head. 
Cas tries to give him a Charlie horse in his upper thigh but Sam evades him as
easily as Dean evades Sam.  He’s getting faster, more agile.  They wrestle a
bit, and Cas loses in record time, winding up with Sam pinning him on his
stomach.  He swallows, feeling his dick twitch under him.  “You win, dammit,
let me up!”
Sam laughs and his hot breath tickles the side of Cas’s neck.  Yup.  He’s hard
now.  Fuck.
“Gotta keep you pinned, you might try some fag stuff on me,” Sam jokes and Cas
swallows again, trying to will away his hard-on when this is one of his exact
fantasies, minus clothes.
“You’re the one pressing his dick to my ass, but okay,” Cas reasons gruffly and
Sam releases him, laughing and red-faced.  
Cas is relieved even if his body is disappointed.  He stays on his stomach,
lifting up on his elbows like he’s just too comfortable on the floor to get up
yet.  “You still thinking of having a Halloween party here?”
Sam flops down next to Cas.  “Yeah, it’ll be fun.  I’m probably the only one
who can pull off a party without any real supervision.”
Cas flicks his eyes toward the kitchen (where the door to the garage is) and
frowns.  “You sure you wanna have it here?  Get Brady to do it.”
Sam nudges him, getting his attention back.  “If Brady has it, you won’t come. 
Why would I wanna go if you don’t?”
Touched, Cas nudges him back.
“Besides, I want Jess to meet Dean,” Sam says, and Cas bites his lower lip.  He
knows Sam figures Dean will be impressed, proud of him because of how pretty
she is.  Cas just isn’t sure that’s all he’ll be. 
He knows Dean still wants his brother.  How could he not, trained as he is to
anticipate all of Dean’s sexual desires?  It just makes him work extra hard to
keep Dean satisfied.  “Maybe Dean has plans that night,” Cas says hopefully. 
“You know he has that fake ID—“
“He already said yes,” Sam tells him, touching his shoulder.  “Hey…is this
about…you know…”  It’s Sam’s turn to look uncomfortable, to glance toward the
kitchen and Cas stiffens, knowing what he’s going to say.  “what happened that
time…Dean’s birthday—“
Cas sits up; nothing down there to hide anymore so it’s fine.  He tucks his
knees to his chest and plays with his shoelace.  How to play it?  On one hand,
that’s a perfect excuse, and if he uses it, Sam will definitely not throw a
party.  On the other…he sighs, trying to sound impatient.  “Nothing bad
happened that night, Sam, you know that.”
“That girl molested other—“
“I’m gonna go see what Dean’s doing,” Cas is on his feet and headed for the
garage.  He spends the rest of the day pretending he gives a shit about cars so
he can ignore Sam’s sad puppy eyes and apologetic looks. 
He guesses there’s going to be another party at the Winchesters’.
 
                                     * * *
                                        
Dean life has changed, too, if not as drastically as Cas’s.  For one thing, he
can bury himself just about to the hilt in Cas’s tight little ass now.
Oh, that’s not…okay.
Dean’s 19 and he has a job at his Dad’s friend Caleb’s garage (an all right
guy, nobody that ever fucked with Dean, and Dean never messed with him
either.)  He’d had offers from more than one place, as well he should have,
because he’s worth his weight in gold.  Dean is passionate about cars in a way
that he is about little else (at least as far as non-deviant behavior goes.) 
He doesn’t mind working hard, as long as he also gets enough time off to be
there for Sammy.  When he starts he’s content to be an oil change guy, keeping
his head down and doing grunt work for not much money while he learns more
under the master mechanics there.  But he’s a quick learner, and Caleb isn’t an
idiot.  He recognizes Dean’s people skills, and thinks his pretty face and hard
body could drum up plenty of business.  It isn’t long before he moves up the
ranks to service manager, charming the pants off all their customers (only
sometimes literally; not like they can compete with what he’s got at home).
He’s making decent money, especially since his Dad still doesn’t expect him to
kick in any of it towards the house bills.  He opened a bank account for Sam,
and he grits his teeth every time he puts money in it.  It’s probably going to
end up as a college fund, he knows that.  His kid brother is going to get a
full ride anywhere he wants to go (kid’s never gotten less than an A in
anything, and fills his schedule with extracurricular activities—it would take
something drastic to fuck that up in the next 5 years.)  But he’ll need money
nevertheless, and Dean doesn’t kid himself that John is putting anything away
for him. 
To be clear, Dean already doesn’t want to let Sam go to college (maybe if he
chose a local school but with someone as gifted as Sam, that would be a
waste).  He wants to keep him home where he belongs, or better still, take him
somewhere nobody knows they’re brothers so he can fuck him openly.  He loves
the idea of making out with Sam in public, knowing how embarrassed and ashamed
his brother would be even if he would consent to fuck Dean.  Sam thinks he’d
never leave Lawrence (his favorite hunting ground) but he’s wrong; to have Sam,
he’d go anywhere.  If he ever got caught in this town, that’s what he’d do: 
take Sam and run, run forever if he has to.  Ultimately he fantasizes about a
house somewhere with no close neighbors and two beautiful, well-trained boys
waiting for him inside.  Dean would support them and they’d never need to deal
with anybody but him. 
It’s a surprisingly domestic picture (for him), but he doesn’t give a shit. 
He’d still be out there, causing mayhem and taking what he wants, breaking down
the innocent and weak for his own pleasure.  But his two boys…they’d have
nothing but him.  Nothing but him.
He’s trying not to do that to Sam.  He found a way to stop raping him, hadn’t
he?  He’d protected him all this time, gave him an (almost) normal childhood. 
Sam is a 12 year old virgin; that's conventional to the rest of the world but
somewhat amazing to Dean.  And if that was only to make sure that Sam still
loves him, letting him go to college might mean the same thing.  Even if he
waits for Sam to be an adult (does not want), that doesn’t mean he’ll be down
for incest.  Not to mention accepting Dean’s complete control over him.  Dean
sighs.  Yeah, he probably wouldn’t love him for that.  He’s keeping Cas,
though; he’s decided that much.  His little consolation prize, and he’ll drag
him around wherever Sam goes (even if he doesn’t ever fuck him, Sam doesn’t get
to leave Dean behind.)  Cas can go to school online if he really wants.  If he
behaves well enough.  Plenty of time to see about that.
It’s okay; Dean only has that moment when he puts the money in Sam’s account,
and it passes.  The way he sees it, the money can just as well go towards
living on the run if he ever gets caught, or getting a place that two boys
can’t escape from.  Or college expenses for Sam.  The important thing is that
the money’s there.
A hard-working, responsible man such as himself needs to blow off steam at the
end of his day.  Lucky he’s got a little bitch who knows just how to take care
of him.  Cas stays over more than ever (now that Amelia found a new asshole to
worship; this one doesn't want Cas, he just wants Cas gone), to the point where
John is starting to talk about replacing Sam’s twin bed with a trundle bed, and
looking at Dean like he expected him to have already seen to it.  Yeah, not
really.  Dean’s pretty happy with the two of them sharing one tiny bed at this
point, especially now that they’re going through puberty.  He figures it’s only
a matter of time before one wakes up being humped by the other.  Especially
with the way Cas feels about Sam.
Of course he knows. 
And he has something planned for him.  Something so hot he wants to try.  Just
not yet.  The same can be said for Sam’s little Halloween party.  It won’t be
like his party; that’s ridiculous.  These kids will be in the 11-13 range; any
girls that show up will have to be home by a certain time no matter what
bullshit they tell their parents.  Still, he’s got a job for Cas, and he better
fucking perform it. 
Sam doesn’t need a girlfriend.  Way too young to be tied down like that.
***** Halloween Cat, Halloween Cat, Why Do You Meow and Meow Like That? *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean makes Cas dress up for Halloween and Cas isn't thrilled with his
     costume; Cas regresses sometimes after sex.
Chapter Notes
     Sorry, no party in this chapter. Fell in love with Kitty Cas and the
     shit got away from me.
     I tried to include the panties, collar, and tail that inspired Cas's
     outfit, but I think it got taken off as sharing commercial stuff? I
     don't know. But if you google (NSFW images for sure) leather collar
     with bell (you will also see the kinds Dean showed him that he didn't
     want), faux fur cat tail butt plug, and sexy midnight bow-tie panties
     (I changed the material to satin, give our poor boy an upgrade),
     you'll find all three easily. The collar is kind of plain, but think
     starter collar ;)
Halloween falls on a Friday, but the party isn’t until tomorrow.
It’s late afternoon, just edging into early evening at the Winchester house. 
Sam isn’t home; he and Jess have volunteered to take her 6-year-old brother and
his friends around her neighborhood.  She lives across town, where the houses
are big and pretty and parents make six figures each.  Jess’s parents might not
have been sure when they heard about her boyfriend from the wrong side of the
tracks or saw him with his worn, hand me down jeans and one of Dean’s old
Metallica t-shirts, but he wins them over with his polite, intelligent
demeanor. 
Her mother likes the way he immediately jumps to help clear the table after
dinner; both parents are impressed by his ability to expound on current events,
his scope clearly beyond that of an ordinary 12-year-old.  Yet he blushes at
compliments and stammers when he’s embarrassed, innocence clear in the blue
hazel swirl of his eyes.  So by the time Halloween comes, he’s welcome in their
home, and they’ve invited him to their own adult Halloween party once they
finish trick-or-treating (Dean checks them out but agrees they’re okay; he
still makes Sam take a knife and his new cell phone just in case.)
So Sam won’t be home until late.  Cas is there, though.  He’s with Dean and
he’s sulking, but not because Sam isn’t around.  
Dean has dressed him as a black cat. 
Nestled in his dark wavy hair is a headband with two fuzzy black ears.  On his
hands are black fuzzy mittens shaped like paws that are making his hands
sweat.  Because Dean is (arguably) not completely without mercy, he has given
him black jeans and a black t-shirt, instead of the bodysuit and tights that
Cas had been afraid of when Dean first showed him the plastic package.  You
know, the one with the picture of a little girl on it?  It came with a fur
trimmed skirt, too, and Cas is really dreading what’s going to happen when this
little game gets to the next level.  As it will.  
As it always does.
There are other pieces that he does have to wear right now, and he would
strongly object to them if that was an option.  Suffice it to say, he has
bigger problems than a skirt.
The first part he hates is the collar (which Dean is really excited to see on
him).  It’s simple black leather with a silver ring in the front, from which
hangs a little bell that rings merrily every time he moves.  Dean shows him a
matching black and silver leash, but he hasn’t clipped it on yet.  Once again,
merciful Master that he is.  (Also once again:  yet.)  The collar is a bit
feminine for Cas’s taste, and when he whined as much, Dean showed him enough
pictures of what he could have chosen (things with lace and bits of pink or
purple, ones with giant bows or the word Kitten in rhinestones), that Cas
petulantly thanks him for the beautiful collar.  “You love it, don’t you, baby
angel?”
“Yes, Master,” Cas had growled and Dean smacked his ass lightly, causing him to
cry out and bite his lip, closing his mittens into fists.  Because of the
second piece to his costume that he hates. 
Cas has a long black furry tail sticking out of the back of his jeans, through
a small hole that Dean so helpfully made just for the occasion.  It's really
soft, so that Cas pets it a little when he thinks Dean isn't looking.  It’s
attached to a butt plug, 3" black silicone, maybe 2” wide, that Dean has pushed
inside of him.  Dean hadn’t prepped him with much lube either, because,
“That’ll make it fall out, baby.  Kitty cats never just lose their tails, do
they?” It isn't big and goes in fairly easily, though.  He smirked and kissed
Cas’s pouting pink lips, clearly enjoying his discomfort.   
The only thing that could make a butt plug tail more undignified is the third
and most unfathomable part of his costume that he hates:  a pair of women's
panties.  He sighs, the way he did when he first saw the black satin and lace
configuration.  The front is comfortingly similar to briefs in shape and
coverage, if not in the black satin material or the inch wide black lace trim
that looks so fetching with his pale skin peeking through.  If he had a bigger
dick like Dean, the crotch would bulge at the sides, but his little cock fits
humiliatingly nicely in the small women’s panties.  He’d be lying if he said
the luxurious satin didn’t feel wonderful against his sensitive skin, but he
feels like lying anyway just so he won't give Dean the satisfaction.
Then there’s the matter of the back of the panties.  From the front, he can
pretend they are briefs (with a lot of imagination.)  The back, however…Dean
calls them “keyhole” panties, but Cas thinks you can fit a lot more than a key
with all the missing material back there.  The inch wide lace goes around his
waist as it should, with maybe another inch or so of black satin, but there is
a vaguely heart-shaped lace trimmed hole that leaves most of his small cheeks
bare.  Insult to injury, in the very center at the top of his ass, there is a
black satin bow, with ribbons that hang down to touch his bare cheeks.
Cas flushed when he first saw the panties, feeling his whole face get hot (he
didn't even know about the tail yet).  Just because I like guys doesn’t mean I
wear girl’s clothes, he wanted to say, knowing it’ll get him punished.  But the
words dried up when he saw the look in Dean’s eyes, olive dark and heavy
lidded, pupils blown with lust.  “Put ‘em on for me, Cas.  Wanna check the
fit.”
Licking his lips, Cas had nodded and turned his back on Dean, taking off his
pants and then his underwear, acting like he wasn't thinking about Dean even
though his movements were deliberate, leisurely.  When he was bare from the
waist down, he took the panties and slid them on slowly (more seductive than
any 12-year-old has a right to be, but he doesn’t know that), enjoying Dean’s
excited gaze following them up his legs.  “You teasin’ me, baby angel?” Dean
asked, barely a whisper, unable to tear his eyes away from the lace against
Cas’s ivory, nearly hairless skin. 
“A little, Master,” Cas told him, surprised his own voice sounds a little
hoarse.  Dean’s lust does weird things to him, makes him feel weak and wanting,
makes him forget unimportant things like not wanting to wear women's
underwear.  He straightens and turns, and Dean gasps a little at the view. 
Suddenly Dean’s hands are just on him, cupping his dick through the satin,
slipping back to squeeze his tiny ass lightly.  He turns him, puts him on the
bed on his hands and knees, Cas pliantly moving with every direction.  “So
pretty…fuck, Cas, you should see yourself right now….such a sexy little kitty
for me, my little babyslut…,” he whispered, moving his huge, calloused hands
over Cas's skin, over the lace, getting his cock to stand up and start leaking
into the satin.  Cas cries out softly when Dean’s hands part his cheeks, his
tongue slipping inside him.  Between Dean’s expert ministrations and the
slippery silk feel of the satin pressing the length of his cock, Cas is close
in a matter of minutes.
“Master, please!!  Gonna come…,” is all Cas has to say for Dean to back off,
breathing hard when he does.
“No, no, no, no,” he murmurs, tugging Cas back so he’s up on his knees, his
back pressed against Dean’s chest, and he slips a hand in Cas’s panties and
grips his cock at the base, making him whine in protest.  “Sorry, baby, can’t
have you mess your panties.  Trick-or-treaters coming soon; gotta…gotta get you
dressed up.”
That’s around when he showed Cas the tail.
So, to recap, he dressed him in the t-shirt and panties, then the plug, then
made him step into the tight jeans he’s chosen so he can carefully pull the
furry tail through the hole in the back.  He pushed Cas’s hair back, made it
kind of spiky, the way he likes it best and placed the headband on him.  He
turned him around, closing the collar at his throat, pausing to kiss and lick
the nape of his neck before he clasped it.  Cas allowed it all, just Dean’s
sulky little china doll.  He only protested when Dean went to put kohl eyeliner
on him, insisting he can do a better job himself, which Dean had to agree. 
Cas doesn’t know how to do it, but he can follow a youtube video as well as
anyone else.  He lines his blue eyes in black, marveling at how the liner makes
the color pop even as his cheeks pink up in shame.  If Brady stops at the
Winchester house tonight, Cas will commit murder-suicide.  Sighing, he adds
black whiskers to his cheeks and wants to leave it at that, but Dean takes the
liner from him.  “You forgot the kitty nose,” he admonishes, coloring in a
little triangle.  He steps back to admire his work and breaks into a smile. 
“You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, Castiel.”
Cas shrugs and stares at the ground, refusing to be mollified.  Dean puts a
finger to his chin, tipping it back up.  “Kitties are allowed to be grumpy,
aren’t they?  Otherwise I’d smack that look right off your face.”
Cas swallows, his face going blank.  “Yes, Master.”
“What do we say when Master gives his slut a compliment?”
“Thank you, Master,” Cas says softly and pushes against Dean lightly, rubbing
his head on Dean’s shoulder.  “Sorry, Master…forgive your kitty?”
Dean pets his hair and kisses his lips lightly.  “Good kitty.  Let’s go
downstairs…gonna need you to man the door tonight.  Kids will be coming soon.” 
Cas pouts again, thinking about kids from school who might be trick or treating
or taking younger siblings around.  Thanks, Dean, really need to take more shit
from those homophobic assholes. 
He walks gingerly downstairs (mindful of the plug filling his ass) and runs
smack into John Winchester, who stares at him with his mouth open for almost a
whole minute.  Cas blushes furiously and Dean hides a laugh behind him.  “Goin’
out, Dad?”
“I…yeah,” John answers, turning away finally, shaking his head with a kind of
rueful ‘kids today’ expression on his face.  “Road trip with Bobby and Rufus,
gonna hit up some casinos, make some money.  You got that party thing tomorrow,
yeah?”
“I got it,” Dean sounds bored, the way he always does when John asks questions
about whether or not Dean will handle something for Sam.  Because, obviously. 
Cas passes Dean and rubs against his side like a cat, trying to cheer him up
and he gets a small smile in reply. 
John is staring at him again but he smiles this time, laughs a little.  “You do
look pretty cute, Castiel.  You ain’t worried the kids will make fun of you or
something?”
Cas fumes; if he had fur on his back it would bristle.  “Yeah, probably.  But
that’s me:  wearing things that get me beat up.”
Dean eyes Cas warningly and he pretends not to see, startled when John’s big
hand comes down to scratch between his fake cat ears.  Cas blinks up in shock
and John smiles at him fondly.  “My boys won’t let you get beat up, Cas, you
know that.  Pretty much a Winchester at this point, aren’t you?”
Dean and Cas share an equally surprised look, but John’s already on his way
out, calling back instructions to Dean.  “Watch out for Sammy…and our kitty cat
over there, too.  Be back Sunday night probably, unless we get lucky.”
He leaves and Cas follows Dean around, trying to act cat-like while
simultaneously protesting the whole thing.  He watches Dean spill bags of
individually wrapped candy into a giant plastic bowl and then kneels at his
feet when he sits.  Dean puts on a slasher marathon that Cas would rather
ignore (he hates jump-scares).  First he presses to Dean’s knee, but then tries
climbing up onto his lap.  Dean pushes him off and he’s about to obey, when he
realizes if he’s a cat he can ignore the order.  It takes two more tries before
Dean lets him, and Cas can cuddle close, concentrating on licking and sucking
Dean’s neck (Dean doesn’t mind if he marks it a little; something he loves
doing.)  He’s just starting to think it’s not so bad when the doorbell starts
ringing. 
Cas is non-stop up and down, jostling the plug inside him in ways that get more
uncomfortable as the night goes on.  His dick is overstimulated, too, half-hard
and constantly rubbing against the slippery satin as he moves.  It’s a very
surly cat that answers the door, startling parents and especially small
children who try to pet his ears or tail.  He growls and hisses, even swatting
at Dean with a paw when he laughs. 
Dean smacks his bottom lightly and Cas cries out, holding tightly to Dean’s
arm.  “Really like you like this, Cas.  How are those panties doing?” he asks
and unbuttons Cas’s jeans, thrusting a hand in to rub over his satin-covered
cock.  Cas makes kittenish sounds and pushes against Dean’s hand.  “Please,
Master…wanna come.”
Dean takes his hand back out and kisses Cas’s temple when he mewls at the
loss.  “You will, baby, but don’t you want me to fuck you, kitty cat?  Don’t
you want to come on my dick in your pretty panties?”  Cas nods, still making
little sounds.  Dean’s hand is down the back of his pants now, fucking the plug
in and out of him.  “Gonna be nice and open, kitty cat…make lots of pretty
little sounds for me…”
Cas moans, squirming in Dean’s lap, digging his fur covered fingers into Dean’s
arm, thrusting his hips to try and make his needy cock rub against the satin,
but it's not enough friction.  “Master, please…please, don’t wanna be bad for
you…gonna…gonna come…”
Miracle of miracles, Dean stops (most times he lets Cas mess himself and then
the punishment can start.)  Cas is still squirming, whimpering a little as he
tries to calm down, but every movement affects the butt plug, pushes the satin
against him in different ways.  The doorbell rings again and Dean zips and
buttons him.  Cas snarls, making Dean laugh, and wishes he could stomp to the
door.  It’s going to be a long night.
Hours later, the candy bowl is finally empty (and if Dean helped it along by
feeding himself and Cas little pieces, all the better for Cas.)  Cas is a needy
mess from the plug, the panties, and all Dean’s teasing, but he doesn’t think
his Master is much better off.  He turns so he’s straddling Dean’s lap.
Dean’s green eyes are hooded and sultry when he looks at him.  “That’s not a
very cat-like way to sit, kitty cat.”
Cas curls his hips inward, making both of them moan.  “Please fuck me, Master. 
Kitty wants Master’s cock so bad.”
Dean pushes his own hips up under him, licks a sweet kiss into his mouth. 
“Tell me how much you want it…”
Cas licks his lips and pouts, grinding slowly on Dean's lap.  He knows he has
to be careful or he’ll come like this, and Dean obviously doesn’t want him
messing his panties until just the right time.  “Please, Master?  Want your big
cock in me, Master, want…want you to fill me up…fuck your little baby kitty
cat…fuck your kitten whore.  Please?  Want you to show me I’m your kitty, wanna
know who my hole belongs—,” Cas yelps as Dean grabs him roughly, forcing a kiss
on his mouth that’s all tongue and teeth and aggression, taking his mouth, his
throat, kissing and biting.   He pushes him off his lap and Cas wavers
breathlessly in front of him.  “Take off your clothes.”
Cas tries but his kitty paws make it impossible, and he whines at Dean.  It's
okay, Dean likes undressing him just as much, careful not to disturb his tail
or ears.  Cas blushes and looks down, suddenly unsure of himself, a 12 year old
boy in women's panties and a butt plug, but Dean tips his chin up, brushes a
kiss over his mouth.  “So fuckin’ hot baby...look so beautiful like this, just
for me.”
Cas looks at Dean’s gorgeous face, those enigmatic green eyes, hopeful but
still unconvinced and Dean picks him up.  Cas guesses he should object to being
carried at 12, but as long as he’s not in trouble, he loves when Dean holds him
like this, he feels safe and secure.   
Dean carries him to the full length mirror in the front hall and stands him in
front of it.  Cas tries to turn, hide his face in Dean’s shoulder but Dean
holds him firmly.  “Look, Cas, it’s okay…really look.  You’re beautiful.  Look
at that face, that body, so fucking hot,” he insists, kissing at the bend of
his neck, his shoulders, sliding his hands up his sides, and Cas looks,
blushing all the way to his bare chest. 
But Dean is in the mirror, too, that perfect face, the firm, amazing body
enveloped around his much smaller form.  He can see the way his glimmering
emerald eyes eat up his little figure, the way he can’t keep his hands and
mouth off of him.  In his grasp, Cas looks delicate and wanton, squirming and
needy under his attention.  His lined blue eyes are exotic and secretive, a boy
who knows a lot more than he should.  “Those motherfuckers at your school…they
just want this…” Dean reaches down to cup Cas’s dick, making him moan; he’s
still painfully hard and the panties show it.  “Can’t have it though, right
baby?  All mine.”
Sam flashes through Cas’s mind, but he turns in Dean’s arms and Dean lets him
this time, so he can practically climb the front of his body, wanting Dean’s
plush mouth on his, putting his skinny arms around Dean’s neck to pull closer. 
He is Dean’s hot and sexy little kitty, and anybody would want him, but only
Dean (and Sam…shh, don’t think it, he’ll know) can have him.
“Ready to go upstairs?  Get on all fours on my bed for me like a good kitty?” 
Dean's hands slide down his bare back, fingers gently tracing the lace on his
ass. 
“Yes, Master, please,” Cas says desperately, and he means it, wants it.  Dean
releases him, has to gently but firmly push him away.  Cas gives him a mostly
fake pout and starts for the stairs.
“Stop.” 
He freezes, looks over one bare shoulder. 
Dean’s eyes lift from his ass and he tsks, shaking his head.  “That’s not how a
kitty walks with his Master.”  He takes out the leash and looks expectantly at
Cas, who blushes, but he’s going to do it.  He’ll do it for Dean.
Cas kneels and crawls back to his Master, feeling gratified when he sees Dean
swallow at the pretty picture he must make.  Deciding to embrace being as cat-
like as possible, he wiggles his ass a little so the tail will swish, and
pushes in between Dean’s legs, rubbing his face against his inner thigh.
“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean whispers, and Cas hides a smile, proud he can make
his Master want him so badly. 
He mouths at Dean’s dick through his jeans.  “Kitty wants to go upstairs,
Master,” the words are muffled against the cotton, and Cas knows Dean can feel
his hot breath through the material.
Dean groans and clips the leash to the ring at his throat.  “Time for a walk,
little kitty.”
Cas bites his lip, knowing it’ll be a challenge, with the plug inside him. 
Dean starts moving, a little too fast just so he can yank on the leash, have
the satisfaction of hearing Cas choke a little.  Cas tries to scurry next to
him on hands and knees, keeping up as best he can, but the plug rubbing against
his prostate (he knows what his special place is called now; he looked it up)
makes it impossible.  
Lucky for him, Dean can’t take it and snatches him up about halfway there,
carrying him into his bedroom and putting him on the bed.  Cas crawls to the
top with the leash still dangling from his neck and wiggles his ass at Dean,
watching him shed clothes in record time.  Then he’s grabbing lube from his
bedside table, because he’s still gonna be thicker and longer than the plug. 
He crawls up naked behind Cas, slicking the lube perfunctorily (Cas can’t help
but notice) over his dick.  “Think you’re all ready for me, just like this,
Cas.  Bet I’ll slide right in.”
Cas has his doubts and a flash of fear runs through him, but it won’t help to
tense.  “But Master…you’re so much bigger than the plug,” Cas murmurs, looking
wide-eyed back at him.
“Am I?” Dean asks, amused, and tugs Cas up on his knees, drawing his face close
for a kiss.  “Tell me about it…”
Cas turns slowly on the bed in case Dean wants to stop him.  “Master’s dick is
so big for my little hole…hurts me so bad sometimes, even though I want it…” 
Cas is looking down at Dean’s dick, stroking him as best he can with the paws,
and Dean seems to enjoy the furry sensation there, moaning encouragingly. 
“Think you can,” Dean gasps as Cas rubs a paw over his balls.  “Think you can
fit it in your mouth, baby?”
Cas pouts and shakes his head, playing along.  “Won’t fit, Master, look…”  He
bends, feeling Dean’s hands take advantage, sliding over his bared ass, playing
with the plug distractingly.  Cas mewls a little and licks at the head of
Dean’s cock, teasing kitten licks that make their way down to the base, down to
his balls.  Dean is coming apart above him, breathing irregular as he squeezes
Cas’s small ass cheeks. 
“Thought you…fuck damn it, Cas…fit it in your mouth, come on, show me…”
Cas looks up at him now, tongue extended, licks a slow stripe back up to his
slit.  He comes up and smacks his lips a few times noisily.  “Okay, Master, but
you’ll see, it won’t go…I’m too small.”
Dean groans.
Cas usually teases his way over the head, but this time he puts his mouth
straight over Dean’s dick.  It is too big, it fills his still-small mouth too
much to where there’s no way Dean can completely avoid his teeth, much as Cas
tries to open wide.  Something else he would never do, Cas just shoves down,
choking himself with it, coughing and gagging.  He tries to come off but Dean’s
hand is at the back of his head, fingers twisting in his curls, keeping him
there.  Tears slide down his face, he squirms, struggling because he can’t help
it, trying to breathe but oxygen can’t get past Dean’s dick in his throat. 
Finally Dean lets him go and he falls back on his knees, coughing and gasping,
shaking a little. 
“Good kitty,” Dean grits out, voice low and turned on, and he’s already moving
him, putting him back on all fours without letting him fully recover.  “Such a
good kitty for me…need you right now, can’t wait.”
“Can I...,” Cas gasps from his abused throat.  “Can I have a little more lube,
please, Master?”
Dean kisses his neck.  “A little more, because you’re such a good kitty, still
too small for me, hmm?”
Relieved, Cas presses his ass back against Dean’s hard, wet dick.  “Yes,
Master, thank you Master.”
“I’d make you do it, but I love seeing those little paws,” Dean tells him, and
then Cas cries out as the plug is finally removed, replaced immediately by two
thick fingers that Cas knows as well as his own.  Grateful for his Master’s
mercy, Cas fucks back onto them, acting slutty the way Dean likes best. 
“Want you, Master,” he whispers and gasps when Dean scissors, adds a third
finger, “want you to fuck your babyslut…”
The fingers are gone and Dean’s dick is pushing into him, still bigger than
what he had in him all night, but sloppy enough to slide home without much
drag, before Dean pulls back again, leaving only the tip inside him.  Cas
whimpers but stills, waiting.  “Fuck yourself, slut.  Show me what you need.”
Cas moans and shoves himself back, letting his mouth drop open.  There is still
pain that comes with Dean’s dick, but Cas has taught himself that it’s part of
the pleasure, and he welcomes the burn, the stretch.  “Master, please!”  He
moans desperately, his dick is so hard, the panties constricting around him.
Dean grabs his hips and forces him back on his dick, making him scream.  He
takes over, fucking hard to make up for the extra lube, and Cas can’t hold
himself anymore, letting his shoulders drop, letting Dean fuck him down into
the mattress.  "Uh-uh, no way, get up here," Dean growls and grabs the leash,
yanking him back.  Cas has no choice, his neck bending painfully, he lifts back
up on weak, shaking arms, trying to breathe.  The little bell on his collar
jingles with every thrust. 
“You mess up those panties yet, bitch?  Do it, show me how much you like this,
greedy little slut,” Dean demands darkly.  Cas is making little choked noises
and gasps, all that he can do right now, but Dean's voice is everything, even
his dick obeys.  He lets go, feeling the liquid warmth in his panties, coating
his cock.
Dean slams him through his orgasm.  Now he’s a ragdoll, limp and useless under
Dean, hanging against the leash and Dean has to let go or he'll choke himself
out.  “W-want you...l-like i-it," he croaks, his voice so soft and hoarse,
responding automatically to the last thing Dean said, trying to give him what
he wants, "W-want it."  His head is fuzzy, no, his whole body, even the pain is
fuzzy and warm and good.  Dean can do anything to him, he’ll take it.
“Fuck, fuck, that’s it...ungh, good boy, good little boy...take this shit…turn
over, wanna come on you,” Dean pulls out, jerking himself.
Cas curls in on himself and flips to his back, spreads his legs for Dean,
showing his soaked panties.  His thumb makes its way to his mouth and he sucks,
the way Dean used to make him.
Dean cries out and then he’s coming, rope after rope decorating Cas in his
kitty costume, getting his lips, his throat, but mostly aimed at his panties. 
He breathes hard, staying on his knees and looking down at Cas expectantly. 
Cas obediently starts scooping the come into his mouth, licking it off his
hand, looking up at Dean. Thinking his body is still all warm and fuzzy except
for the wet panties.  He shifts and frowns.
 
                                     * * *
 
Dean looks down at his fucked out little kitty and wonders if Cas has ever
looked this beautiful, this sexy to him.  He’s pouting and when he speaks his
voice is younger than 12.  “I’m too messy.  I’m all wet!”  His blue eyes are
accusing and sulky on Dean’s. 
Cas loves to be babied after they fuck, and Dean loves doing it.  He likes
hearing his voice get so high and small, the way he’ll whine and use smaller
words.  Sometimes when they fuck, especially if Dean fucks him extra hard from
behind, Cas actually regresses and Dean has to cosset and cuddle him, treat him
gently until he slowly comes back to himself.  “What happened, baby, did you
mess your panties?”
Cas nods, pushing his kiss-swollen lips out.  “You made me!”
Dean tsks.  “Naughty baby, blaming me for your mess.  Come on, it’s time for
pj’s anyway.”  Dean picks him up and carries him to Sam’s room, bride style,
Cas’s paws around his neck.
“I don’t wanna put on pj’s,” Cas whines and Dean’s dick twitches.  If Cas is
feeling babyish and defiant, that means a spanking, albeit a light one.  “It’s
Halloween and I’m a cat!”
“Hey,” Dean warns lightly, laying Cas on Sam’s bed.  “Watch your tone.  Your
costume’s all messy, you can’t leave it on.”
Cas huffs and kicks his foot in Dean’s direction. 
“Hey!” Dean snaps (not meaning it; this Cas could never make him mad).  He
takes Cas’s knees and pushes them back with one hand, smacking his bare ass
lightly (for him) with the other.  “Knock off the attitude.”
Cas sits up and tugs on Dean’s arm.  “But Deeeaaan,” he whines, and Dean
strokes the hair away from his forehead.  Sometimes when Cas is like this, he
forgets to call Dean ‘Master’, but that doesn’t bother Dean either.  He gets
it.  “I’m your kitty…wanna be your kitty still.”  Cas tries to crawl in his lap
but Dean gently pushes him down on his back again.  “Do you want to stay in
your mess, baby?”
Cas shakes his head, sulking again.
“Okay, then.  The panties have to go.”  He pulls them down, pretending to be
shocked and dismayed by the sticky mess and Cas blushes, tears up. 
“It’s okay, baby, no tears,” Dean tells him, thumbing them away.  He takes out
some hand wipes that he keeps in Sam’s end table and cleans his pretty little
dick and balls, makes him hold his knees back so he can clean his puffy hole. 
Because he can’t resist, he leans down and tastes him and Cas arches on Sam’s
bed.  Dean leans forward to kiss him, forcing his tongue inside, making the
kiss heated, adult, and Cas struggles lightly, acting far less practiced than
he really is.  Dean’s dick twitches again; he’s half hard already and Cas is,
too.
“You still wanna be my kitty, Cas?” He looks down at the wide blue eyes from an
inch away.  He looms over him, still so much larger than Cas’s petite body, and
he loves it. 
“Yeah,” Cas tells him softly, moving so his little bell jingles.  “Wanna be
your kitty cat.”
Dean leans back and looks him over, pale and naked on the little bed, except
for ears, paws, and the collar Dean made him wear.  That Dean thinks he might
have to keep wearing.  So fucking hot.  “Okay.  You can stay like this in my
room with me, until Sammy gets home.  Then you have to be a little boy again.”
Cas frowns slightly, eyes a little unfocused.  The change in his face is
drastic, and Dean quickly realizes Sam’s name might have snapped him out of
it.  Shit.
“Look how little your soft baby dick is,” Dean tells him lightly, starts
stroking him and Cas’s legs fall open immediately, head going back.  “Bet I
know how to fix that.”  Dean sucks on the head, tonguing Cas’s little slit,
watching him squirm.  He lifts off and reminds him, “No fucking or I’ll stop.”
“Yes, Master,” Cas whines and Dean sighs with Cas still deep in his mouth. 
After all, 12 year old Cas is still plenty young and hot. 
Eventually he takes him back to his room and they lazily fuck and suck for the
next couple of hours until the poor little kitty ass is too raw for more.  He’s
glad he has the presence of mind to send his naked cat downstairs to fetch his
clothes, because even innocent Sam would wonder why he’d left them in the
living room.
When Sam texts Dean that he’s on his way, Cas asks sweetly if he can get
dressed in his clothes again so he doesn’t look like he's ready for bed when
Sam is still dressed.  Dean chuckles and strokes his hair.  “You can, if
you wear your ears, paws, and tail.”
Cas looks alarmed.  “I can’t!  What if he pulls it or asks about it?!  He’ll
see it’s not attached to my pants!”
Dean laughs, imagining it, but he guesses Cas has a point.  “Fine.  Don’t want
Sammy knowing what a little whore you are, I know.”
Cas blushes and looks at the ground; Dean can see the way he tenses.  It’s so
cute when he tries to keep something from him. 
Cas puts on the jeans and t-shirt, over boxers this time with Dean’s approval. 
They’re on the couch with the slasher movies back on, Cas pressed as close to
Dean as he can when Sam gets home.  Sam bounds into the room, not even tired
compared to Dean and Cas, and stops short when he sees his best friend.  He
breaks into a smile.
“Shut up,” Cas glowers and Sam’s eyes widen. 
“Oh, my God, Cas,” he giggles.  “Look at you!”
Dean laughs, too, and Cas stands up.  He stomps toward the kitchen, hissing in
pain as he goes and they laugh harder. 
Sam follows, looking him over, taking in the whole outfit.  “When did you get
skinny jeans?”
Cas looks helplessly back at Dean, who is trying not to laugh again, green eyes
bright and wicked.  “I…I felt like trying them out, okay?  Everything you wear
is too fucking baggy on me.  God forbid you wear jeans that fit you!”
"Oh my fucking God," Sam laughs again and stops when Cas whirls, scowling at
him.  Sam puts his hands up in surrender, blue hazel eyes looking almost green
today with mischief.  “Don’t kill me, Grumpy Cat.  I just…I don’t know how to
tell you but…your new jeans…you have a hole…in a really bad place.”
Cas turns bright red and flees up the stairs as fast as he can manage with his
sore, fucked out hole.  Sam is half laughing, half guiltily calling his name
but he ignores him.  Dean hears him stomping around upstairs and gets up when
Sam starts to follow.  “I got it.  I made fun of him all night; he’s a little
sensitive, that’s all.”
Sam frowns, such a sensitive little thing himself, and Dean chucks him under
the chin.  “He’s fine, Samantha.  Let me talk to him; he’ll be right down.” 
Sam rolls his eyes at the nickname and Dean grabs him in a half hug, kissing
the top of his head (mine) before he goes after Cas.   “Make us some popcorn,
okay?”  He calls back to Sam, making sure he’ll be busy downstairs for at least
a few minutes.
He finds Cas in the bathroom, earless and pawless, scrubbing mercilessly at his
nose and cheeks, making them scarlet.  Dean lowers his hands and shuts off the
water and Cas glares at the sink rather than his Master.  Point for him.  “You
got it off, baby, see?  No more.”
Cas looks at himself and scowls again, reaching back to fumble with the clasp. 
Dean puts a hand over his, stopping him. 
“That’s your new collar, baby.  Shows you belong to me.  Why would you ever
take it off?”
Cas’s eyes widen in horror.  “De—Master, please.  It…it…”
Dean looks back at him, implacable until his head lowers in acquiescence. 
“But…the bell…,” Cas mumbles and Dean smiles in triumph. 
“Bring it to me before bed, I’ll take the bell off.  Better start convincing
Sam you like it, though.  That’s practice for when you wear it to school,” Dean
watches him closely, enjoying all the pitiful emotions in his worried blue
eyes.  Because no matter what he’s thinking, he’s going to say the only thing
he can say.
“Yes, Master.”
***** Do or Die (But How Can I?) *****
Chapter Summary
     The party. Dean asks the impossible and Cas struggles to obey; Cas
     needs reminding of his place.
Chapter Notes
     This is the longest chapter I've ever done, but I just didn't feel an
     organic stopping place. It was actually even longer but I cut off
     some of the party's...consequences...for the next chapter. So...you
     know...as Lucifer says, settle in there, buddy. ;)
A Halloween party after Halloween is over.  Cas thinks it’s stupid. 
Aside from this fucking, fucking collar, Cas will not be wearing a costume
tonight, thank you very much.  He’s had enough of that (Dean’s hands on him,
his plush mouth, “So fuckin’ hot baby...look so beautiful like this, just for
me.”)  He blushes and finishes dressing quickly, hissing when certain movements
hurt.  He’s sore, as he always is the day after Dean fucks the hell out of him,
aching in places he doesn’t remember hurting, but it’s mild compared to a lot
of nights, especially punishment nights.  There are bruises on his hips and a
dark shadowy line on the front of his neck (that the fucking, fucking collar
covers nicely—it should, he guesses, since it caused the mark).  His throat was
sore earlier, but Dean gave him a lozenge and he made some tea, so now he’s
okay.  He’s wearing regular dark blue jeans and a grey AC/DC shirt (Dean’s)
with red lettering under a red zip up hoodie. 
He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror and shakes his head.  To him the
collar stands out, screaming for attention.  How can he possibly explain his
sudden interest in wearing it?  He doesn’t know what to do.
He jumps as the door bangs; his mother’s current loser boyfriend Roscoe Stein
is impatient with him, as always.  “Yo.  Fuck you doin’ in there, get out! 
Need to use the can!”
“Can’t you just go in the yard?” Cas mutters, washing his hands. 
“Whassat?”
Cas opens the door and tries to slip past him but he puts his arm across the
door.  “Somethin’ to say, brat?”
“I said all yours,” Cas snaps, but doesn’t quite make eye contact, heart
thumping a little.  Roscoe is a big, thick man (a bouncer at one of the bars
where his mother waits tables), nothing at all like tall, slender Jimmy Novak. 
He has short red hair, small brown eyes, and a constant five o’clock shadow. 
Cas hates him but he doesn't exactly want to tangle with him either.
Just now he’s staring at Cas with dislike.  “Don’t like smartmouth kids.  Ain’t
you got somewhere to be?”
Cas sighs.  “If you’ll move, I can get there.”
“Cassie, don’t be rude,” Amelia has poked her head out of her bedroom, not
quite making eye contact with Cas.  He tries to remember the last time she did
and figures he’ll speak to her whenever she does again.  Since Roscoe doesn’t
seem to be moving, Cas ducks under his arm and heads for his room.
“Raisin’ a real little shit there, Amelia.  Needs discipline.”
Cas smirks and tunes them out.  He’s got all the discipline he can handle, and
he’s sure if Roscoe lays a hand on him, Dean will make him pay in blood.  He
changes the t-shirt for a black one, the hoodie for a blue flannel (and not
because both Winchesters commented on his eyes when he wore it.)  He looks in
his own mirror and sighs.  The collar of the flannel covers part of it, from
the back.  Maybe if he turns it around, the ring at least won’t show.  Then
it’ll just look like he’s wearing a fucking black choker for no reason…still
better than a dog collar, he guesses, if only marginally.
He has to talk to Dean about it; has to risk pissing him off.  He’d wear it for
Dean any time he wants, he’d wear the leash with it and never get off his knees
if that’s what his Master wants to see, but why, why does he have to wear it
when they’re apart?  He has never questioned Dean’s ownership in two years. 
Not one time.  He’s got to see reason!  By Monday, preferably.
Cas heads out without saying anything to anyone, as usual.  When he leaves,
Roscoe is still bitching about him and his mother is simpering, trying to calm
him.  “He always stays out tonight; you know that…maybe he’ll stay the whole
weekend again.”
It doesn’t hurt.  It doesn’t.  He doesn’t care.  He has Sam and Dean; even
their Dad said so.  Dean would never want to go two days without seeing him,
unless he knew for sure where he was and approved of it first.  He needs him,
all the time.  And Sam…Sam needs him, too (wouldn’t if he knew what you are,
what you do); says he’s family.  That’s how he makes him feel, anyway. 
Sam is going to be in costume, and it makes Cas smile, looking forward to
seeing his friend.  Two years ago, they’d been pirates together, wearing
costumes that were mostly homemade, with one or two accessories that Dean found
for them.  They’d done their own block and then Dean had put them in the
backseat of the Impala and taken them to the fancy side of town, so they could
marvel at giant, professional decorations and collect full sized candy bars. 
Last year Dean had gotten his job, and even though he didn’t make much, he told
them they could pick out store bought costumes if they wanted.  So they’d been
comic superheroes:  Cas had been the Flash and Sam had been Nightwing, two of
their favorites.  They’d gone trick or treating on their own, and hadn’t
stopped until their feet were aching and they had pillowcases full of candy to
show off for Dean’s approval (letting him pick out the pieces he wanted of
course). 
Cas wondered how Dean felt about spending $80 on two costumes neither of them
would ever be able to wear again.  He guessed he didn’t mind, since he’d forked
over the money for Sam’s costume this year without a word of protest.  This
time Sam had gone costume shopping with Jess so that they could pick matching
costumes.  She’s going as an angel and Sam will be the devil. 
Cas isn’t jealous.  You are.
Cas uses his key and goes inside, smiling and rolling his eyes at the half-ass
decorations.  If they’d asked him for help, he’d have done it better.
“What?” Dean asks flatly, watching his reaction, but his eyes are sparkling;
Cas can tell he’s just teasing. 
Then Cas is in his arms, needing the super-hard squeeze that only Dean gives. 
“You guys suck at decorating.  Like really bad.  Did you put up three whole
pumpkins and some fake spider web?”
“You clearly missed the sexy nurse blow up doll out front.”  Dean takes his
shoulders and pushes him back a little, eyeing the collar.  “Looks good.  Miss
the kitty ears though,” he teases wickedly.
If he’d said it any other time, when Cas wasn’t feeling so abandoned, so needy,
he’d have sulked, rolled his eyes, something.  Instead he leans up on tiptoes
and whispers in Dean’s ear, “Can always wear them just for you, Master.”  He
tries to pull back but Dean holds him there easily.  They are close enough to
kiss, staring at each other, when Cas hears Sam taking the stairs two at a
time, and he steps back.
“Is that Cas?” Sam calls but then he’s already bounding in the room.  Sam is
much more mature these days but Cas thinks he’ll always be part Happy Puppy. 
“I know you owe me, but don’t make fun of me,” Sam warns, red-faced.  “Getting
enough shit from Dean.”
“You look…awesome,” Cas says honestly, then he’s the one blushing as Sam blinks
in surprise.  He does, though.  He has on black jeans and a deep, wonderfully
red button down shirt with a black satin tie.  He's also wearing a shiny red
cape and red plastic horns clipped into his soft brown hair just above his
temples.  “It’s just…y-you wear a lot of plaid,” Cas stammers lamely.  Sam
looks embarrassed, too.
“Wow, you two are just so adorable,” Dean quips with his signature half-smile.
“Why don’t you just kiss already, get it over with?”
Sam gives him bitch face #347 and pokes him with his plastic pitchfork.  “Shut
up, Jerk.”
“Bitch.”  Dean barely glances at him but manages to disarm him, holding the
pitchfork above his head as he sifts through his cassette tape collection with
his other hand.  Apparently their Halloween playlist was going to be a bunch of
classic rock that none of Sam’s friends would recognize.  Sam notices and
whines, “Nobody wants Dad’s old ass music, Dean.  I thought we could use Cas’s
iPod.” 
Cas blushes; a lot of Dean’s music is on there, too.  “S-sure,” he hands it
over, thinking he needs to pull himself together, all this blushing and
stammering, like when he was little.  It makes him look at Dean, who seems to
be thinking along the same lines, his gaze heated and meaningful.  Cas licks
over his lips nervously, lowers his eyes.
Kids from school start showing up, along with a few friends of Dean’s, who
bring a couple of cases of beer.  Sam’s friends light up at the sight of the
beer but Dean is quick to shut them down.  “These are ours, and nobody touches
them who doesn’t want to lose a hand.  These,” he holds up some 12 ounce wine
coolers, pink, red, yellow, and orange in color, “are for you guys, along with
all the soda and Gatorade you can ever drink.  Four percent alcohol content and
you get to share it among all of you.  Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.”
There is general groaning that Dean and his friends laugh at, heading out back
(Cas can’t help but notice girls among the group, wonders which one will be
throwing herself at Dean this time.)  But he feels relief, too.  Dean’s eyes
are off him and he doesn’t seem to need anything.  Cas snags a beer from the
fridge and pours it in a red plastic cup, knowing nobody will check.  He pours
another one and goes off looking for Sam. 
When he finds him, he’s talking to an angel, and Cas falters, uncertain.  Jess
notices him over Sam’s shoulder and smiles.  “Cas!  C’mere!”  Cas smiles
reluctantly at her and when he gets there she hugs him.  He can’t really hug
back since he has a cup in each hand, but he tries, closing his arm around her
slender back.  Sam takes the cup from him, knowing it’s his.
“You look beautiful,” he tells her, meaning it.  Her long blond hair is in
perfect ringlets under a headband with a black fuzzy halo.  The dress is white
and silver, with small ruffles and cap sleeves on top and a white tutu skirt
threaded with silver ribbon, so that it looks like a shirt and skirt combo
until you get close up.  She has on white tights that sparkle, black boots, and
lovely black feathered wings.  Cas touches the wings and smiles.  “I thought
they’d be white.”
She winks at him.  “I’m a fallen angel, thanks to Sam.” She nods at Sam and he
quirks a small smile at her. 
“Do you want a little wine cooler?” Sam asks her, blushing.  Cas has to smile
at how shy Sam still is with her.  “Dean only gave us a few to share, so
they’ll probably be gone soon.”
“I’ll get it,”Cas offers quickly, already turning.
“Coming with you.  You’re not getting rid of us that easily, Mister Shy.” She
hooks her arm through his and Cas is smiling against his will. 
The party is centered in the living room, where the music and snacks are, but
they take their drinks to the bottom of the steps and squeeze together there. 
Cas knows they’re being antisocial for his sake, trying to give him a chance to
ease into things.  None of them acknowledge it, but he is grateful.  Half a
beer later (with Sam sharing sips of his with Jess), Cas takes Sam’s cell phone
so he can get pictures of them together.
“Okay, me and Cas now,” Jess says and frowns at him.  “Why didn’t you dress up,
you’re so cute.  You could’ve been a devil like Sam, or an angel…”
“Cas was a Sexy Cat for Halloween yesterday,” Sam says mischievously and
Cas glares at him, making him snicker.  “He was such a cute kitty, too…kinda
grumpy though.”
“You really are the devil, you know,” he growls, trying for authoritative and
severe.  It just makes Sam laugh harder and, insult to injury, mess up his
hair.
“Ohh, Cas, I wanted to see you as a kitty!  Did you bring the costume?  You can
run and put it on…,” Jess tugs at his flannel, blue eyes pleading but before he
can answer she’s distracted.  “Hey, what’s that…that’s cute, what are you
wearing, is that a…a…” she trails off, touching his collar and he yanks back,
flushing.  Sam crowds over to see and smirks. 
“That was part of his costume yesterday.  Now he likes it.  He’s gonna go goth
soon, change his name to like…Thorn or something.”
“No I’m not,” Cas looks away, embarrassed.  “Thought it…was cool that’s all. 
I-it…it’s different.  Just something I’m trying.”
Jess gives Sam a warning look and squeezes Cas’s hand.  “Ignore the devil.  I
like it.  Come on, let’s take a picture.  Here, look, we’ll be angels together,
I’ll wear the halo, you wear the wings.  He looks at her with every intention
of saying no, but somehow he’s slipping the elastic over his arms.  He stands
awkwardly but she hugs him and smiles bright enough for both of them.  Sam
snaps a few until Cas gets too embarrassed and says he thinks they got it.
Before he can give back the wings, she’s shoving Sam at him.  He just shoves
him back.  “I’m not taking a picture with this abomination,” he insists and
turns away but Sam grabs him around his middle, making him squeak indignantly.
“Take it, take it!” Sam is laughing as he holds the struggling angel, who turns
to give Sam a sharp look but ends up smiling when he sees Sam’s face (Dean’s
future favorite photo of them, one he will keep in his small collection in his
end table.)  Cas just hopes she got the one where he elbowed Sam in his
stomach.  He realizes he’s having fun.  They take a bunch more, trying to do a
selfie with all three faces, taking turns in the middle.
“Sammy, your guests are wondering where you are, and they’re outside bugging
me,” Dean pokes his head around, into the hall.  “Go actually hang out with the
people you invited here or send ‘em home.  Whatever.”
Sam rolls his eyes but gets up.  “Hey, Dean, wait—“
But Dean is already turning back.  He strolls into the hall, suddenly all
charm, eyes on Jess.  “Well, now…this can’t be your girlfriend.  I gotta tell
you, you are completely out of my brother's league,” he winks and smiles and
Sam levels another bitch face at him, cheeks burning.
Jess blushes a little, too, but doesn’t seem as phased as most girls when they
meet Dean for the first time.  “Nice to meet you—you must be the best big
brother in the world,” She says, smiling and when Dean lifts his brows.  “Sam
talks about you all the time, how ‘awesome’ you are.”
“In that case, it’s all true,” he tells her, reaching out to ruffle Sam’s hair.
“Quit it, you’ll mess up my horns!”
“You coming, Cas?” Jess asks but his eyes are all for Dean.  The way they have
been ever since he looked into the hall.
“In a few.”
“My room,” Dean tells him when they’re gone, and walks out.  Cas turns to climb
the stairs, heart pounding.  He doesn’t even realize he’s still wearing the
wings.
                                       ~
Cas lies on Dean’s bed on his stomach and waits, leafing curiously through an
old copy of Busty Asian Beauties that Dean keeps under his mattress.  He wishes
he’d taken a second beer, but it’s okay because Dean doesn’t make him wait
long.  When he gets there, he makes Cas tip his head back so he can feed him
sips of whiskey.  Cas is on his knees on the bed, his hands on his knees as he
laps at the whiskey, letting it dribble down his chin the way Dean likes to
see.  Dean licks it off his chin, his neck, making him giggle, then his mouth
closes over Cas’s. 
“Gonna fuck me, Dean?” Cas asks prettily, looking at Dean through dark lashes
and Dean smiles.
“Look so cute, baby.  Wanna fuck you naked except for the wings, my little baby
angel,” Dean is leaning over him on the bed, touching his face, eating Cas up
with hungry eyes.  “God I fucking want you.  Always want you, Cas.”
Cas blushes and shivers, accepting another kiss.  Dean moves and when Cas
looks, he’s holding out a pill.  Cas feels his heart jump in his chest and he
reaches eagerly but Dean pulls back.  “Not for you baby.  Gonna let you go play
with your friends in a minute, but I got a job for you tonight.”
Cas pulls his hand back, instantly fearful, even if he doesn’t know why. 
“A…job?”
Dean sits on the bed and tugs Cas sideways on his lap.  He touches Cas’s face
gently.  “I don’t want Sammy to have a girlfriend yet.”
Cas feels his stomach drop.
Dean ignores him, continues.  “See, it’s fine for him to experiment.  Kiss
girls, kiss guys, kiss you.”  Cas’s heart skips again, and he feels guilty for
it.  “Touch some titties, try to find out what’s up a girl’s skirt.  All that
good stuff.  But of course Samantha’s such a girl, he had to go make a
relationship out of it.  If it bugs me, I know it’s gotta be killin’ you,
baby.”
Cas feels like his internal organs have been dipped in ice.  “N-nomf—“ Dean
cuts him off, a hand over his mouth, lovely green eyes hard as gems. 
“No lies,” he says softly and Cas nods, lowering his eyes.  He curls closer to
Dean, afraid, and Dean strokes his hair.  “So, I thought…I could rape her
tonight.”
Cas jolts, shaking his head, and Dean grabs him against his chest, the hand
tightening over his mouth, holding his struggling body against him
effortlessly.  “Sh-hh-hh…shut up, Cas.  No opinions, you just listen.  I could
rape her and threaten her…pretty sure I’m scary enough that she won’t say
anything, I’m sure you agree.”  Cas moans fearfully; he’s sure Dean can feel
his heart pounding against him.
“Mmm, good baby, always agreeing with your Master.  But there’s a more subtle
way we could go, too.”  Still holding Cas against him with one hand covering
his mouth, he shows Cas the pill again and Cas starts crying helplessly
thinking of the little blond who has shown him nothing but pure kindness, a
rarity in his life.  “This is similar to what you tried, Cas, remember how much
you liked it?  Little Jessica is gonna feel really good and just a little
sleepy…she’s gonna want to be touched so bad.  Then all you—stop fucking
crying, Castiel, need you to listen—all you have to do is get her to hook up
with somebody.  Could be you, could be someone else.  I honestly could not give
a fuck.  You wanna fuck her, show her what you know, you go right ahead.  I’ll
let you, for this one night, this one girl.  If not you just keep Sam away from
her...she'll be all over anyone who looks at her twice.” 
Cas is still crying, still shaking his head desperately and Dean’s arms tighten
around him again until he can’t move.  “I don’t like what I’m feeling in my
arms right now, all this defiance.  Who do you think you’re saying no to?” 
Dean stands suddenly and throws him down on the floor; he lands hard on his
hands and knees. 
“Please, Master…please, I—“ Cas cries out as Dean grabs a handful of his hair
and pulls his head back. 
“Someone’s forgotten his place.  On the bed, show me that ass, NOW.”  Dean
locks his door and shoves a chair under it; Cas assumes he did it properly.  He
grabs a tape at random and puts it in his obsolete stereo; Highway to Hell
blares out.  Obviously, this time Dean isn’t taking any chances. 
Cas climbs back on the bed, taking his pants and underwear down as he goes. 
He’s still crying and he guesses he might as well keep doing it since what’s
about to happen is going to hurt anyway.  “Dean, please, she’s…she’s a…m-my f-
friend, can’t you--,” he yelps in pain when Dean yanks his head back again.
“And what the fuck do you matter?” Dean practically spits the words in his
face. 
“I don’t, I don’t matter!” Cas cries out and Dean lets go.
“That’s right, you don’t,” Dean snarls, taking his belt off and Cas shuts his
eyes.  “You’re nothing but mine, you do what I say when I fucking say it, and
you don’t have opinions about it.  Gonna give you a few reminders right here
and now, bitch.  Because you need this, don’t you?  You want it.”
“Yes, Master,” Cas cries and Dean shoves his head down. 
“You scream into the mattress, but you answer my questions so I can hear you. 
Who do you belong to, Castiel?”
CRACK.  The belt is fire across the right side of his ass and he sobs into the
bed before lifting his face slightly.  “I a-am yours, Mas-ter,” he whimpers.
CRACK. Left side.
“Damn right you are.  Now answer this one and think about it Cas, think about
what it means…why the fuck are you alive?”
CRACK. Dead center.
Cas is writhing in pain, digging his fingers into Dean’s bedspread…but he has
to answer.  "To…do what you…w-want me to do and s-so…you can use me any w-way
you wa-ant."
Dean scrapes his fingers over the welts that must be forming on Cas’s ass,
making him squeal and squirm in pain.  “That’s it, bitch, that’s the only
reason you fucking exist now.”  He yanks Cas around onto his back and smacks
his face hard; Cas yelps and cowers.  “Tell me fucking no…who your fucking
friend is…who the fuck are you talking to?!”  Dean yanks Cas’s arms away from
his face and raises the back of his hand over Cas, who whimpers, flinching. 
But the blow doesn’t come; Dean steps away and Cas tries to quiet his whimpers
and cries, not wanting to draw his rage again.  He huddles on the bed in his
pain.
“Look at me,” he says after a moment and Cas peeks at him, terrified and
shaking in a way he hasn’t been in a long time.  Dean stays where he is, eyes
dark and full of threat.  “I’m leaving before I tear you to fucking shreds. 
You have one chance.  You do what I told you to do, they break up…we’ll do a
punishment week, make you mine again…completely, the way you need to be, and we
won’t talk about this again.”
Cas nods, closing his eyes and letting tears drop before opening them again. 
He wants that, he so wants to be that, not the thing he is that Dean hates. 
Dean sees it and calms slightly.  “You want that, don’t you…you need it.”
“Yes, Dean, please…I’ll be the way you want, I swear.”
Dean steps closer but not all the way; his fists are clenched at his sides.
 Cas can see he’s still enraged, doesn’t trust himself not to start hitting
again.  He steps wide around him and puts the pill on his end table.  “Get
yourself together.  Clean your face, have a drink, whatever.  And go take care
of it.  Or don’t and see what happens to you.”
Dean flings the chair as if it’s weightless, letting it crash to the floor and
he leaves, face still tight with anger.  Cas takes a few minutes to cry before
the shakes stop.  His ass hurts but he’s had worse, honestly, 3 isn’t that
many.  The whole left side of his face aches, too, he hopes it doesn’t swell. 
He gets up with his pants still down and takes the cream Dean uses to treat his
wounds.  He hisses and whimpers, reaching back as best he can to rub over both
cheeks.  His hands come away greasy but clean so at least his skin isn’t
broken.  It isn’t about the pain, though…he feels weak the way you do after a
long bout with the flu; he gets so scared when Dean is like this, and Dean’s
disgusted looks make him feel like the most worthless human ever born.  He
can’t take it.
Pulling his boxers and jeans back up is awful; the skin doesn’t want contact
yet, and it’s uncomfortable the way the boxers stick to the cream, but he has
no choice.  He walks stiffly and takes a shot of Dean’s whiskey that he left in
his hurry.  He looks at the pill and knows he’s going to do it.  He has to do
it.
The truth is, it doesn’t even matter.  Not how Jess treats him or the friendly
feelings he has for her, not even his feelings for Sam.  All of that is
irrelevant because Dean is right:  his feelings don’t affect anything.  If he
had choices…but he doesn’t.  It’s just unlucky that Sam and Jess trusted
someone like him, that they didn’t know what he really is.  Maybe he—he should
do it to her, so Sam can hate him, so Sam will know not to trust him. 
Cas doesn’t realize he’s crying again until tears drip from his chin and he
feels it.  Angrily, he wipes at his face.  Fucking pussy, fucking stupid,
stupid bitch.  He turns the collar so the ring comes back to the front. 
Imagine thinking it matters what people think of him wearing it.  They should
see a bitch when they look at him.  They should see what Dean sees.
“Fuck!  Dammit!” he swears and puts his hands over his face.  He feels like he
sounds; shaky, childish, and helpless.  He has to get himself together so he
can get this over with.  But the whiskey does start to warm his belly, make his
thoughts fuzzy and slow.  He tucks the pill in his pocket and peeks out into
the hall.  There’s a line at the bathroom, but it’s nobody that gives a shit
about him so nobody says anything about his tearstained face or the hitching,
sniffling breaths he takes.  When his turn comes, he sees a handprint over the
whole side of his face, but it’s starting to fade.  He washes his face with ice
cold water and it helps the red go away.  His blue eyes look glassy and red but
that could easily be the alcohol.  It’s helping the pain on his ass feel a bit
more distant, his movements less stiff, if more wobbly as he leaves.
He goes back downstairs and slips unnoticed into the living room.  He realizes
that he feels like he’s been gone forever but it’s only about a half hour, 45
minutes tops.  Kids are split in groups around the room, stuffing their faces
and having a great time to Cas’s iPod on shuffle.  Brady is here, he notices,
dressed as a fucking football player (which is lame because he is one…like you
can be anything, and you pick something you already do…Brady would probably do
it to her…)  Jess and Sam are in the group with Brady; he’s trying to convince
them all to play truth or dare, getting other small groups to turn with
interest.
Cas sits on the floor near the door, not even flinching at the pain.  He
watches all these happy kids, feeling distant and surreal, a cup of beer
magically in his hand again that he pretends to sip.  He spills it on himself
and barely feels it.  How is he supposed to do this, how is he supposed to…
“Castiel, you’ll play won’t you?” Brady is saying with his signature nasty
smile and Cas tries to focus on him.
“Play?” He blinks blearily at him.
“Dude’s wasted from wine coolers, oh my God,” Brady mocks and Sam frowns at
Cas. 
Jess gets up and helps Cas to his feet, tucking her arm in his and leading him
to the couch where Sam is.  “Of course Cas is gonna play Truth or Dare.”  Cas
stares at her and nods.  Trust Jess to help him stay close to her, so he can do
this to her.
So it starts.  There are a lot of kids there for the truths and dares to go
around, and for a while Cas just sits and half watches.  Half watches, because
his eyes keep straying to Jess’s cup of lemon lime soda mixed with super sweet
wine cooler, pink and bubbling and disgustingly sweet (he knows; she made him
taste it.)  Some dares are supposed to be funny, like a girl getting dared to
eat a hot pepper or a boy who had to go out front and moon the first car to
drive by.  Some are just plain stupid, like the boy who is dared to steal a
beer from Dean and his friends.  That ends with the boy being carried back in
by the seat of his pants and deposited on the floor by a very large, smiling
man named Benny. 
But let’s face it, it’s middle school truth or dare with no adults present and
most of it is sex-related.  Kids are paired off to spend minutes in Sam’s room
or the hall closet.  Kids who choose Truth get asked about crushes that are
supposed to be secret and how far have you gone and with whom?  Cas decides
then and there that if he gets picked, he’s not picking ‘Truth’.  To his
knowledge, he’s the only actual non-virgin in the room, no matter what Mick
Davies is claiming he did on his last summer vacation.
He’s in the middle of another staring contest with Jess’s cup, wondering how
the fuck he’s supposed to drug someone in real life in a crowded fucking room,
when pink-faced Sam gets dared to take Jess into the closet for 7 minutes. 
This is a chance; he has to take it. 
Cas puts his cup down next to hers; identical red plastic.  Fuck, he can’t do
this, he’s sweating.  But as soon as he thinks he can’t he thinks he has to,
and he picks up her cup and holds it.  Through his lashes, he looks around, but
nobody’s paying attention to him.  Thanks to Sam and Jess he’s surrounded by
Brady and his football friends and they’re pretending he doesn’t exist.  He
wipes his sweaty hand on his jeans and palms the pill from his pocket.  He’s
holding the pill over her cup, feeling queasy; is he going to do this, oh God,
he has to do this!  He does it, he drops the pill inside and it fizzes, the
pill immediately lost under the surface.  He swirls the cup and lifts his eyes,
scans the room.  He’s just done this monumentally criminal thing and nobody’s
even watching.  He spends the rest of the seven minutes staring into the cup
and thinking about what’s going to happen to Jess and her clear eyes, her easy
smile once someone makes her into a piece of shit like Cas.
Sam and Jess come back out and Cas can’t help but notice how pretty Sam’s lips
look, shiny with lip gloss.  Everyone catcalls and cheers the couple and they
turn into human tomatoes.   Cas bitterly thinks they haven’t even done anything
to be embarrassed for, their hair and clothes still perfectly crisp and in
place.  Some makeout session—they should have just dressed as two pristine
white angels.  Sam’s eyes find Cas immediately and the guilt is instant.  He’s
just jealous, and considering how they treat him and how he’s about to thank
them, he doesn’t have any right to sit there thinking bitchy, low thoughts.  He
is shit beneath their shoes, he’s—
“Cas, truth or dare?”
Cas looks up and forces a smile at Sam.  Obviously wanting to deflect the
attention off himself, Sam dares Cas to let him draw on his face, and when he
does, he’s not surprised that it’s whiskers and a cat nose.  Both of them
ignore Brady’s suggestion of a penis on his forehead or near his mouth.
“You already made him a pussy, and he’s got those puffy, dick-suckin’ lips,”
Brady smirks and Cas looks at him witheringly.
“Is that your thing?  Looking at guys’ lips and thinking about blowjobs?” he
snaps; he is so done with this motherfucker.  It’s not that funny, but some
kids laugh, and Brady’s fair skin turns bright red because obviously it’s the
worst thing in the world if someone thinks he’s gay.  Before he can speak, Cas
realizes it’s his turn and he’s already feeling evil given the cup of poison
he’s holding.  He wishes he could give it to Brady, let him wake up with
something stuffed up his ass and no memory of how it got there.  “Truth or
Dare, Tyson?”
Silence except for the music and then a couple of interested murmurs. 
“Dare,” Brady says, scowling, and crosses his arms, trying to look casual but
everyone can see he’s nervous.
Cas smiles. “Switch costumes with the sexy nurse blow up doll.”
Brady blinks and his friends start laughing, nudging each other.  Cas shrugs. 
“What happens in this game if someone’s a chicken shit?” he asks innocently and
Brady looks at him with real hate.
“Fuck you, you fuckin fa—,” he stops, seeing Sam tense, his lips thin.  “I’ll
do it.  No problem, asshole.”
He leaves out the front door and comes back in carrying the blow up doll and
blushing furiously as the room breaks out in laughter and catcalls.  Sam isn’t
part of it though; he leans near Cas’s face, looking concerned.  “You shouldn’t
have done that.”
Cas shrugs, pushes his face away.  “Fuck that guy.”
Sam stares at him.  “He’s gonna come at you, Cas.  And not just tonight,
either.  I can’t be with you all the time.”
Cas shrugs and looks away; maybe when this is over, Sam will come at him, too. 
He will deserve whatever he gets.
Then Brady’s back and he’s doing a walk of shame through the living room in the
white vinyl nurse’s costume, his boxers showing plainly under the short dress. 
Cas doesn’t even look; he’s staring down at the cup in his hands.  Jess hasn’t
noticed he has it yet, but any second she could…
“Whoa!  Sexy new girl comin’ through!”
“Hey, cutey, come take a selfie with me!”
Brady’s football friends are lining up to try to smack his ass, taking pictures
on their cell phones before he starts threatening to break them.  He’s trying
to act cool, laugh it off, but anyone can see he’s pissed and when he stops in
front of Cas, everyone quiets.  “Castiel, truth or dare?”
Cas looks up blankly and then bares his teeth in something that can’t be called
a smile, a look he doesn’t know he picked up from Dean.  His hate is for
himself, but Brady makes a convenient target.  “Dare,” he growls and Brady
frowns at him like maybe he’s unhinged.  (He doesn’t notice, but Sam does,
too.)
Brady glances at Sam and smiles suddenly.  “Dare you to switch underwear with
Jess…bra and panties.”
“He’s not getting my bra,” Jess announces, but other than that doesn’t seem
concerned.  Cas’s heart skips when she reaches for the cup in front of her
without looking, grimacing when she tastes beer instead of her homemade
concoction.  She frowns at the cup.
But Sam is on his feet and Jess notices, stands and puts a hand on his chest. 
He glares at Brady.  “What the fuck, man, that’s my girlfriend.”
“Oh, come on, Sam, he’s not gonna try anything…probably too scared to even look
at girl parts,” Brady laughs appeasingly, still ridiculous in the ill-fitting
nurse costume. 
“Seriously, what the fuck is your problem?” Sam starts and Jess puts her entire
body between them, both hands on him now, trying to push him back on the couch.
“It’s fine, Sam, who cares?  I know you trust Cas with me,” Jess says and
smiles, making it a joke.  Pain pulses in Cas’s stomach; he almost forgets and
sips from the cup just for something to distract him. 
“It’s not that,” Sam says, his tilted eyes narrowed and focused on Brady. 
“He’s using you to mess with Cas.  In my fucking house.”
“Cas messed with him first, he’s allowed payback,” Jess says gently.  “It’s
just a game.”
Cas stands up.  He’s not gonna get a better opportunity, and he might as well
get this over with.  “It’s fine, Sam.”
“Bet it is,” Tyson says, and his lips are smiling but his eyes spit hate at
Cas.  “Bet it is fine with you.  Probably can’t wait to put on some girl’s
underwear.”
“Yeah, great.  Coming from the kid still wearing a dress,” Cas says blandly and
Jess grabs his hand.  "If you're wondering, it does make you look fat.
“Less talking, more leaving the room, big mouth,” she hisses, dragging him away
from Brady, who’s still sputtering random curses behind him.  Cas lets her,
clutching her cup in his other hand. 
She leads him upstairs but then is uncertain; she’s never been up here before. 
“Sam’s room is this way,” he tells her, tugging her gently to the end of the
hall.  Dean’s room is dark now and he hurries past it.  He flicks on Sam’s
light and she looks around, eyes lighting on the mountains of books and
overflowing bookshelves.   Cas winces, hopes Sam won’t be too embarrassed.  He
tries stuffing Sam’s dirty clothes in his hamper, kicking strewn comic books
and dirty socks under the bed before realizing helplessly how idiotic that is,
considering what he’s about to do.  He turns, but Jess hasn’t noticed, still
running a finger over his book collection.  “Wow…he’s really smart, huh…”
Cas nods and smiles sadly, sitting on the bed.  “He’s gonna go away to college
someday.  Like maybe Ivy League or something.  I bet he gets to go wherever he
wants.”
Jess comes to sit with him and leans against his shoulder.  “You could, too,
Cas.  You’re in all the same classes as him.”
Cas looks at her from inches away and then moves abruptly so they aren’t
touching, sitting up and turning his back.  “You don’t even fucking know me,
okay?  Like just stop already, it’s just constant, all this fucking…” he turns,
frustrated, gestures at her, “niceness!  You already have Sam, you don’t have
to kiss my ass to get anything from him!”
He sees the hurt on her face and turns, wiping the back of his hand over his
mouth, feeling even angrier, wanting to scream and shout and rage (and
hating…hating himself.) 
“I…Cas!  Is that…is that what you really think?  No, I—I just like you, okay? 
I mean, not right this second…you’re kind of being a jerk!” If things were
different, he’d smile at that but he stays where he is, clutching her cup to
his stomach.  When she speaks again, her voice is soft.  “In fact, I…I’m a
little jealous of you.”
He turns and stares at her because he can’t help it; nothing about that makes
sense.  Nobody would ever want to be him, whether they knew his secret
circumstances or not. 
She’s blushing even redder than when she and Sam came back from the closet.  “I
know it’s…wrong.  Selfish.  Sam just…he loves you so much.  Sometimes it’s
like, other than his brother, you’re all he talks and thinks about.  Like you
guys have your own wavelength or something and I’m just…there.  And what’s
worse is, I can see it, too, what he sees in you…there’s just this…otherness to
you,” she looks at him, shakes her head slowly.  “Like...don't laugh,
but...sometimes I imagine you’re a stolen prince from another planet, and
someday a big spaceship’s gonna come whisk you away, and you’ll take Sam with
you when you go…and I kinda wish you’d take me, too.”
Cas’s brow furrows.  “Great, so I’m an alien.  Fancy way of calling me weird—“
“No!” she comes forward and takes her cup from him, puts it on the table and
takes his hands; he doesn’t know why he lets her.  “Not weird, special…like
maybe if I follow you around enough, I’ll find out fairies are real and you’re
one of them,” he lifts his brows now at the obvious insult there and she frowns
sternly, “Stop misunderstanding me on purpose.  There’s magic about you, Cas,”
she tells him, blue eyes wide and round, “like you know things none of us know,
secret worlds, other dimensions maybe,” he looks incredulously at her and she
smiles, embarrassed.  “Don’t laugh at me, Castiel!" he isn't, the last thing he
wants to do is laugh.  "It’s like I want to save you…protect you.  Like if
you’re far away from home, stuck surrounded by a bunch of boring, mean humans,
and you just need…hey, are you crying?”
He hugs her, tucking her face over his shoulder so she can’t see him blinking
hard.  “N-no...sorry, just being a jerk.  Uh, just…don’t tell Sam, but I drank
some of Dean’s strong stuff, his whiskey.  Makes my eyes all red and stuff.”
“What 12 year old drinks whiskey?” She pulls back and frowns disapprovingly and
he lets out a slightly broken laugh.
“An alien fairy one,” he tells her, wiping at his eyes, feeling dread settle at
the pit of his stomach. She wants to protect him, how funny.  Nobody can.
“An alien fairy fallen angel one,” she corrects, tapping her wings on his back,
but when he tries, she won’t take them back.  “We’re supposed to be switching
underwear.  I’m sure Brady’s talking nonstop crap and Sam’s gonna lose it.” 
Cas is watching her and she blushes.  “Um…can you…”
“O-oh!  I….y-yeah, sorry,” he stammers, turning, his own face feeling hot. 
“Don’t make fun of my underwear, okay?  It’s…it’s just boring, I…I didn’t think
anybody would be seeing them, so…,” she trails off.  “Hey, I’m turned around,
too, so just…just take yours off and throw them to me without looking, okay?”
“Sure,” he says softly.  He sits on the bed, takes off his sneakers and pushes
his jeans down and off.  He drags a pillow between them so even if she cheats
and turns around, she won't see the marks on his hips, the fresh ones on his
ass.  His eyes widen and his heart thumps as he remembers getting the healing
cream on his boxers earlier, but surely it’s dried by now.  He takes off the
plain navy boxers, embarrassed at how worn they are.  Deliberately, he swings
wide and manages to snag Jess’s cup, knocking it down.  He stares at it and
forgets to breathe for a second, but it’s done.  His fate is sealed.  He
doesn’t know if Jess is safe; Dean might still attack her.  But Cas won’t have
helped.  Whatever happens to him, he didn’t help rape his friend.  He widens
his eyes so the tears in them won’t fall, sits on his hands so the trembling
won’t show.  “Shit…made a mess,” he says numbly, not moving to fix it.
“Oh, Cas—um, here, put these…did you spill on your boxers, cuz that’ll suck..”
He takes a deep breath, wipes at his face.  “N-no, they’re good,” he tells her,
and looks nonplussed at the plain white cotton underwear with a simple,
small scalloped border, nothing at all like the obscene thing Dean had—but he
can’t think about that.  His stomach is churning but his brain is empty, and
not from alcohol; he feels numb like he’s in shock.  He puts on the white
panties, tight around his ass and cock, gaping at the crotch the way the other
ones hadn’t.  He sighs and puts his jeans back on.   “What…what time do you
have to go home?”
“Ten.”
A few more hours of agony.  Will Dean come in to check?  If he sees Cas, he’ll
know immediately what he’s done.  He’ll see the truth on his face.  He grabs an
old towel and wipes uselessly at the spilled drink so he can hide his white
face, his shaking hands.  He’s doomed, he’s dead.  He’s done the right thing
and the worst thing at the exact same time.  His brain holds tight to the
distance of shock, but his body is reacting, his teeth are chattering.  He
clenches his jaw shut when Jess appears in front of him, even managing a smile
for his navy boxers peeking oddly under the white puffy skirt.  He frowns down
at himself.  “I assume you won’t want these back after I’ve…been in them.”
She smiles and takes his arm, as she is wont to do and he’s glad she’s willing
to lead him around. “Let’s go get this over with and then we’ll throw them out
and never bring this up again!”
They go downstairs and endure the mockery of their classmates.  Cas isn’t
really mentally present but when he thinks back later, what will stand out is
that when Cas has to show the panties, Sam is the one who blushes.
                                       ~
Eventually Cas slips away.  He thinks about getting wasted, so that maybe he
can be passed out whenever Dean comes looking for him, but he doesn’t.   He’s
hit now and it isn’t helping; the fear is ever present, the dread all
encompassing.  He doesn’t think throwing up will help.
But he can’t tolerate the party anymore, he’s so out of step.  Even Brady’s
digs he mostly ignores, leaving Sam to respond with increasing aggression.  So
he leaves, slips upstairs to Sam’s room, feeling empty and invisible, a small
and insignificant ghost too stupid to know it’s dead.   He crawls on the small
bed and takes Sam’s pillow, hugging it desperately.  Part of him remembers this
as a safe place, Sam’s scent surrounding him, Sam’s protection…Sam.  It’s not
that Dean can’t reach him here, but when you belong to someone, they don’t have
to reach.  They just have to want you and you go. 
He doesn’t know how much time passes before Sam slips in the room and shuts the
door behind him.  He takes off his cape, tie and horns, unbuttoning some of the
buttons on his pretty red shirt.  He seems so calm, Cas doesn’t see it coming
when Sam launches himself on top of him, pinning him easily on his stomach.
Cas laughs, he can’t help it.  “What are you doing here?  Your stupid party is
downstairs.”
“You keep leaving,” Sam says simply and rolls off, lying next to him. 
They stare at each other in the dark.  Sam hadn’t turned the light on when he
came in, so all they have is a spill of moonlight from his window bathing the
top of the bed, all the rest in shadow. They can hear muffled music and
laughter through the floor but it just adds to the feeling of being safe and
separate.
“Where’s Jess?”
“Parents came to pick her up early,” Sam tells him.
“Probably gonna have some questions about those boxers,” Cas quips, but his
eyes are on Sam’s sweet face, memorizing each mole and dimple, the brightness
of his up-tilted eyes that look golden-green in the soft moonlight, the way his
chestnut bangs fringe across his forehead.  
“They trust her,” Sam shrugs and grins wickedly at Cas.  “You still wearing her
underwear?”
Cas can’t believe the quick jolt of desire he feels when Sam touches the back
of his jeans, trying to tug down the waistband slightly.  He slaps his hand
away and snorts, "yeah, actually, they’re kind of cutting off my circulation.” 
  
“Take ‘em off,” Sam tells him, and Cas peers at him.  The tone in his voice
was…odd.
“Are you buzzed or something?” Cas asks, smiling because he can’t help it. 
Buzzed Sam is adorable.
 “A little,” Sam admits.  “Does my breath smell like beer?” He breathes in
Cas’s face, making him shut his eyes and giggle.
“Smells like chocolate and beer.  Did you have some Halloween candy?”
“Oh yeah, brought you a piece,” Sam digs around in his pocket and pulls out a
bite sized Snickers bar.  Cas tries half-heartedly to take it and Sam smirks,
keeping it out of his reach.  He opens it and bites it in half, chewing
thoughtfully. 
Cas huffs a sigh.  “This is bringing it for me?”
Sam looks at him with a crafty glint in his eye.  “Oh, sorry, Cas, here…”
Cas holds out his hand and Sam snatches it away.  "Nu uh...open your mouth." 
Cas’s heart starts to quietly pound as Sam’s fingers approach his mouth.  He
licks at his lips and opens slightly.  If Dean’s taught anything, it’s how to
show off his lips to full advantage, and Sam’s eyes on them confirms it. 
Sam laughs a little incredulously ands Cas knows if he giggles, too, they’ll
stay safe in their friendship, laugh off the sudden tension.  He doesn’t.  He
watches Sam and slowly closes his mouth over the tips of his fingers, taking
the chocolate in his teeth, scraping his fingers lightly.  He chews and looks
at Sam.  “You have…there’s chocolate on your fingers,” he says quietly and
hopes Sam doesn’t notice the shaking.
Sam looks at him and he sees the thought flicker, that he could offer his
fingers to Cas, but Cas guesses he isn't quite that buzzed.  So he goes flat on
his back and licks the chocolate off his own fingers, sucking each tip one by
one.  He doesn’t mean it to be sexy, just a kid cleaning his fingers the most
expedient way, but Cas knows more about sucking fingers, about other kinds of
sucking those lips could do.  He tries to will away the image of sliding his
dick between those sugary lips, looking away from them quickly.  He tugs the
pillow from under his head onto his chest, hugging it so it covers his crotch
and hoping it seems casual.  If the panties were too tight before, that’s
nothing compared to now.  It actually hurts, the way they dig in at the seams.
“You didn’t wash off the whiskers I drew,” Sam points out and Cas looks back at
him.  They’re both on their backs now, Cas holding the pillow for dear life. 
He thinks his heart will just stop when Sam reaches toward him again, but he
just touches his hair, smoothing it back away from his forehead.  He likes it
spikey, too.  “Wish you had your ears, where are they?”
“God, will you stop teasing me about it?” Cas sulks, rolling his eyes.  “Dean
has them or I’d burn them up.”
“’m not teasin’ you,” Sam insists, his hand still extended between them and Cas
turns to look at him.  Sam rolls onto his side again, facing Cas, lifts up on
one elbow, staring down at his face and suddenly all Cas can manage is
breathing.  Sam reaches for his face…pauses, like he’s thinking about how weird
this is, but then fuck it…he traces the outlines of the whiskers, touches Cas’s
nose.  “’s like you just looked…so…I-I don’t know.  Can’t…can’t stop thinking
about it.”
Cas’s lips part in wonder; is Sam saying this, is this happening?  He licks his
lips nervously and sees Sam’s eyes track the movement. “You…you were l-
laughing…,” he says stupidly and curses himself inwardly, maybe he’ll just
remember how funny looking he really was.
“Did you…keep the jeans?” Sam asks distractedly, like he didn’t even hear what
Cas said.  His finger finds its way to Cas’s lips and he’s tracing them ever so
lightly.  “Looked so good on you…fit so nice…”
Cas feels his breathing stutter, knows Sam feels it, too, against his finger. 
Sam’s eyes are on his lips and he wants to beg, please, please, please, oh God,
please do it, Sam, please, please, kiss me…
Sam leans forward and Cas can feel his breath and then…his lips…lightly
pressing against Cas’s.  It’s like it barely happened and Cas huffs out another
shallow breath.  Sam never stops looking at his lips, pushing the pillow off
Cas’s chest so he can move closer, leaning over him now.  “Can I?  I have to…I
just…”
Cas leans up with a tiny, needy sound and takes his lips.  He touches Sam’s
face reverently and Sam laughs shakily.  “God, Cas, you’re so…” he kisses him
again but Cas needs him, he takes his shirt and pulls him closer, licking in to
his mouth, turning the sugary sweetness to fire, trying to pour some of his
inner flame into Sam’s willing mouth.  I love you, he thinks with his entire
being, kissing deeply, I love you, Sam, I love you.
“Cas!” Sam whimpers into his mouth, falling back on his side.  Cas follows,
because he is taking over the kiss, licking and sucking with all the expertise
he can master, too much and too fast for Sam’s innocent and uncertain
attempts.  Sam laughs again, breathless, he leans his head back to give his
stinging lips a break and Cas takes his throat, just as delicious as he
remembers.  He slows, trembling against Sam, feeling his heart beating as
frantic as his own.  He knows he’s too much, too frenzied and he doesn't have
permission to leave a mark.  He realizes his hard on is pressed against Sam’s,
he can’t help but grind against him.  Sam whines beautifully, a sound Cas has
never heard, but one he wants to hear another million times.  “Cas?!”  he cries
helplessly and Cas knows what he needs.
He drops to his back, pulling Sam completely on top of him and forces himself
to be still, fingers lightly playing over Sam's back.  His weight is amazing,
it’s as good as he always knew it would be, pressed under Sam like this.  He
looks up at Sam trustingly.  Take what you want, all of it, any of it, none of
it…I’m yours.  “It’s okay, Sam.”
Sam nods, his breathing steadying somewhat and he touches Cas’s chin, kissing
sweetly again and Cas can see how he feels more comfortable like this, choosing
the pace, controlling their movements.  His friend is nothing if not a quick
learner, and Cas doesn’t care anyway.  He lets himself feel this, live only in
this moment, where Sam wants him, where Sam keeps coming back to sample his
lips, taste his tongue.  Tentatively, Sam pushes his hips down and Cas’s mouth
pants open, he moans into Sam’s mouth.  Encouraged, Sam humps against him and
Cas meets his movements, lets himself pretend that Sam is really fucking him,
the way he always wants.  “Sam,” he whispers, and it’s a prayer, he hopes he
hears it.
“God, Cas,” Sam whimpers, sounding so needy, his cock feels so hard where he
presses against Cas.  Cas’s hands slide from his back up into his soft hair. 
They kiss again, desperate, sloppy, teeth clicking, and they laugh a little at
the awkwardness, but their hips never stop.  Then Sam surges forward, his face
next to Cas’s, his breath on his neck, and Cas knows he’s close, he’s going to
come.  He wraps his arms around his neck and pulls Sam as close as he can have
him, pinned down but safe for once, wanting, loving this.  He lets go in his
pants, letting out the softest sigh against Sam’s neck.  He closes his eyes and
marvels at the feeling, sweet, uncomplicated waves of pleasure, no pain or
fear, just love and light.  When Sam climbs off of him, Cas follows, unable to
let him go, and they’re on their sides again.
“I’m sorry, Cas,” Sam tells him and Cas’s heart stutters, his hand on Sam’s
side freezes…comes away.
He turns on his back and tries to breathe through the pain.  “No, me…I’m…I’m
sorry, I should…I should have…”
“Cas, no, dummy, come here,” Sam tells him, and tugs him back on his side, and
Cas is embarrassed when two tears slip out but for him it was so good, and Sam
is sorry.  “Cas, no, don’t…I just meant…you deserve better,” Sam insists,
brushing at his tears. 
Cas lets out a broken laugh and tries to turn again, shaking his head, unable
to express how he feels even if he wanted to, better than Sam, what’s better
than Sam, Cas doesn’t deserve anything close to Sam…disgusting…used…dirty
whore…But maybe Sam could use him, Cas wouldn’t mind that.  He could let him
know it’s okay…it would be so good, even that much with him.
“Cas, it’s just—Jess,” Sam stammers, quiet guilt all over his face.  “I’ll have
to tell Jess…she’ll be so hurt.  I can’t believe I…”  He trails off, shaking
his head.  “I’ll break it off.”
Cas flushes, thinking after everything, he’d managed to hurt her tonight
anyway.  But he never asked for her friendship, never deserved it in the first
place.  You’re such an asshole, Cas…
“And you, you’re not…,” Sam stutters, uncertain, but touches the side of Cas’s
face lightly and his heart swells again.  “I don’t know what’s happening…I just
keep thinking about you.  Like different than…just different.”  Sam bites his
lip and looks away, a little embarrassed, which Cas thinks is funny considering
they’re both lying there in their own come.
“Like how,” he can’t help but ask, intrigued.  Sam thinks about him?
“Don’t laugh,” Sam looks at him sardonically, like he really doesn’t expect him
to help it.  “I keep…I keep thinking about your butt.  Last night in those
jeans.”  His face goes scarlet.
Unable to help himself, Cas turns onto his stomach, ignoring the disgusting
mess that he’s now pressing down into.  “This butt?” he asks innocently,
cocking his head to the side and Sam laughs but his eyes are drawn anyway.
“Shut up…,” he murmurs lightly, but he puts his hand on Cas’s lower back,
rubbing small circles.  Cas watches his face, inwardly begging again, he wants
to feel that hand move lower, he knows Sam wants to move it.  But Sam pulls
away, lying on his back.  “I’ve gotta talk to Jess.  This isn’t fair to her. 
And you’re not just some side piece.”
Cas scrunches his nose up.  “A what?  What’s a side piece?”
Sam blushes.  “You’ve never heard Dean talk about it?” (Fear, shame, guilt,
terror, how could he forget...and oh, yeah, he isn't Sam's...he's Dean's.)
“It’s like when someone’s in a relationship but they have someone on the side
that they just have freaky sex with,” he says knowingly, and it sounds weird
from him, something he would never contemplate (although Cas would let him, if
he would…if he wanted.)  He hops up from the bed, officially breaking the
spell.  “Gonna clean up and change,” he announces, rifling through his drawers,
tossing a pair of boxers and some blue jeans similar in color to the ones he
has on to Cas.  “Here, I’ll…I’ll change in the bathroom, give you some
privacy.”
Cas senses he needs the distance and doesn’t comment on the weirdness of Sam
leaving; usually they change in front of each other without a thought.  He uses
Dean's wet wipes to clean up and changes his clothes and somehow his head is
still full of Sam.  He can't believe they kissed, that Sam gave him an orgasm,
had come because of him.  He throws out the thoroughly ruined underwear,
stuffing it down underneath other garbage so no one will notice.  He stuffs his
jeans in Sam’s hamper and makes his way down the hall, climbing into Dean’s bed
and waiting.  There’s almost a serenity in him.  Dean can kill him, but he
can’t take away the memory of Sam’s lips, Sam’s body pressing him down.  He
traces his mouth and closes his eyes, remembering Sam’s fingers there.
                                       ~
He wakes up in a panic, struggling to breathe, pain lancing through his ass,
heaviness pressing him down.  It’s absolute darkness, he can’t see but
gradually he realizes his pants and underwear are gone and he’s being fucked
hard, a merciless cock ripping into him from behind.  He’s being choked, too,
and Cas thinks he’ll probably pass out any second, seeing stars pop in front of
him.  There’s nothing to do but take it, even when he jerks his hands to try to
pry the fingers at his throat open, metal bites at his wrists.  He’s cuffed to
the headboard. 
His last thought as he loses consciousness is to wonder if Dean will let him
die.
                                       ~
The next thing he knows, he's lying in the backseat of the Impala with a towel
under him.  Based on the light outside, it's daytime, maybe very early
morning.  His throat, his ass, his legs, his arms…everything hurts.  He tries
to move and he’s still cuffed, he whimpers and there’s some kind of ball in his
mouth. 
“You’re awake,” it’s Dean’s voice, but the coldest it’s ever sounded and Cas
shivers.  Then he’s sliding on the seat as the car is yanked off the road,
coming quickly to a halt and Dean is in the back, on top of him before he can
even grasp what’s happening.  He whimpers and shakes, more terrified than he’s
ever felt in his life.
“Fucking bitch,” Dean slaps him hard and his face tells him this isn’t the
first time.  Dean does it again and blood flows from the corner of his mouth. 
He looks up at Dean, crying, not an ounce of fight in him. 
“That’s right you fucking cunt you deserve this…God, I should fucking kill
you!” Dean crawls on top of him, grinding against his smaller body, biting hard
at his neck, making Cas jolt with pain.  Dean pulls back.  “You’re thinking how
am I gonna send you home all bleeding and fucked up?  I’m not.  Your mommy
doesn’t even want you there, right?  Gonna tell her you’re staying with us,
gonna tell Sam you’re staying home for a while and you don’t want to see him.” 
Dean looks in his eyes, seeing the fresh panic his words bring..  “Hmm, don’t
like that, do we…why not?”  He releases the ball gag and Cas chokes a little,
swallowing all the extra saliva in his mouth from the gag. 
“Sam’s breaking up with Jess!  I-I…he told me, you don’t…you don’t have to do
this!”  He flinches, because Dean doesn’t have to do anything.
But Dean cups his chin almost gently.  “And why would he do that, Castiel?”
Cas is shaking hard under him.  “I…I…we…”  He doesn’t have the courage to
finish it.
Dean's face closes off again, Cas sees it, the impending violence.
“We kissed, we kissed!”  Cas screams fearfully. 
Dena looks intrigued, a little life coming back into his eyes and Cas closes
his in relief.  “You kissed…where?”
Cas blushes, and Dean laughs at the blushing virgin act.  “Just
mouths…and…we…rubbed against each other.”
“Mmm, nice,” Dean says approvingly, and he’s sitting up, tugging Cas’s cuffs to
make him sit up, too.  He winces, hisses at the pain in his ass, fresh tears
spilling as the familiar pain brings up instant shame, fear, self-hatred.  “Ass
hurts pretty bad, huh?  That's right, I had to ruin you, baby.  Because you
forgot you were mine, didn’t you.”
Cas didn’t, but this isn’t the time to contradict Dean.  “Yes, Master.”
“Anything else you guys do?  Touch each other, touch yourselves in front of
each other?”
“No, Master,” Cas whispers.  His voice sounds like sandpaper, feels worse. 
“Sam is upset he cheated on Jess.  He wanted to tell her, break it off with
her.”
Dean tsks, stroking Cas’s hair absently, but Cas doesn’t lean into the light
touch.  He doesn’t deserve it, he knows that.  “Poor Sammy…you’re such a
fucking slut, Cas, look what you made him do.  Now he can never say he’s never
cheated on anybody…12 years old and a cheater, that’s fucked up.”
Cas cries harder.  “I-I told him I was s-sorry.”
“Good, you should be…because it’s your fault, isn’t it.”
“Yes, Master.  I’m a slut, I made him do it.”
“You sure did, baby.  But you got the job done by being a whore, so that counts
for something.”
Cas simply stares at his cuffed hands.
“Still really pissed at you, Cas.  You’re a very, very bad boy.  A very bad
slave.  I’d kill you if I didn’t still want to fuck you so bad.”
Cas shudders and says nothing.  Then Dean is grabbing at him, pulling him into
his lap with his legs spread in a way that makes his hole scream with agony but
he just moans and allows it, allows anything.  Dean grabs his hair and looks at
him from inches apart.  “You’re mine, you fucking fucking little shit…all
mine.  Do you agree?”
“Yes,” Cas wails.  “Yours, please, Master!”
“No, you’re lying, you’re fucking…your lying goddamn mouth, fuck…” he shoves
Cas down between his legs and unzips, dragging Cas forward and forcing his lips
around his dick, shoving his head down, controlling the blowjob.  “That’s it,
that’s what a whore mouth needs…fuck yeah that’s it bitch….”  Eventually he
comes and it’s not a lot this time.  Given how sticky Cas is, the way he
smells, he thinks Dean must have come on him and in him already several times
since last night.  Dean picks him up easily and shoves him across to the
passenger seat.  Cas doesn’t buckle in, doesn’t do anything, just sits there
huddled in on himself, waiting for the new pain in his throat to dissipate. 
Dean slams in the driver’s seat and starts the car.  His soft, wet dick is
still out and then he’s grabbing Cas by the hair, shoving his face in his lap. 
“Keep it in your mouth unless I tell you different.”  Cas obeys, wrapping his
lips around it and suckling lightly, noisily.  Usually it’s something he takes
comfort from but there’s none of that today.  Dean drives off again.  "Takin'
you where bad boys learn to be good."  
He doesn't say anything else about it.
***** If You're Not Mine, You're Nothing *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean takes Cas to the Punishment Room, and with a different kind of
     victim, it brings up different memories. Cas will do anything to get
     Dean back, because as Dean says, Dean is all he has.
Chapter Notes
     Dean's really mad. The chapter is longish (not as long as last
     chapter) and he's still sort of mad by the end. Mostly punishment,
     verbal, physical, and sexual abuse (Dean likes to hit all his bases).
Dean is still furious.
He just doesn’t understand it.  Two years of being a nearly perfect slave.  Cas
protests nothing that Dean asks, or even if he does, it's only the cute, sexy
whiny kind of protests that he does while he's already getting into position to
do whatever it is Dean wants.  And he never protests after he’s been punished. 
Spanking, whipping...a rough fuck, a few well-placed threats.  He's never
needed anything more to keep him in line since the first time he fucked him. 
His soft little slave, so bendable, so perfectly broken, running to submit with
a smile, a kiss. 
Until now.
Between everything he did to Cas when he found him lying so innocently in his
bed and the blowjob he just forced down his throat, Dean’s dick is
oversensitive.  Cas's lips and tongue are more of an irritation than anything,
but Dean doesn’t yank him off.   That kind of thing is nothing to him (Santa-
looking man holding him down, won’t stop touching, hurts, too much, too
much..."say ‘I love you, Daddy’, and I’ll stop”…crying, screaming, furious,
doesn’t know many bad words, meanest thing he can think of “Hate you, Hate you,
Fat Old Man, St-stop!”)  Winchesters have naturally high pain tolerances, and
Dean’s has certainly been…honed over the years.  Cas's attention now just
serves to keep him angry at the little fuck (literally, that’s what he is) and
Cas should be useful.  If he’s going to be a shit slave, then he can just be a
body for Dean to use. 
The bunker is somewhat remote, and he mentally apologizes to his Baby for
dragging her over unpaved roads to the middle of nowhere.  When he pulls up to
the ugly brick and concrete building, he parks and pushes Cas away none too
gently.  He tucks himself in and zips up, and when he gets out, he yanks Cas
out with him like he’s no more than a doll.  He lets go and Cas immediately
falls, crying out when he hits the ground.  He struggles back to his feet, made
more difficult since his hands are cuffed in front of him, letting little pain
sounds escape him.  “Sorry, Master,” he whispers. 
Dean ignores him, tugging his beat up green duffel bag from the trunk.  He
swings it over his shoulder and turns to find Cas leaning against the car. 
It’s obvious he’s going to have trouble walking.  Dean sighs impatiently and
picks him up.  He’s 12 but slender and short for his age; Dean can still carry
him as though he were younger.  It’s slightly awkward with Cas cuffed, but he
holds lightly to Dean’s shoulder as though he thinks even the pressure of his
fingers will set Dean off again.  He’s shivering in his arms and Dean guesses
aside from scared, he’s probably pretty cold.  He’s still in his clothes from
yesterday but with no jacket, unlike Dean, who has his Dad’s leather one.  Dean
had redressed him hastily when it was still dark out this morning, once he made
sure Cas’s ass wasn’t too ripped apart. 
It really wasn’t that bad, not like he went in dry.  Cas's hole might be small
but he gets fucked on the regular.  And though he’d laid the towel to protect
Baby just in case, he hadn’t bled through his jeans.  But he’d wanted to hurt
him, been gratified to see streaks of pink on his dick when he was finished. 
Then he’d done other things to his unconscious body, bit him, marked him,
turned him into the come slut he really was.
Still not enough, so they’d had to come here.
He carries Cas behind the building to a flight of stairs that lead down to the
bunker.  Cas frowns distantly at it and Dean notices.  “This is a bunker, Cas. 
This is where I took your…it’s where I brought Jimmy for his punishment. 
Pretty crazy right?  Surrounded by woods, so even if I brought somebody out
here and by some miracle they escaped, how long would it take them to find
help?  How hard would it be, you think, to get away from me?”
Cas sags a little in his arms.  “Don’t wanna get away from you Master.  Wanna
stay yours.”
It’s such a perfect thing to say, and it enrages him.  He dumps him on the
ground and enjoys hearing him cry out in pain.  “See, you fucking say that…you
always say that, but how can that be, when I told you to drug some little cunt
and you chose not to do it?”  He grabs Cas by his hair, liking the whimpering. 
Cas is crying again, and that’s what he needs to be doing.  Dean’s gonna see if
he can make the little bitch run out of tears. “Come on, bitch, speak up…how
can that be, you useless little boycunt?”
“M-mas-ter…ple-ease,” Cas begs, his little voice already so hoarse. 
“Fuck you, Cas.”  He shoves his head away and crouches near the sniveling
shaking little thing.  “What should we do next hmm?  I can barely get you
inside…I already wanna beat and fuck you until you black out again.”  He waits
for some kind of response but Cas is apparently already too broken for that. 
Dean shrugs and tosses him without warning over his shoulder (hurting him--
apparently all movements hurt him now, and Dean isn’t close to gentle).  “No,
you’re right.  Gotta do things good and proper.  Bad boys go to the Punishment
Room.” 
He carries Cas down the stairs and opens the heavy door, locking them inside. 
He takes him down a hall with jarring fluorescent lighting overhead.  There are
wide open spaces down here, too that Dean mostly ignores.  Pastor Jim had
equipped this place with actual amenities.  It has its own power and running
water, so it has a full bathroom, a pantry, a kitchen, a sitting area (God
forbid rich pedos have to stand while they wait their turn to fuck a first
grader.)  Dean thinks there might even be a TV in there, but he never looks
around.  He takes the one hallway that he knows, the one where he spent all his
time.  That's all he needs.
The first room they come to is the one he never goes inside, and there’s a
musty smell coming from it when they pass.  Why should he use that fucked up
fake toddler room, when he fucks his slave in the comfort of his home?  He
doesn’t need to go pay some asshole for the pleasure of his company like some
bitch who isn’t man enough to take his own risks, find and mold his own slave. 
And he sure as shit doesn’t fuck his baby for the camera, for money.
He…can’t say it never crosses his mind.  Not selling them, filming them, fuck
no.  Keeping them.  He could fix the two rooms up differently…one boy each…and
when they’re extra good, he could let them sleep in one bed…he’d even make sure
they had light at night (unless he was super pissed off). 
Just a thought he has sometimes. (“Can I go outside today, Dean?  I promise
I’ll be good…”…”Maybe, Sammy…if you’re a really good boy…show me…”) A thought,
a fantasy, no more. He’s not gonna lock Sam up.  He doesn’t think he’ll have to
lock Cas up.  Once they get past this little problem.
At the end of the hall is Dean’s favorite room; he gets excited as he gets
close.  He’s proud of himself, that he took this room as his own considering
what it once meant for him.  He feels as comfortable inside it as he does
behind the wheel of Baby.  This room was supposed to break him down, and it
did.  Whoever Mary Winchester’s son was supposed to be had died a final death
in that room, but something stronger grew up in his place.  The man who could
carve flesh, who craved screams and terror and submission.  He became the bad
thing in the dark. 
“Welcome home,” he says to Cas, because he wants to be cruel, and because it’s
true that he intends to leave him in here until he’s satisfied that Cas
understands what and who the fuck he is, at all times, in all ways. 
Dean’s bitch.
He sets him down on his feet, holding his shoulders to help him stand.  He
wants to enjoy his reaction.  He sees the reddened blue eyes take in the
windowless walls, the ominously stained floor, the gross buckets, and filthy
mattress.  Unconsciously, Cas steps back closer against Dean, trying to huddle
against him.  “Are…,” he tries, but his voice is pure gravel, clearing his
throat just makes him cough. 
Dean sighs.  He digs out a water bottle from his duffel bag and cracks open the
seal, putting the opening to Cas’s lips.  Obediently Cas sips, and this is
slightly calming to Dean, who likes docile, helpless Cas a lot. 
“Try again.”
Cas presses his back even closer to Dean, eyes still wide and afraid, lips
trembling prettily, stuttering like he did so often when Dean first started
touching him.  “A-are y-you go-onna...h-hurt me…li-ike Ji-mmy…” his eyes touch
on some dark stains that look brown, but could certainly have been red when
fresh. 
“Jimmy…he bled so pretty for us, Cas…made his ass bleed, too, just for you, and
look how you repay me for keeping you safe.”  He feels his rage surge again,
fed as always by being here.  So good.  “No, I’m not gonna do that to you, not
that you don’t deserve it.  Told you…I still want you and I’m gonna fuckin’
have you.”
Fresh tears spill suddenly from Cas, a choked little sob from his lips.  “I-
I didn’t w-want to l-let you doown, Master.  Just—“
“No, shut up,” Dean tells him and his words cut off as suddenly as if his hand
had wrapped around his throat.  “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to hear your
whining excuses.  Right now all I want is to hurt you some more.”
Cas’s slender shoulders curl in, his head ducks down, but his hands never move
to protect himself.  Dean rubs his hands down his sides, liking the frightened
little flinch that he gets, the tiny whimper of fear.  "Look around,
Cas...isn't it so nice?  This is where I had to go whenever I was naughty, and
now it's where I take naughty boys."
 Cas sniffles...wipes at his face.  "Y-you were...h-here?"
“Yeah, lots of times.  Fought so much, lotta times he hadda tie me down or," he
takes Cas's wrists, shakes the cuffs playfully, "chain me up...then he'd whip
me, spank me, whatever.  Tell you what's even worse than pain, Cas, and I
know...you're hurtin' right now, you won't believe me.  But bein' left here is
worse.  Gets so dark in here, like bein' blind.  And so cold...just makes it
hard to sleep, and time passes so slowly.  Broke me in the end, Cas, and I was
a hell of a lot stronger than you’ll ever be.  Know that, don’t you...so
fuckin' weak, you're in way over your head, tellin' me no,” he yanks Cas back
against him and sucks his neck, tasting leather because the collar is partially
in his way.  “Gonna iron out this last little bit of fight, so you can be mine,
just like you were always meant to be.  Want that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master, “ Cas whispers, tilting his head to bare his bruised, battered
neck, still smelling and tasting very much like Dean’s come mixed with his own
sweat and fear.  “Your...y-your M-master brought y-you?”
Dean’s mouth stills.  “No.  I was never his.  I was never anybody’s.  They just
used me because they could...beautiful and weak, right Cas?  Lucky, aren’t
you…got me protectin’ you from that.”
Cas turns in his arms, tries to push himself against Dean.  “Yes,
Master…please, please help me be yours again.”
Dean’s body is hollowed out, frozen in place.  He feels the boy pressed to his
stomach, his crotch, the delicate body that he knows every inch of pushed up
against him, the tiniest most insignificant kisses trailing over his
collarbone, delicate hands lightly touching the waistband of his jeans,
fiddling with the button, his way of asking permission, which 9 times out of 10
he gets. 
Dean grabs him by his shirts and slams him against the concrete wall so that
their faces are even and Cas’s feet don’t touch the ground, making Cas cry
out.  “You think that’s gonna work?  You do what you want and you…you fuckin’
workme like that, and I’ll just what…let it go?!”
“No, n-no! S-s-sorry M-ma—“
“Shut up!” Dean puts a hand over his mouth, shaking with sudden rage.  “I was
right, this is what you need…cuz the way you are right now?  You just changed
my mind...I don't want you,” he spits the words in his face, gratified when
Cas’s eyes go wide and pleading, tears flowing over Dean’s hand.  Even now he
tries to shake his head frantically.  “Get that kid?  You don’t obey, you’re
not worth my fucking time.  And maybe I should leave you here to die in the
dark—and oh, baby, when I tell you dark…ain’t no dark like you’ll get in this
place.”
Cas shudders, still trying to shake his head, and Dean smiles cruelly, “How
relieved will Mommy be, Cas?  The one little boy in the world that can go
missing and nobody gives a fuck, yeah?  That’s you?  Tell me.  Say it.”
Tears are pouring when Dean moves his hand, but Cas can’t hold eye contact
anymore.  “N-no…nobody g-gives…”
“G-g-gives…,” Dean mocks and Cas stops, flushing with shame.  “I would’ve,
Cas.   I would’ve cared.  I would’ve let you touch my Sammy, even though you
know…you know you’re not good enough for any of him.  Fucking mistake, that’s
what that would’ve been.”
Cas's breathing looks labored, his body sagging where Dean holds him, looking
like he wants to be sick from sheer agony and self loathing.  Like he’d do
anything to make the pain stop.
Satisfied, Dean drags him to the disgusting old mattress and shoves him down on
it on his back.  He looks so beautiful--small tear-stained face, dark marks at
his throat, delicate hands cuffed in front of him.  He's so gorgeously meek and
terrified.  Dean could tear him apart if he wants, but he'll give his dick a
break. “Ain’t even worth another rape.  See ya, Cas.  Trust me, 24 hours alone
in the dark’ll do you wonders.  Just wait til you have to go to the bathroom
with your ripped up little hole and cuffed hands.  Even if I do come back, I'll
probably be too disgusted to want you.”
He turns but Cas surprises him, lunging forward as if to try to stop him, but
he can't brace since his hands are cuffed so he just falls half off the
mattress, the rest of him on the ground at Dean's feet.  “Please, ple-ease, d-
don’t leave me, Mmas-t-ter, I-I'll be good!  Please take me...wanna be with
you!”
Dean doesn’t really understand him, he’s crying so hard, so he lets him repeat
it until he gets the gist.  Then he reaches under Cas, grabs the handcuffs and
dumps him back on the mattress.
Cas wails but stays where he's dropped, blue eyes pitiful and shining with
tears.  “Noo, don't leave me...need you, Master!”
That one sends a shiver of excitement down his spine, but Dean makes himself
keep walking.  It’s just that it’s nothing like the way Cas said those words in
the old days.  He means it.  Dean would swear he means it.  And something tells
him it isn't the dark or being trapped alone in this remote, disgusting place. 
He truly wants to go with Dean, knowing Dean could (and would) just keep
beating and fucking him until he's satisfied.
He shuts the iron door behind him…hesitates, imagining he can hear muffled
crying and begging.  He can't, not unless he presses his ear to the door...the
walls in that room eat up sound like crazy.  He realizes how much he wants to
hear it again.
Bullshit.  He’s gonna do what he fucking planned because this is how it's
done.  Cas crossed a line and he needs to be severely reminded of his place. 
So Dean's gonna go book a motel room nearby (he knows this place probably has a
normal bedrooms somewhere, but he's not staying here...if he ever decides to
use the parts of this place that belonged to that fucking...those rich
pussies...he'd have to change it all, make it his first.)  He's still wired,
but he probably needs to crash; unlike Cas he hasn't slept since the night
before the party, the night he'd fucked his sweet kitty Cas, not knowing the
little shit would turn on him one day later.  That would give Cas a few hours
to let the dark and cold mess with his head before Dean came back nice and
fresh and ready to hear some screams.
That's the plan, and it's a good one, effective.  So why isn't he leaving?  He
wanders sort of slowly until somewhat reluctant steps take him to the other
door.  The creepy one.  He’s a man, though, and he isn’t afraid of anything in
this world or the next.  So he steps in the doorway, immediately overcome with
old feelings of disgust, hatred, and fury. 
It’s exactly the way he’d seen it last, just yellowed with age, covered in a
thick layer of dust and wafting the smell of decay.  Spiders that had been
occasional guests during his frequent stays had taken over the corners on the
ceiling, thick webs with dark shadowy bodies and gossamer strings layered in
dust connecting from ceiling to walls.  But there is the (aged and
peeling) cartoon train border on the wall that matches the yellowed bedspread
(he can still see all the stains, even if they’re only in his mind.)  The
stuffed animals are still in their sinister jolly display,  artfully ranged
around the bed and faded with age, yet obviously never played with.  When he
first used to come, he would tear them apart, especially when the johns wanted
him to hold the animal during, or worse, use it to rut against.  So he’d
destroy it, hands and teeth, bitter triumph over animals that smiled the whole
time he was being...anyway, they always got replaced by some new pastel-colored
nightmare.  Waste of energy, pulling fluff from pretend animals when he can try
to use his teeth and little fists and feet on people.  Eventually the ones who
didn't want him fighting just tied him down…he was apparently still worth it,
even if he ruined their fantasy of the little boy who loves to be fucked.  He
doesn’t know how they found an o-ring gag in size kindergartner.  Kiddy
fuckers, or the ones that came to him anyway, seem to have unlimited funds. 
Maybe it was specially made for him. 
Intellectually he knows they broke him; doesn’t he tell Cas that?  He knows he
had days where they made him behave, however reluctantly, however gritted his
tiny teeth and vicious his wet eyes.  He knows there were days (maybe weeks, he
really hates to think it could've been weeks) when he needed a real toilet and
shower, a real bed to sleep in, or maybe just to see the hand in front of his
face.  But he won’t let himself dwell on those memories.  Instead, he remembers
the fight with clarity.  The little triumphs, the times he scared johns, made
them cry and run away if they were soft and insecure.  He remembers times he
only growled and snarled when Pastor Jim tried to bribe and threaten him,
trying to salvage another ruined “session”.  He remembers laughing mockingly
and using the best sing-song insults that he knew (which ironically got better
as they taught him more and more foul language).  They beat him because he was
small and weak and that’s how it goes, but he fought back anyway, and he takes
pride in that.
Why is he thinking about this?
He’s preoccupied enough that he winds up back in front of the Punishment Room
without realizing he was headed there.  He touches the cold metal and shivers. 
He remembers how cold it used to get, the concrete and metal sucking all the
heat from the room, no blanket or pillow, just whatever clothes he had on to
huddle in (given that he was usually shoved in here directly after a so-called
"session", sometimes that was very little).  He hears a sound, and it’s not in
his memory, it’s now.  Tiny scratches…he kneels down, and realizes it’s Cas,
scratching at the door.  He presses his ear against it, ignoring the cold, used
to it now.  It’s muffled, but Cas is on repeat again, so he eventually makes it
out.
“Master…please come back…need you…”
He guesses he’s pressed to the door, he’s sure he is.  Curious, how different
Cas is…Dean had always made his way to the door, too, but beating his fists and
kicking small sneakers against metal, screaming like a wild thing until he lost
his voice and his little feet were bruised.  He broke his finger early on 
(still crooked now), he remembers, and how excited Pastor Jim had been when
he’d seen it, “I’ll let you out, Dean-o, if you crawl like the little baby you
are…crawl to me and ask for my cock, babywhore.” 
Cas is twice the age he was, yet sweetly pleading.  Dean abuses him and he
still turns to him to be saved.  If Dean had been like Cas, he’d never have had
to spend time in this room.  Cas might be a shit slave for Dean, but he’d make
an amazing whore.
Dean grits his teeth against an irrational surge of anger at the thought.  He
presses his ear to the door again, addicted to the soft, hoarse begging, the
hitching weeping sounds.  Cas, calling for his Master to save him.  And
suddenly his memory is so strong, he feels like he can hear an even smaller
voice weeping and choking, young and helpless, not calling for Master but a
Mommy who loved him well.
It doesn’t do any good to think about the parts where he wasn’t fighting. 
Parts where a small boy already tried everything he could but now so many hours
passed in the dark and cold, with no Daddy to save him or little brother to
look after and cuddle and kiss (not that he'd ever want his Sammy here, but he
misses him, wants him so bad).  And his throat hurt and his bottom and his
finger really hurt and looked bent and purple and weird.  And he did
everything, everything to make this stuff stop and he couldn’t.  They were big
and strong, and he just couldn’t get them to stop.
His Daddy wouldn’t care this is happening, didn’t listen.  Be a man, handle
it.  He was, he was trying so hard.  But maybe after all those hours, in the
dark with nobody to see or hear, no cameras to film his shame, his tears were
more sad than angry.
And maybe sad isn't the word either.  Maybe he remembered his Mommy and missed
her so, so bad; maybe his small chest ached with how much he wished she could
just come back.  Maybe he was so sorry that he used to shove her away when she
kissed and held and loved on him too much, because he always had rough, manly
stuff to do, especially follow Dad around (until Sammy was born and then he had
the all-important job of Big Brother).
She would be on his side if she were here, if she knew.  She’d never make him
come here.  She'd have listened the first time and she’d shoot Pastor Jim dead,
even if she had to go to jail.  He knew that about her.  One time they got
mugged in the park by a guy with a knife and his Mommy hadn’t even been
scared.  Instead of a wallet she pulled out a gun, and she made Dean get her
cell phone to call the police.  His Mommy had been tough, and she loved Dean
around the world and back again.
It doesn’t do any good to think about crying for his Mom, while simultaneously
hoping she couldn’t see him where she was in Heaven. 
But he is thinking of it, however reluctantly.  Somehow, Cas is making him. 
It’s not an emotional connection...he can remember what he was thinking and
feeling, but it's almost like looking in on someone else's memories.  But
suddenly he hates that he'd felt compelled to follow the example of Pastor Jim
and his ilk with his boy.  Cas isn’t meat to be sold, to be used by any man (or
woman) who could afford to pay.  He’s Dean’s, every particle of his being
belongs to him, every breath he takes is on Dean’s sufferance.  He needs to
punish this rebellion out of him, and he will…but he will do it as his Master,
his Owner, his everything.  For Dean, the Punishment Room has been a place to
bring bad men that he hates and paint the floor with their bodily fluids.  Must
Cas be there, too, after one transgression in two years of beautiful
submission?  Besides, if he can't bring Cas to heel, this room would still be
waiting.  Now that Cas knows it exists, now that he knows this side of Dean
exists, maybe he’ll be more careful.  
Cas has to back up so the door can open, but he’s still huddled on the floor. 
He’s a mess, and Dean is suddenly itching to get him clean and smelling good. 
He breaks into fresh tears, hiding his face in his hands, and Dean crouches
next to him without touching.  He sighs.  "I don't wanna leave you here, Cas. 
I'm just still so fucking pissed at you.  Gonna need you to do everything I say
if you wanna come with me."
Cas nods, taking gulping, hitching breaths, wiping at his eyes and nose with
his sleeve.  He kneels and Dean sees every wince of pain.  Cas keeps his eyes
down this time, which is good.  Helpful, for what Dean needs in order to do
this another way.
“You will not speak to me, unless it’s to answer a direct question.  You will
not beg or plead or say anything that doesn’t directly involve what I asked. 
If you have an emergency, you have to go to the bathroom or you really, really
need my attention, you can raise your hand or lightly tug on my shirt, and I’ll
ask you what you need so you can speak.  If you misuse that privilege, I’ll
punish the shit out of you, and you’ll lose it. Do you understand that part?”
“Yes, Master,” Cas whispers in his ruined voice.
“You will not touch me or yourself unless I order you to do it.  You’re useless
until I tell you otherwise, whether it’s to get into certain position, or
stand, or wait, or kneel.  For the most part, expect that I will put you
however I want you.  I’ll handle you and you won’t do anything I don’t tell you
to do…if you tell me you have to go to the bathroom, I’ll take you there, pull
down your pants, and maybe even hold your dick while you pee if that’s what I
want.  Get it?  You’ll do nothing, not even wipe your own ass, unless I tell
you to do it.  Do you understand that part?”
“Yes, Master,” Cas repeats carefully.
“Good.  And here’s the last thing about this room that you need to know before
I take you out of here,” he kneels in front of Cas and lifts his chin…looks him
in the eye and says very calmly, “This is where I’ll kill you, Cas.  If you
ever make me, if you ever try to be anything but mine.  I’ll kill you in here
and burn you to ashes so I can carry you with me forever.  Do you understand
that part? ”
Cas swallows but doesn’t look away, tearful eyes still desperate.  “Y-yes, Mas-
ter.”
“All right,” Dean casts one last look around, seeming almost serene now.  He
makes Cas stand so he can scoop him up with a hand behind his back, one under
his knees, and is pleased when Cas doesn’t automatically circle his arms around
his neck the way he usually does.  “Go ahead, put your arms around me,” Dean
tells him and he does, looping them over Dean's head since his wrists are still
cuffed.  Dean presses his head against his chest and carries him out, shutting
lights and locking the bunker behind him as they go.  He carries him to the car
and puts him in the passenger seat, buckling him in this time.  He stops and
looks him over.  “Still pretty pissed at you, Cas.  Think you got a lot of
punishment coming before I’ll feel better.”
Cas nods fervently, eyes down, fingers curled anxiously.  “Yes, Master.”  He
doesn’t add on, but Dean knows what he wants to say.  Want to be punished.
“You will be, Cas,” Dean answers the unspoken addition.  “You will be.”
 
                                    * * * 
 
Cas’s entire head is full of Dean.
He has to win him back.  What will he do if Dean doesn’t want him anymore? 
He’s right, if he doesn’t care, there’s no one, because even Sam only cares for
a fake Cas.  He wouldn’t want this twisted, disgusting reality.  Dean almost
hadn’t wanted it either anymore.  He’d seen it on his face, when he’d had him
against the wall.  Those things he said, the threats…he’d meant them.  Cas has
to be everything he wants, no matter what.  
He watches out the window and tries to concentrate on calming his breathing. 
It takes some doing, because his nose is stuffy and his head is killing him,
among other body parts.  He wonders if it counts as an emergency to ask for
some kind of aspirin.  He bets not.  Slowly, he tugs his sleeve over his right
palm and presses his mouth and nose to the fabric, letting the sounds get
muffled.  He feels a bit better, not being so noisy.
Dean wasn’t kidding about that place being in the middle of nowhere, but
eventually the scenery changes though Cas still doesn’t know where they are. 
It doesn’t look like any kind of nice neighborhoods, just homes with yards full
of junk that lead to little towns with what looked like bars and strip clubs
and graffiti.  This is where Dean chooses a motel that looks even worse than
the one they went to with Meg.  Still in the car, he calls Sam (Cas feels the
smallest, most distant twinge of something, but it’s followed so immediately by
the uncomfortable rush of terror…shouldn’t be thinking of anything but Dean) to
let him know he’s going to be out all day and night, but their Dad had said he
should be getting back that night.  The eye rolling and appeasing that comes
next makes Cas think Sam is insisting he can take care of himself. 
Dean gets them a room with two twin beds, presumably because it’s better not to
announce that he’s going to share a bed with a small boy.  Cas is tense,
looking around at scantily clad women and young men, other tough looking types,
but Dean seems perfectly comfortable.  “It’s fine, Cas,” he whispers, once
again reading his mind (a good sign).  “I’m packing and they know it.  Nobody’s
fucking with us.”
Dean lets them in a room decorated in a grating mustard yellow, but he makes
them change rooms when he sees the state of the tub.  The man at the front desk
is only annoyed until Dean drops a hundred on the table and smiles. 
Suddenly he remembers a room with a newer tub.  Dean approves and they move up
a few floors.  The man also happens to mention that there’s nobody in either of
the adjacent rooms, with a meaningful look in Cas’s direction.  Cas blushes;
the man thinks Dean paid for him.  Dean picks him up again and they move to a
salmon pink room, that does look slightly less…come laden. 
Dean asks if he has to go to the bathroom and he says no, but is told that he
has to try anyway.  Dean does just as he threatened he might, carrying Cas into
the bathroom in front of the toilet, pulling down his pants and underwear and
holding his little dick over the toilet.  It would be humiliating if Cas could
manage even a grain of pride right now, but there’s nothing.  Dean can do
anything to him, make him do anything.  Cas is surprised when it turns out he
really did have to pee, and after a moment he lets loose a steady stream.  It’s
as though his body just wasn’t telling him about it since he has so much else
to worry about.  Dean wants to know if he wants to try to poop, but looks like
he already knows the answer.  Whatever cuts Cas has down there are going to
reopen every time he goes to the bathroom for at least a few days, depending on
how severely Dean damaged him.  It’s something they both know, so he just
shakes his head miserably and Dean tucks him away again. 
Cas is running on pure adrenaline and terror, but his body is trembling with
exhaustion, so he’s glad when Dean lays him on one of the beds.  Dean doesn’t
tell him he can get under the blankets, so he doesn’t, even though he’s dying
for it.  He feels so raw and battered, dragged inside and out, and it isn’t
even over.  He doesn't know what to expect next, but it isn't for Dean to strip
down to boxers and get into the other bed without acknowledging him. 
It hurts.  Dean has never wanted to sleep far away from Cas, and he's never
needed to be held more.  He reminds himself he's lucky to be this close to
Dean, when he could still be left to rot in that awful place.  He shivers and
blinks back tears, tired of himself and crying.  Mercifully, bone weariness
takes him, and he sleeps, if fitfully.  He thinks he wakes once hearing the
door shut and lock, and he definitely jolts awake when the door opens again and
Dean walks back in with a few bags and his duffel from the car.  Cas remembers
just in time not to sit up until Dean tells him. 
He doesn’t.  He lifts him from the bed and takes him in the bathroom.  He sets
him on his feet and finally uncuffs his wrists.   Cas resists the urge to rub
them.  His wrists are red but not cut, and that’s something at least. 
Dean undresses him completely, and that part is almost soothing.  It makes Cas
feel like he did when he was small and someone had to do everything for him. 
As the clothes come off, Cas can’t help but stare at the marks littering his
ivory skin.  He sees fresh bruises and teeth marks, scratches and the red-
purple welts on his bottom that he forgot about.  The line that was at his
throat yesterday morning seems to be much worse; he can see purple and black
even on parts that his collar doesn’t cover.  When Dean takes the collar off,
Cas has to look away.
It looks like someone tried to kill him.
Dean runs his hands over each mark, but he doesn’t mouth at them like he
usually likes.  Cas figures it’s because he really is painted disgustingly in
dried semen, his ass, his stomach, his neck.  He feels like he probably cried
some of it off his face.  He doesn’t react though, he still feels exhausted and
completely docile.  His blue eyes are dull and empty in the mirror, even if
they are still swollen from crying. 
Dean runs the tub and pours in bath bubbles that he apparently just bought, but
this isn’t one of their sessions where he babies Cas.  He still does all the
work, not wanting Cas to participate at all except to lift his arms or legs
when he’s asked to do it.  But the water is scalding hot and Cas hisses, even
cries out, especially when Dean forces his bottom under the water.  The heat is
cruel and burning against open wounds, made worse by the soap from the bubbles
that makes everything sting, each wound coming back to life.  Dean is watching
him closely as he adjusts, and he keeps his eyes averted, even when Dean takes
out a scrub brush.  He grits his teeth, but pain sounds escape him, and it
isn’t long before he’s full out crying, even screaming into his wet little
hands.  Dean is ruthless with it and by the time he’s done, Cas’s skin is red
and raw.  He keeps crying as Dean washes his hair, even though that part
doesn’t hurt and the water has cooled just enough by then. He feels like he
lost a layer of skin, and can’t help but notice tiny drops of red in some
places. 
When he’s cleaner than he’s probably ever been and seemingly out of tears, Dean
lifts him out and dries him thoroughly with a towel, leaving him naked.  He
puts lotion all over him that feels jarringly cold in the steamy hot bathroom. 
He doesn’t massage it in like he usually does, just rubs roughly, yet there
isn’t an inch untouched (even his little dick, which had at least been spared
the scrub brush…his ass hadn’t been so lucky, and he wonders how he ever
thought three welts weren't that bad.)  The lotion does start to soothe his
poor abused skin, but Dean doesn’t let him dress, putting on his collar only. 
Neither of them have spoken since it began. 
Dean takes Cas out of the bathroom and he immediately starts shivering, the
difference in room temperature sending chills down his naked spine.  He is
carried to the bed nearest the bathroom, furthest from the door and Dean
sits him down on it.  The first thing he does is put the ballgag back in his
mouth, which tells Cas it’s time for more screaming…as if there’s anything left
of his voice.  He arranges him on his stomach and cuffs him to the headboard.
Cas buries his face in the bed and makes a breathy, helpless sound (lost as it
is against the gag) when he hears the jingle of Dean’s belt being unbuckled. 
He listens, heart pounding, and yes, there’s the sound of the belt clearing the
loops on his jeans.  It’s made with good, thick leather; Dean is a tall, sturdy
man, and it’s a man’s belt he uses.  He doesn't use it often on Cas, and never
for very many lashes.  He doesn't usually have to, Cas thinks, wistful and
ashamed.  But Cas has been terrified of it since the day he watched Sam get
whipped into submission...and Cas thinks Dean might be even angrier today.
It starts, and Cas is quickly lost to agony that grows with each lash.  There’s
no counting, no ‘thank you, Master’.  No lessons or questions.  Just Dean’s
leather belt, snapping across welts that are less than a day old, and making
new ones bloom, across the small cheeks and the sensitive backs of his thighs
that have never known such abuse.  17 lashes, so that added to the three from
the day before it’s 20 and if there is significance to that number, Dean
doesn’t share it. By the fifth strike, Cas is writhing so much that Dean has to
put an arm across the backs of his knees, the strength of the next blow even
harder, Dean's way of saying 'stay fucking still', as if that's possible.  By
the seventeenth strike, he's just screams and tears, and he would give anything
to make it stop.  Dean finally puts the belt down, dropping it loudly on the
end table next to Cas's head, and Cas moans in relief, still squirming as he
tries to crawl out of his burning, aching skin.
He’s still crying and struggling to breathe with his nose completely stopped
and his mouth gagged when he feels a familiar weight behind him on the bed.  He
is limp and unresisting when Dean lifts his hips and shoves a pillow under
him.  He feels hands pull his abused cheeks apart and blissfully cold lube
poured lavishly over his hole,   There’s lube and careful fingering and when
Dean finally pushes inside him, starts fucking him, his strokes are nowhere
near rough, but it doesn’t matter.  He’s ripped somewhere and it reopens
easily.  He doesn’t pass out this time, just lays there and takes it, weeping
like a baby.  His small dick stays soft and Dean's hands don't wander, his
mouth never touching Cas's skin.  The sex is cold, like those times Dean just
uses him, and Cas knows how much he is hated right now.  Cas wishes he would
just come but the dick inside him is relentlessly hard, and lasts longer than
the whipping.
Finally he’s uncuffed and the ball gag removed, but it’s only so Dean can make
him open his mouth and swallow down his come, trying to ignore the taste of his
own blood and murkier flavors on his tongue.  This is something he still hates,
something Dean makes him do sparingly.  So of course, today.  He can't breathe
at all with Dean's dick in his mouth, but once again there isn't much come. 
He mostly doesn't even have to stop crying while he takes it.
Dean pulls him off his now soft dick and carries him to the bathroom again.  He
bends him over the sink and does things that hurt his bottom (inside and out)
and his thighs, but that Cas has to assume involve stopping the bleeding and
applying numbing and healing creams.  It's done without the usual
encouragements and soothing touches, and that makes Cas's chest ache.  He lets
him wash his face and brush his teeth while he watches, then carries him back
to the bed.  Cas thinks it’s only afternoon, but if Dean is willing to let him
go to bed, he would welcome the break.  He wishes Dean would relent and give
him whiskey.  He wants to black out, he wants to leave his body and stop being
him for a while.
He wishes Dean would hold him.
Dean lays him down on his stomach again and sits next to him on the bed.  He
has an ice pack wrapped in a towel and he presses it to Cas's bottom, making
Cas whimper a little at the relief.  His fingers to turn Cas's face to the
side, so he's facing him.  “I’m ready to talk to you about this now.  Watch
yourself…be careful.  Don’t start me up again.  I’m just…I’m still pissed.”
“Yes, Master” Cas whispers and sniffles; whispering is all he can manage.  He’s
going home with laryngitis, he guesses.
“When did you know you weren’t gonna do what I told you,” Dean asks, not
looking at him, but Cas sees a twitch in his jaw.
He closes his fingers nervously on the thin bedspread.  “I…I was gonna do it,
Master.  I put it in her cup.  I took it with us, we were alone.  Then…”
Cas sees him relax slightly, as though he maybe feels better knowing that Cas
at least hadn't disobeyed outright.  “Then what?”
Cas closes his eyes, gathers his courage.  “S-she…was saying things.  Nice
things.  About me.”
“Like what,” and there’s an edge to Dean’s voice, ready to mock.
Cas whispers in his little tortured voice, “how I’m special,” he rushes that
part out, blushing, expecting Dean’s immediate scorn, “that she gets what Sam
sees in me…and…” He breaks off, does the part about her wanting to protect him
make it sound like she knows about him and Dean?
“And?” Dean taps his cheek, and it’s a warning, but a lot nicer one than the
heavy slap he’d have gotten only hours ago.
“And she wishes she could protect me…from school bullies and stuff,” he rushes
out and swallows sudden fear.  Mistake, it’s a mistake to lie, but it’s not a
complete lie, he’s sure she was thinking about Brady when she said it.
Dean looks slightly suspicious; he caught the rushed statement, but he can’t
help his curiosity.  “What bullies?  Thought the kids all think you’re weird
and crazy and they leave you alone?”
“Middle school’s different,” Cas whispers grimly and he thinks Dean might press
his lips together because he wants to laugh.  
“We’ll talk about that another time.  So what happened, she told you some
bullshit lines to try to get in good with Sam’s bestie, and you what, fell for
it?  What’d you do with the cup?”
Cas’s blue eyes widen, “I said that, too, Master!  I said it was bull—I said
that, too!”  He coughs, and Dean makes him lift up on his elbows and drink some
water, before laying down again.  “She said I was being a jerk and she just
likes me.”
“So that time you fell for it…”
Cas nods fervently.  “Yes, Master, I fell for it that time and--and I knocked
down the cup.  And I was really scared and felt bad right away because I knew
you’d…h-hate m-me…” Cas looks away, tears slipping down his face.
“Poor, stupid slut,” Dean tells him, but he says it kindly at least, and Cas
wishes he’d hold him again, he’s aching to be held by his Master.  “I’m the
only one who can actually care about you, Cas, because I’m the only one you
aren’t lying to about who you really are.”  Cas widens his eyes; it's so close
to his own thoughts earlier, and now he knows he was right.  When he looks up
at Dean, he looks genuinely sympathetic.  Cas bites his lip, gripping the
bedspread and wanting so badly to fling himself at Dean.  “And then I only care
about you when I think you belong to me.  Do you?  Belong to me?”
Astonishingly Cas’s tear ducts never seem to give up; more tears spill and he
squirms with need.  “Yes!  I belong to you, Master!”  He longs to say more,
longs to plead and beg, but he remembers the rules and makes a small desperate
sound instead.
“Hmm.  I wanna believe you, Cas.  I definitely believe you were that stupid to
fall for some bitch’s pretty words, and I promise I’ll remember that you can’t
handle it for next time.  Okay?  Because I have to remember that you’re fucking
useless to me, unless I’m looking for a hole to own.  Isn’t that right?  Poor
pretty baby, Master expected too much didn’t he?  You’re just a little boycunt
and that’s all, right?”
Cas doesn’t bother to wipe at his cheeks, knowing Dean will want to see that
he’s striking the target.  “Y-yes, Master.  I’m…I’m just a boycunt.  Y-your
hole to use.”
“And who cares about the real you?”
“Only you, Master,” Cas whispers, heartbroken and resigned.  He knew it had to
be something like that.  He always suspected it.  
Dean smiles, watching him.  "Anything else you wanna tell me?"
“Y-yes,” Cas whispers and hopes this qualifies, but Dean should know, and it
doesn't...it doesn't do any good anyway.  If Dean's going to crush it, Cas
wants it over with now.  “I...I love Sam,” he says, pain blooming in his chest,
that this is the way he finally gets to say it out loud, knowing it'll be taken
from him, that he doesn't deserve it.
Dean blinks, his green eyes widen.  “Come again?”
“I love him...not like friends...like...like that way,” Cas tells him dully and
sees a flicker in Dean's eyes that he can't interpret.  “I’ll do…I won’t….,” he
shakes his head, trying to clear it.  “I’ll do whatever you want…I’ll st-stay
away,” he chokes a little, emotions closing his throat. 
“That’s a good little boy,” Dean soothes, still not touching him but the voice
helps.  He moves the ice pack to Cas's thighs, gently admonishing when Cas
jumps slightly.  “See?  Little baby is learning already.  Let your Master do
the thinking, right?”
Cas nods, struggling to breathe under the new heaviness in his chest.  
“Don’t worry, baby, I always said it’d be good for Sam to experiment on you. 
Get his rocks off, get a few firsts out of the way.  I’ll help you let him use
you…you’ll see.” Dean says cruelly and looks at him expectantly.
“Thank you, Master,” he tells him, and if his eyes leak faster when he says it,
who can tell at this point?
“Okay, I think you can sleep if you want for now.  Gonna go get a couple
drinks, play some pool.  I don’t know if you’re hungry but I don’t feel like
feeding you yet.  I’ll leave you this water, though…that voice is a mess,” Dean
winks at him and Cas has no idea what to do with that gesture.  He’s not hungry
though; there’s no room for more than physical pain, exhaustion, and despair. 
Clearly Dean is still angry, and Dean is all that he has.
“Just so you know, we’re staying here tonight and then tomorrow you’ll miss
school.  I’ll take you home at some point...you'll probably still be pretty
fucked up, but your mom doesn't care that much, does she?"
It isn't rhetorical of course.  "No," Cas whispers, feeling so empty, so alone.
"Nah, course she doesn't.  Bet she'll let you miss a few more days of school,
so long as you don't bother her too much."
“Yes, Master”, Cas says slowly, shutting his eyes in despair.  Whatever it
takes to get Dean back.
"Okay," Dean tugs him higher on the bed by his wrist, cuffs him to the bed
again.  “You’ll have to sleep with them on.  Feel like I can’t trust you not to
escape, now you think you don’t belong to me.”
“But I--,” He catches a warning look that is icy cold.  "Yes, Master."
“For now, sleep.  No blanket, though.  Like you like that, on display for me. 
In case I need my favorite hole.”
“Yes Master.”
Dean goes out at last, leaving Cas to lie cold and alone, but at least the
pressure is off until Dean returns and his ass doesn't hurt so bad after the
cream and being iced.  It's the emotional pain that's killing him.  He's not
thinking about Sam, he refuses.  He's trying to remember the last time Dean
caressed him, called him baby angel.  He's thinking thoughts that would make
Dean happy, how awful he is, what a burden to Dean he is, how he can be better
when Dean finally forgives him, and how much he needs that forgiveness.  When
will the punishment be enough?  Still, eventually he gives in to sheer
exhaustion and sleeps. 
Dean only wakes him twice more.
                                       ~
At some point (Cas thinks it's early evening), Dean uncuffs him again.  He sits
on the bed and draws Cas between his legs, letting him lean his weight against
him as he opens one of the bags he brought earlier and pulls out a pair of warm
pajamas.  Cas starts crying as soon as he sees them from want, from relief.  At
last, Dean draws him close and holds him, letting him cry into his neck,
whispering tiny thank you Master's against his shoulder.  Now Dean's hands
stroke his back as he rocks him, and when he pushes him away slightly, it's
only to lick and kiss at his tears, making Cas laugh as he cries, his relief is
so strong.  He reaches a hand out to Dean and snatches it back, frightened. 
Dean takes his hand and kisses it.  "Good boy.  No touching yet, just let me
touch you for now.  I'm still a little mad, but at least I know you tried to
obey.  We just need to work on making you a better slave for me, don't we
baby?"
Cas nods, so grateful to be baby again.  Normally he'd suck his thumb or do
something else anticipatory that Dean wants, but he's still under these new
rules and he stays pliant.  Dean has him lift his arms and he pulls a blue
pajama top of the softest fleece over Cas's head, and Cas is still silently
weeping, the softness so lovely and soothing after so many hours of pain and
cold.  The top is too large, hanging off his shoulders but covering his
bottom.  "I thought you might not want the pants, Cas...probably better to
leave your bottom bare for now.  But if you want to put them on, you can.  
Cas shakes his head, looking so gratefully at Dean.  He's sure the soft
material wouldn't hurt, but he thinks Dean would prefer to see him in just the
shirt, and that way he'll still have access to his body any time he wants.  At
this point, he'd do anything, climb on Dean's dick and ride all night through
blood and pain, so long as Dean will keep touching him softly, calling him
baby.
And Dean is touching him, sliding his hands down Cas's sides, down his legs, up
between his thighs, ghosting over his hips and slipping under the shirt.  Cas's
dick is hard almost immediately, even if it's not really sexual that he's
feeling, more unnamed want and need for Dean.   He thumbs his small nipples and
Cas tilts his head back, looking longingly at Dean's gorgeous lips.  "You want
a kiss, baby?"
Cas nods, tears still trickling down his face, he's so needy it hurts.  Dean
puts a hand to the back of his neck and the first kiss is close-mouthed, but
when Cas whimpers, Dean deepens it, until his tongue is thrusting inside, and
Cas just tries to keep up, kissing at Dean's mouth worshipfully, fervently. 
Dean's kisses trail down his sore, sensitive neck and all he has to do is pull
at the fleece for the buttons he just finished closing to come undone.  He
kisses and licks over Cas's chest and then tugs him so he's straddling his lap
on his knees.  It still hurts to spread like that, but Cas doesn't care,
breathing hard as he waits for orders, the shirt hanging from his skinny arms,
cock straight and proud between them.  "Look at you, Cas...so fucking hot for
it, even after being punished all day."  Dean's hand slides down Cas's chest,
his flat stomach, finally touching his small, hard cock.  Immediately precome
slips out and Cas moans, trying not to squirm.  "Turns me on, baby.  What do
you think, should I fuck you again?"
Cas nods around a hitching breath, even if a small part of him dreads it. 
Whatever it takes..."I don't do the thinking, Master.  My hole is yours, my
everything."
Dean smiles and kisses him deeply.  "Such a sweet little slave for me...my
naughty little baby is gonna try to be good for me, huh?  I'm good for now
though...been fucking my two favorite holes all day, haven't I?  I just miss
this little baby dick."  He licks at his palm and curls his fingers around Cas,
stroking his little length and thumbing over the head.  "You want a blowjob
baby?  Feel my lips around this pretty little boy cock?"
Cas moans and nods.  "Please Master?"
Dean stops stroking and hugs him close, letting Cas whine against him. 
"No...no I'm not ready for you to feel good."  Cas tries not to rub his still-
hard dick against Dean; he's disappointed but Dean's still holding him, rubbing
his back.  Anything, anything for you, Master.
Dean buttons him back up and takes him in the bathroom to pee and get cleaned
up, his bottom treated once more, though this time with all the encouragements
he was missing earlier.  By the time he picks Cas up to carry him out of the
bathroom, he's a burr, clinging to him as close as he can.  
Cas gets so upset when Dean tries to go out to get them food, that he relents
and orders to their room, a burger and fries for himself and chicken noodle
soup for Cas, plus tea with honey.  That drink is usually too bitter for Cas,
but he doesn't whine and ask for sugar, too, the way he normally would. 
Instead he keeps his eyes down, and whispers, "Thank you, Master," then
obediently sips from the cup as Dean tilts it.  The fact that Dean doesn't add
the sugar anyway shows he's still right to be cautious.  This isn't fixed and
they're not back to normal yet.
He can't sit to eat, so Dean shows him to lift up on his elbows and then he
feeds him his soup in between his own bites of hamburger, blowing each spoonful
so it isn't too hot.  At one point he pokes Cas's lips with a thick, salty
steak fry and Cas bites the end, leaving Dean to have the rest.  Cas licks at
the salt on his mouth and then Dean leans down to lick and kiss his lips, too. 
Cas starts to feel a bit better.  When the bitter tea is finished, Dean mixes
him another drink, and he remembers the taste immediately as what Jimmy used to
give him so he could poop without reopening the wounds.  He drinks without
comment or complaint, though...he'd drink poison if Dean wants.  He puts on
some channel that plays old cartoons from when Dean was small and turns Cas so
he can watch, icing his bottom and thighs again, and even taking his collar off
and putting something called Arnica cream across his throat, that he says will
make the bruising go away faster.
When he decides it's time for Cas to go to bed, he makes him use the bathroom
(still the same way, but Cas doesn't want him to walk away, not even to let him
go pee.)  He gives him cough syrup (a stronger, adult kind, Cas doesn't see if
it's the kind that makes you sleep, he just knows it tastes even worse.)  Then
he tucks him in bed in his snuggly shirt.  Cas tugs on his shirt to ask a
question, still not released from his new rules and Dean lifts his brows, all
the permission he needs.  "Are you...will you s-sleep in th-this bed?  With
me?"  he whispers, barely daring to hope, not looking up, just playing with the
too big sleeve of his shirt.  Dean looks at him thoughtfully.  "I don't know if
I'm ready yet, Cas.  Plus, you know I'd probably end up fucking you again if we
do that...you're not gonna get better if I keep fucking it back open," he peers
at Cas skeptically, how could he want that?  
Cas shrugs, blushing, but he wants Dean next to him more than he cares about
that.  He says nothing, though, his wants don't matter.
Then Dean is climbing in next to him, and he has to push over closer to the
wall to make room.  His eyes close in blessed relief.  Even if Dean doesn't
hold him, this is better, he can feel the heat from his much larger form next
to him.  
They lie there looking at each other and Dean strokes Cas's curls from his
forehead.  "What are you feeling about me, Cas?"
Cas looks afraid and Dean smiles.  "It's okay to say so when I ask you
directly, right?  Doesn't mean your feelings matter, but I want to know them."
Cas smiles gratefully.  "Want you never to leave me, Master.  Want you never to
stop touching me," he whispers.
"Sounds like you love me," Dean tells him, tickling over his face and neck,
places he'd slapped so hard, grabbed so violently.
Cas blinks, and there's a quick second of wide-eyed panic where his heart
actually jumps.  
"Shh, it's okay, Cas it's a different love than you have for Sam.  Sam
is...well you love him like a brother...and like a boyfriend, too, right?" Cas
feels his face get hot, knowing Dean will start saying the mean things, about
Sam using him, about how he's not good enough.  But instead, Dean tickles
around his neck, under his chin, making Cas's face move automatically, craving
each gentle touch.  "And you love me...like a protector...like a puppy loves
his owner...isn't that right?  Isn't that what you're feeling?"
And Cas is nodding, looking at Dean, wanting so badly to please him.  "Y-yes,
Master..."
"Say it, Castiel.  Tell me."
"I love you, Master."
"Mmm.  Again."
"I love you, Master."
Again.
 
Again.
 
Again.
***** Good or Bad, One Crazy Day *****
Chapter Summary
     Impossible to summarize. Cas trying to cope with the aftermath of his
     punishment. Dean gets the chance of a lifetime.
Chapter Notes
     Hey, folks, where have I been? I guess I needed a break, because last
     week I sort of accidentally found the cutest, fluffiest fic on here
     (well, for me...it had some kinky elements, but so sweet, and all
     three characters so happy and well-loved.) It had all these sequels,
     like 600000 words all together, and I just let myself get lost in it.
     It was like nothing I've read on here to date. Very cathartic though.
     Then this week...I guess I'm back to myself. And I'll tell you. This
     chapter (to me) is sort of a wild thing. Longer than anything I've
     done yet, it took on a life of it's own. MANY of the scenes were
     total surprises to me, and I'm wondering if this will affect the
     direction the story is going to take, that's how out of left field
     this was. So...I don't know. Strap in, I guess.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
When Cas gets dropped off at home the next day, he has a full blown panic
attack.  It’s worse than any he’s had in years, so adept has he become at
recognizing them and dealing with them before they get out of control, so as
not to draw attention or have one in the wrong company.  Yet there he is in the
Impala and Dean gets out but he doesn’t.  He should have started with his
little coping methods several blocks before getting here, when his breathing
first started feeling short.  Except his head…it doesn’t feel right in there
and it’s not working all that well.  Dean has forgiven him, he says, lifted the
new rules even, but you won’t catch Cas touching him without permission.  He
feels shaken to the core, not sure what to do or think.  All he knows now is
his time with Dean is running out, and it feels like the ground is falling out
from under him.
So by the time they pull up he’s already dying, and he’s sure that’s what this
is, dying.  His lungs don’t work, he can’t get any breath in them, he’s shaking
and sweating and there isn’t any oxygen in the car.  He’s also pretty sure the
car is getting really small and really hot.  His chest is going to explode,
here and now, and Dean can burn him to ash…at least then he can’t disobey.
Then the door next to him bursts open and Dean is there, crouching next to him,
stroking his hair, telling him ‘Breathe, Baby Angel (God, how long since he’s
heard that?), that’s it…good boy…shh, yes you can, breathe slow, feel how I’m
doing it.”  He puts Cas’s hands on his chest, and it helps, he can do this for
his Master, he can breathe with him. 
When his breathing slows and the shaking dies down, Dean is still knelt in
front of him, touching his waist, but his green eyes are becoming stern. “Fuck
is the problem, Cas?  Do you need to go over what you’re supposed to do now
again?  Can’t just sit here with you all day, waitin’ for someone to see.”
“S-sorry, Master,” Cas says, glancing around quickly and biting his lip.  He’s
not supposed to say that in public:  one mistake already.  His anxiety starts
building again.
Dean’s fingers dig into Cas’s thighs, getting a whimper.  “Seems like we do. 
What are you supposed to do now?”
Cas looks at his hands, which are still touching his Master, and he snatches
them back, puts them in his lap.  He’s allowed to touch now but he—he
shouldn’t.  Should he?  “Supposed to tell my mom I took off sick today, let her
call me out as much as I can make her.  Use, use the c-creams and s-syrup to
treat my throat and…other marks best I can.  T-try not to see S-sam until
school.  T-text M…De…text you every day,” he whispers, voice still almost
completely gone.
“That’s right,” Dean approves, and some of the fire has gone out of his emerald
eyes.  Cas is trying not to cry because he doesn’t think Dean will appreciate
it, but of course he notices.  “Tell me why you’re crying.”
Cas tucks his head lower, making himself small as possible in the seat, but
Dean is right, tears slip down his face.  He shrugs.  “Don’t wanna leave you,”
he looks up, his blue eyes wet, almost panicked again.  “I’m scared!  I-I...”
Dean tugs him out of the car and hugs him tightly, but not long enough, not
nearly long enough.  “Told you I forgive you baby.  Believe me or I’ll spank
you for callin’ me a liar.”  Dean tosses him his new pajamas and he hugs them
to his chest like a security blanket…that’s what he feels like, a five year old
getting left by Daddy.  Except that’s not an experience he would recognize. 
“Go on, go inside…make some tea, get your frozen peas or whatnot and get in
bed.”
Cas swallows and nods, taking a few reluctant steps away from Dean.
Dean spins him back, and he has to grip his sleeve so he won’t fall.  He looks
up helplessly, wondering what he did wrong now.  “Forget something?”
“Love you, Master,” Cas rushes the words out quickly, feeling funny.
Dean grins, seeming satisfied, and pops him on the butt, making him cry out in
genuine pain.  “Good boy.  Git.”
What can he do?  He ‘gits’. 
                                       ~
Cas’s mother is at work of course.  When she gets home, she doesn’t bat an eye
at his self-diagnosed laryngitis, nor does she wonder about his limping gait,
and her fleeting, guilty way of looking at him means he guesses she either
doesn’t see the bruising at his neck and face or is ignoring it.  “Sure,” she
says uneasily, after touching the back of her hand quickly to his forehead in a
mockery of the way she used to check for temperature.  She forces a nervous
smile, the only one she has for Cas these days, the one that doesn’t come with
eye contact.  “You boys…you just got carried away at that Halloween party, I
know how these things go.  That older brother is barely an adult now,” she
always rushes her words and blushes when she has to mention Dean; Cas can’t
fathom why when she knows nothing about him.  “Naturally he let it get out of
hand.”
“Really?  The kid parties?  Thought they’d sit around just the two of ‘em,
jerkin’ off to Harry Potter or somethin’,” Roscoe smirks and Amelia admonishes
him without any heat behind it.  His beady eyes on Cas and mean, satisfied
little smile make him think he catalogues Cas’s injuries more accurately than
his mother does.  At least he’d never say anything and risk Amelia giving Cas
any more attention than she already does.
Cas flushes at the insult (he and Sam do love Harry Potter…and Daniel Radcliffe
is kind of hot), but where he would normally mutter a reply, his eyes find the
floor and he keeps quiet.  He’s too out of sorts for all this interaction. 
Thankfully, Roscoe leaves, content with his petty triumph, and both Novaks
relax slightly.  “So can I?” he asks in his ragged, pathetic voice, giving his
mom the same wavering eye contact that she does.  “Stay home for a few more
days?”
Amelia’s mouth is a thin, twitching frown; he knows she wants to glance toward
the living room where the TV has started blaring.  “I…don’t…can’t you stay with
Sam?”
“Dean,” he has to pause, saying that name so casually; he tries again, “Dean’s
afraid Sam’ll catch whatever I have.  Please?  I’ll stay in my room, Mom,” he
whispers, mostly keeping his eyes down for her the way he does for Dean.  “I’ll
only come out when he’s not around to like eat and stuff...it's not like he
doesn't go to work.  Promise.  Okay?  You’ll call me out of school this week?”
Every once in a while it works out in his favor that his mother is Amelia Novak
and she backs down to everyone.  She agrees to call him out this week on a day
by day basis, meaning based on how much he’s managed to annoy Roscoe by that
point.  The only way it’ll blow up in his face is if Roscoe draws a line in the
sand.  Not like she’s ever going to pick Cas. 
But that’s old news.
Cas is honestly really glad to stay in his room.  He still feels really
strange…not himself.  It’s like he’s really fragile and small and above all
else, unsafe.  There’s an overwhelming anxiety about interacting with…well,
anybody right now.  Even Dean, now that he’s away from him, the part where
they’ve made up just doesn’t feel that convincing.  He just remembers how
pissed he was…is…was.  If Dean texts him, he will fly to his side and kneel,
but if he’ll let him hide out in this little room that just belongs to
Cas…he’ll stay right here, thanks.
With Jimmy permanently out of the picture, the room does feel relatively safe. 
It may be small, but he keeps it the way he likes it, neat as a pin.  He uses
his own cleaning supplies that he buys with money Amelia slips him here and
there, after making him vow never to let Roscoe find out.  He has his dinosaur
of a desktop, but Sam had also given him his old tablet after Dean had replaced
his at the start of the school year.  It still has superhero stickers on the
back from when Sam was younger, and Cas loves it. 
He doesn’t have money or a credit card to be downloading new books, but he has
a library card and he uses that.  The selection isn’t phenomenal even for
online books, but he gets a lot of comfort out of re-reading old favorites,
especially special ones like the Hobbit (when he reads that one, it’s Dean’s
soothing voice that he hears narrating in his head…the voice he uses when he
likes Cas).  But he's also discovering new authors that he likes, mostly
fantasy or horror books, like Phillip Pullman and Stephen King.  Long books
where he can really get to know the characters and lose himself in another
world.  Cas reads the same way he daydreams; he becomes so immersed that he
forgets everything else.  He remembers in sixth grade hiding a book in his desk
and becoming so involved that he didn’t hear the teacher call his reading group
and didn’t notice until Sam was already coming back to his seat. 
He’d hissed at Sam, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sam had looked at him funny.  “We did.  Everybody did.”  And Cas had been
shocked because he hadn’t heard a thing.  It wasn’t even a very good book; just
something he was reading because it was all he could get his hands on at the
time.
For now, reading and sleeping help him escape the pain, which is worse those
first two days after he gets home.  He follows Dean’s rules and treats his
wounds as best he can (difficult and unpleasant, but manageable), drinks tea
and sucks lozenges for his throat, but it’s hard to take care of yourself when
you have so many injuries.  He thinks wistfully of the way Dean takes care of
Sam on the rare occasion he gets whipped: he barely leaves his side, according
to Sam (proof:  he doesn’t love you…but he loves Sam and he still hurts him…).
As for avoiding Roscoe (and his mother; he throws her in for free), he sneaks
out a few times a day to make himself simple meals (cereal, sandwiches, and
fruit and cheese, mostly) so he doesn’t spend too much time out of his safe
zone.  There’s nothing like the rush of relief when he gets back to his room
without having any confrontations.  Using the bathroom is trickier, since the
laxatives Dean gave him are strong enough to have him running to the bathroom
every time he eats and they only have one to share among the three of them.  He
does run into Roscoe a few times that way, but the smart comments that usually
get him in trouble just don’t come to mind.  Instead he makes himself small and
tries to do whatever it takes to get out of his way as fast as he can.  Roscoe
enjoys his one-liners a lot better when Cas doesn’t respond, so he’s less
likely to complain about him this way.  Cas guesses it’s a good thing.
Sam texts him every day, starting the Sunday he went missing.  Although not
until nightfall, confirming Cas’s suspicions that Sam still felt a little weird
about...everything.  That’s why, Cas thinks, Sam hadn’t come looking for him
when he moved himself unceremoniously to Dean’s bed.  Unless he assumed Cas
went there to avoid him…?  His adolescent brain (and easily stoked dick) would
want to obsess over these details, but it’s no good.  Every thought of Sam is
immediately awash in shame and fear and misery, all the things Dean said
coloring the experience, making it wrong and filthy.  He knows he has to face
him…Dean wants him to face him, has things for him to say when he does.  But
he’s glad to put it off for now.  He asks Sam not to stop by when he offers,
and of course he has no voice for a phone call.  Texting is much better; he has
time to think, to come up with whatever responses he would’ve sent if he
weren’t feeling like the bottom dropped out.
He’s supposed to text Dean with updates on his condition (including detailed
descriptions of his bathroom habits, aka was there black or red in it?  Does it
feel like molten lava coming out or has he been treating it properly, in which
case the pain should be a bit less by now?).  He keeps his texts short and to
the point and Dean doesn’t respond that much.  Watching his phone for texts
that never come makes Cas’s overall feeling of ‘wrongness’ increase, and
sometimes he scrolls back, looks at older texts from Dean…ones where he called
him Baby Angel and Cas could sometimes be a little sulky or even a tiny bit
silly with him here and there. 
It’s not something he indulges in every time, looking over those texts.  It
makes him feel oddly nervous, as though Dean will catch him wishing he could
act that way…having the gall to imagine himself acting that way again.  It
seems crazy now that he ever thought it was okay.  He tries not to think about
those texts and wouldn’t at all if he weren’t desperately low. 
Worse are the fuzzy memories he has, that he usually doesn’t let himself think
about under any circumstances.  But now he thinks they’ll never happen again,
so sometimes they creep up on him in the form of one of those dreams.  He’ll
wake, sweating, lying in a wet mess on the sheets where he fell asleep on his
(tummy) stomach, since he still can’t lie on his ass.  Dreams that he knows are
actually disjointed memories from when he’s with Dean but he isn’t quite
himself and Dean…he’s different, too.  It’s like Cas isn’t 12 (or even 10) and
Dean isn’t (a scaryass motherfucker) Master, but some kind of gentle (big
brother like Sam has) caretaker, and Cas is his little (baby) boy…that yes,
okay, he still fucks, but better…sweeter.  And even if he doesn’t quite behave
and he gets punished, it doesn’t (by Dean’s standards) hurt, but Cas can cry
anyway, big, fat, shameless tears and Dean will rock and kiss him and say soft
things.
It’s Cas’s dirtiest, most shameful secret (which, as you know, is saying
something), that he remembers any of that.  Mostly it’s almost like a trance or
something, and if anything happens to break him out, force him to realize what
he’s doing and saying, he’ll stop right away.  It’s a secret he even keeps from
himself, and now part of him is in turmoil thinking it’ll never happen again
(if the dreams are anything to go by.) 
Sometimes his body tries to dream of Sam, too, but even in his sleep, he
remembers and it hurts too much.  He wakes up grieving before the dream can get
anywhere good…poor, worthless little love, but such was his to offer. 
His Mom said he could stay out all week, but in truth he starts feeling a lot
better by Wednesday.  He can sit (if carefully) much easier.  His voice comes
back and his insides seem better, enough that Dean says he can stop the
softener if he wants (but he doesn’t because he’s still a little afraid…those
cuts hurt like nothing else.)  He admits his improvements to Dean via text, but
also mentions that his bruises are turning yellow and green, making them stand
out even more. 
Dean tells him he can miss Thursday, too, but he thinks Friday is a good day to
go back.  Sam won’t be in school until after lunch; he’s missing the morning
for a dentist appointment.  The day is overcast and chilly, and Cas dresses in
dark, slightly loose clothes, going for inconspicuous.  The bruising on his
face is gone but his neck looks worse as it heals, though much of it is covered
by the collar at least.  He steals his mother’s concealer to try and cover some
of it, and while it isn’t perfect, it’s at least less noticable now.  He
touches it with a shaking hand and feels tears come to his eyes that he blinks
away impatiently.  He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him.  In his
room, he’s okay, but having to be around people again, he feels…shaky and
strange.  This is going to be a bad day.
He misses the bus so he has to walk, but that’s fine since he’s in no rush to
get there and didn't feel like trying to make small talk with the guys he and
Sam usually sit with.  He takes his time and ends up missing homeroom, barely
sliding into his seat for Pre-Algebra.  He feels a pang when he sees Sam’s
empty desk; he hates days when Sam isn’t here.  But he doesn’t know what he’ll
say when he sees him (besides the things Dean told him to say, and
that’s…that’s for later.)  Their texts have been
strained, deliberately  casual, and neither have mentioned what happened in
Sam’s room.
He was right; it isn’t a good day, right from the start.  He’s zoned out,
completely unable to focus on what the teacher is saying, but by third period
he realizes kids keep looking at him.  Whispering.
Fuck ‘em, he thinks, but his shoulders hunch in.  He’s just…oddly sensitive
today.  That’s why he guesses he starts trying to figure out what they’re
saying. 
“…best friend…broke them up…”
“…so nice to him, too…”
He sighs.  He guesses he forgot that among all his other fucking problems, he
also broke up Lawrence Middle School’s couple of the year.  The first time he
sees Jess in the hall, she’s looking at him before his eyes find her but she
ducks her head, walking fast to get by him.  She has a friend with her, who
wraps an arm over her shoulder and glares at Cas as she passes.  A ghost of a
smile crosses his lips at her open hostility, something she probably doesn’t
appreciate. He doesn’t mean to be amused, it’s just weird seeing that kind of
hate from a complete stranger.  It gets less amusing as the day wears on and he
sees it more and more.
He also forgot to worry about the fact that today is his first day wearing his
collar to school.  Brady and friends helpfully remind him when he’s at his
locker and a crumpled paper smacks the side of his head.  He turns and dredges
up a scowl, careful to go through the motions.  This is the last group who
should know he’s feeling vulnerable today.  “What?” he growls at Brady, who
smirks back. 
“Where’s Sam?”
“Dentist,” he mumbles and Brady’s friends laugh.
“Told you, he knows everything Winchester does.  You ever gonna crawl out of
his ass?  Oh, wait, you’d rather have him in yours.”
“Fuck off,” he says softly, turning back to his open locker, shifting his books
carefully to hide the shake in his hands.  Those words shouldn’t hurt him but
they do, mocking this private thing he feels for Sam, his most secret wants,
just like Dean did…yeah, it hurts.
“Come on, candyass, you can do better than that,” Brady says, looking at him
curiously.
“Yo, is he…is he wearin’ a dog collar?” one of Brady’s friends, a tall football
player named Jake Talley asks, laughing, sending a jolt of anxiety through Cas,
his hand flying up to protect his throat.  He’s not fast enough, and Jake is
able to grab it and yank him backwards.
Cas makes a noise that’s half choke, half yelp as he stumbles back slightly,
getting a laugh out of Brady’s little group.  He ducks out of Jake’s grip and
turns, covering the collar with one hand.  “Get the fuck off me,” he tries for
a snarl, but his voice comes out tremulous, and they laugh again, mimicking
the wobble in his voice. 
“Not nice, doggy,” Brady grabs Cas’s book bag from his arm and holds it out of
reach.  “Nothing smart to say?  Where’s all that attitude from the party?  Or
you only have balls when Sam’s around?”  Again, he looks expectantly at Cas,
but there’s nothing, he has nothing today. 
“Leave me alone,” he manages, and they laugh harder.  It’s like his rage, his
hatred, emotions that usually come so readily in these situations have been
snuffed out, leaving only desperation, shame.  He gets treated like a bitch
because he is a
“Bitch, I’m talkin’ to you,” Brady reaches to yank on the collar.  Cas manages
to evade him, but only by backing closer to his locker, and now there’s nowhere
to go.
“Mr. Brady!  Don’t you have somewhere to be?”  Ms. Mills, Cas’s homeroom and
science teacher, speaks up behind Brady, standing outside her classroom.
Brady steps back, the change in his face from asshole to ass-kisser
instantaneous as he turns with a smile.  “Just asking Castiel where Sam is, Ms.
Mills,” he says sweetly.
Ms. Mills looks unimpressed; her bullshit meter is fairly accurate.  “Probably
on his way to class, where you should be,” she tells him pointedly with raised
eyebrows and his smile slips slightly. 
Another student distracts her, and Brady takes advantage the minute her back is
turned.  Showing off his throwing arm, he heaves Cas’s book bag in the opposite
direction down the hall and gives Cas one last smirk.  “Go on…fetch, little
doggy!”
He fetches.  Instead of just picking it up, he crouches near his bag,
pretending to organize the contents, while he tries to gather himself.  He
wants to feel shocked that Brady rattled him so easily but he’s overwhelmed by
this feeling of exposure.  It feels as though Dean flayed him open and other
kids can now see what he really is as a result.  Fairly sure he won’t cry, he
straightens up.  For the second time, he meets eyes with Jess, and he swears he
sees compassion in her eyes before her face hardens and she turns her back.  Of
course he imagined it.
His next class is Geography and he realizes he’s still shaken, lost.  Mick
Davies turns around and is chatting with him and he has no idea what the guy is
saying, he can’t comprehend the words.  He nods and forces a laugh and says
something noncommittal and is surprised when Mick laughs back.  “You’re a funny
guy, Novak, I like it.”
Not everyone in the world treats him like shit.  He decides to take comfort
from it. 
He expects the worst at lunch, but nothing particularly bad happens.  He sits
with a bunch of kids who are always nice to him, and not a single one is
talking about the party.  He picks a stool on the end closest to the wall (most
inconspicuous) and pretends to be absorbed in his peanut butter and jelly
sandwich, as though it doesn’t taste like sawdust in his mouth.  Dean is the
only reason he gets any of it down; Dean and his rules.  He gets a text from
Sam saying he’s on his way, and he’s glad, really glad now.  He doesn’t care if
things are awkward; he just needs him to get through this fucked up day.
After lunch, Cas  has Study Hall; otherwise known as the one class he shares
with Jess.  Every kid gets two electives and this is one of his.  He’s not all
about the extracurricular activities like Sam, who tries and fails to get him
interested every year (if we wanna go to top colleges, Cas, we gotta think
about this stuff early!) His life being what it is, sometimes he needs all the
extra quiet he can get.  The class is held in the library, and attracts
somewhat more mediocre students, kids who don’t have any artistic or athletic
interests, or maybe just want a half hour that’s not quite as structured as an
actual class.  Mrs. Lowi, who is the well-liked Head Librarian, oversees it and
is all about peace, love, and being allowed to talk as long as we keep our
voices low and respectful.
He has to say something to her (Jess, not Mrs. Lowi), and his stomach is in
knots thinking about it.  He doesn’t want her to think he just hurt her without
caring (although…he kind of did.)  He does care; he hates that he hurt her with
his unending neediness for Sam.  And if she wants the chance to tell him off to
his face, even if it’s in front of everyone, he will give it to her.  He knows
how much Dean appreciates his pain and shame when he does something wrong. 
That’s how you make things right with someone...let them humiliate you.
When he gets to the library, it’s easier said than done.  They don’t usually
sit together because she has girlfriends with her, but sometimes she
ditches…ditched them for him.  At least it’s a casual enough atmosphere that
nobody has assigned seats.  He finds a small table near the stacks where he can
see her without being conspicuous.  But he knows as soon as he sees the tension
in the way she moves that she’s aware of him. 
This sucks.
She has three friends with her in this class, and one is the hostile girl he’d
seen in the hall—he guesses she wasn’t a complete stranger after all.  Judging
by the dirty looks she sends him over her shoulder, she isn’t feeling any
better about him now.  He tells himself he doesn’t care what any of those
bitches think, but his stomach twists and he keeps his eyes on the table.
“…said they saw him and he was like crying his eyes out or something…or he was
crying before, I don’t know, I forget…”
The knots in Cas’s stomach instantly triple; but they…they could be talking
about someone else, right?
“…first heard they just kissed, but now Brady’s saying he was like…waiting for
him in his room and like jumped on him…”
A wave of dizziness takes him and he thinks he needs to be sick.  The kids
saying it are just a table away from him…and they know he can hear.  Kids he’s
chatted with, sat with in the past, not popular kids either, but obviously
wanting to be part of the buzz, do what the popular kids are doing.  They’re
smirking cruelly and he tries to think of a single thing he’s ever done or said
to even one of them that would make them want to hurt him.  Besides being a dog
that’s born to be kicked.
“No, no, Brady’s in my science class, he said he like tried to kiss him and
when Sam said no, he started crying and begged him to let him…do stuff…”
“Like what?” a scandalized whisper, wanting and not wanting to know.
“You know…put his mouth on Sam…there.”
“Grow up, Christina…he said he begged Sam to let him blow him…”
“That’s disgusting!  Well, it is, he pees from there!”
Cas is up, headed for the stacks.  It’s not exactly subtle but he can’t take it
another second.  He heads to the back, in a corner, where at least the lighting
is a little dimmer.  He faces the shelves without seeing them, eyes blurred
with unshed tears.  He puts an arm over his stomach and tries to slow his
breathing, but it’s hard.  That stuff they’re saying that’s…that’s not true! 
Is it?  He didn’t…Sam kissed him first…didn’t he?  But Dean said it was his
fault (poor Sammy…you’re such a fucking slut, Cas, look what you made him do.) 
He kissed me, but I made him do it…and somehow everyone knows. 
His breathing is too loud, he puts his sleeve over his mouth, then his
forearm.  He’s got to be quiet in case anyone wanders close.  His fingers are
trembling and he’s starting to sweat.  He has to calm down.  Someone’s gonna
find him like this—Dean will be so pissed!  Titles in the Harry Potter
series…Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber of
Secrets, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban…he lists, he repeats, and his
breathing starts to slow at last. 
Okay.  Okay.  Fuck, today sucks.  He sits on the floor because he’s fucking
exhausted and wipes his sleeve over his sweaty forehead.  He tugs his knees
into his chest and tries to think.  That stuff they’re saying…that Brady is
apparently saying…he’s making it sound like Sam told him that.  But he
wouldn’t…Sam wouldn’t lie.  And Cas remembers thinking stuff about a blowjob
with Sam, not saying it. Sam would have…he’d have been grossed out, probably,
just like that girl.  Only Cas is dirty like that, wants and likes those
things.  Practically born with a dick in his mouth, that’s what Dean says.  His
heart starts to pound and he realizes he can’t think about that stuff anymore
or he’ll be back to square one. 
So he should…he should get his book bag.  He realizes he left it when he fled,
and they could be doing anything to his stuff by now.  There’s nothing in it
anyone would want (his phone is in his pocket, along with the few dollars he
has), but now he guesses he shouldn’t put it past them to take his stuff just
to fuck with him.  He stands up slowly, making sure he’s not too shaky and
heads back, reluctance in every step.  If they’re still there, if they’re
smirking at him, this time he’ll tell them to go fuck themselves.  He exits the
reference section and turns a corner, running right into Jess.  For a moment,
they just stare at each other and then her eyes drop, her cheeks flushing
pink.  Not before he sees the hurt…hurt he caused.
“Jess,” he starts, and grabs her wrist when she starts to flee again. 
She stops, but doesn’t look at him, her mouth in a grim line. “You don’t have
to say anything.  You…you don’t even like me, right?  That’s what you were
trying to tell me Saturday.  You don’t owe me anything,” she tells him, trying
for maturity, but he sees her lower lip tremble.
“That’s not true,” he insists softly, urgently.  He’s so hoping nobody comes
right now, he’s gotta get this out.  “I…I do like you, I just…I’m not good at…I
don’t have many…” friends, he wants to say, but he looks at the floor, ashamed,
he can feel his face get hot.  It’s not something he really acknowledges, even
to himself.   When he risks a glance, she’s looking at him and he takes his
chance.  “I just wanted to say I’m—“
“Hey, Jess, you forgot your…what are you doing?  You shouldn’t be anywhere near
her!”  And it’s the Hostile Girl, hissing so she won’t draw the teacher’s
attention, voice lowered but still thick with scorn.  She closes the distance
between them in a hurry, tugging Jess away from him and putting herself between
them as though he was assaulting her, not apologizing. 
“Kelly, it’s fine…”
“It’s not fine, this jerk put moves on your boyfriend!”
Cas’s eyes never waver from Jess’s face; this other girl doesn’t exist for him
(which pisses her off even more.)  “Jess, I’m sorry.  I—“
“She’s not interested in your apologies, you sick freak!  You don't even
matter!  Just leave her alone!”
There’s this moment where they all absorb what she said (what did Dean change,
how do they all see it now?) 
“Sorry, Jess,” Cass mumbles, no longer able to make eye contact.  His head is
down when he gets to his table and slides in his chair.  Talk stops and then
gets loud to the point where Mrs. Lowi has to intervene, but he’s resolutely
not listening (except how do you ‘not listen’ when they want you to hear…heard
Sam kicked his ass for trying, that’s why he’s been out all week).  He’s just
staring sightlessly at his English book, pretending to be absorbed and trying
to hold out for the bell.   It rings an eternity later and he flings himself
from his seat, ignoring the interested looks and cruel smirks, he’s nearly
running by the time he hits the hallway.  Because he’s getting out of here;
he’s going home right now.
Except right away, he sees Sam. 
Sam smiles expectantly, but Cas isn’t slowing down.  He tries to force a smile
without making eye contact, hoping Sam’ll just think he’s in a rush.  “Sorry,
Sam gotta go, okay, I'll—“
Sam grabs his arm, swings him back in front of him.  “Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa,
Cas!”
“No, Sam, please, let me go,” Cas tries with his head down, pulling at his arm,
but Sam takes both his forearms and holds him firmly.
“What is it, what’s wrong?”
“Please, Sam, let go,” he begs, and when he looks up there are tears in his
eyes.  It’s too late, though, kids are already filing out of the library,
catching him there, essentially in Sam’s arms—he knows how it looks to them. 
He lets out a soft sound of distress and looks down, his face on fire. 
Sam’s blushing a little, too, but he’s frowning over Cas’s shoulder.  He sees
the looks they’re getting, the blatant whispers and giggles and if anything he
draws up straighter.  “What’s the matter, Cas, a bunch of losers talking shit? 
Since when do you let that get to you?” he asks loudly, and Cas blinks; Sam’s
never called a kid a loser in his life.  He’s eyeing them now, blue hazel eyes
flashing just this side of dangerously.  Sam is a nice boy, but he comes by his
temper honestly.  For a Winchester, protective equals aggressive—that much Cas
knows.  
“Sam, let me go, just leaveit,” Cas mutters, he can’t stay here for this, but
Sam hushes him, draws him closer. 
“Seriously, Sam?”  It’s the Hostile Girl, Kelly, and Cas winces, tries again to
pull away.  He notices her voice is much more subdued for Sam, more of a
complaint than an accusation.  As though Sam is someone she knows and likes. 
“How can you be nice to him when he broke you guys up?  I mean, everyone knows
you were drinking--”
 “You weren’t even there,” he looks coldly at the girl, all the more effective
for how warm and friendly he usually is.  “I get that you’re Jess’s friend, but
how is this any of your business?  And if you’re gonna spread rumors and add to
this immature bullshit,” Sam’s eyes narrow, his look passes derisively over the
other kids who were whispering and laughing when they first came out; none of
them can maintain eye contact, “get it right—I kissed Cas.  He didn’t come onto
me.”
The girl hesitates; it’s a lot harder to be mean to Sam Winchester, never mind
pissed off Sam Winchester.  She straightens up and tries to forge ahead but
most of the fire is gone from her voice.  “Well…least you could do is not hang
all over him.  You guys just broke up.”
“Yeah, Kelly, don’t tell me what to fucking do,” Sam snaps; his patience is not
endless.  “Cas is my friend and he’s upset…know anything about that?”  Sam’s
look is accusatory and Kelly blushes; they’ve drawn plenty of attention since
it’s between classes and the hallway is filled.
Jess leaves the library.  Sees Sam holding onto Cas, facing off with Kelly. 
Kids are on either side, watching blatantly, and they hush at her appearance. 
Kelly reaches for her and she knocks her hand away, hurt blue eyes all for
Sam.  Then she tilts her chin up and heads past them.
“Jess,” Sam says, looking pained now, temper fled almost instantly.
“Save it,” she mutters without looking, Kelly following close on her heels. 
But the next bell will ring soon, and the small crowd slowly starts to
disperse.  Cas lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and shakes
his head, eyes still lowered.
Sam pushes Cas back a little, trying to see his face.  “Sorry about that…you
okay?”
Cas pulls back out of his grasp and Sam lets him this time.  “No!  Why did you
do that, why didn’t you just let me go?” he asks, anguished.  He knows Sam was
trying to help, but he feels so humiliated, and they’re only going to hate him
worse.  The next rumor will be Cas trying to suck his dick in the hallway in
front of Jess.
Sam reaches for him, concerned.  “Cas, it doesn’t matter what anyone
thinks…it’s okay—“
“No it’s not!” Cas knocks his hand away, and Sam blinks in surprise.  “They’re
not gonna blame you for this, Mr. Fucking Perfect!  They love you!  You can’t
do anything wrong!  It’s my fault; I’m the fucking faggot that broke you up,
the fucking freak!  Want a blowjob, Sam?  Please, Sam, please let me suck
your—“
“Cas!” Sam cuts him off sharply, looking mortified, pissed.
“FUCK you!” he shoves Sam hard; startling him enough that he hits the lockers
behind him.  “You think you can FUCKING help me?!  I…” He stops, putting a
shaking hand over his mouth; his breath is coming really hard.  “Sam…s-s-sorry,
I…” He looks at Sam in horror, the color drained from his face.  Sam’s face, so
hurt, so bewildered, the sad little stray he picked up, biting him all these
years later.
Mrs. Lowi, other teachers are coming into the hall, frowning, calling out to
him and Cas bolts.  He runs for a side door and stumbles outside, needing air,
breathing labored now, out of control.  He doesn’t see anyone and he hits the
ground, shaking, trying to breathe, great gulping breaths that hurt like
nothing’s getting inside, no oxygen.
“Castiel, what is this, what’s happening…?” Jess, dropping her books on the
ground, kneeling in front of him.  “Do you have asthma or something?  Come on,
let’s go to the nurse!”
Cas looks at her, lost in panic, sweating, vision going blurry.  Breathe, Baby
Angel…Dean by the Impala, helping him, and I can’t, Dean, he thinks, I can’t
breathe, I’m dying…
Yes, you can…breathe slow, feel how I’m doing it…his hands on Dean’s chest.  He
looks at Jess, who is kneeling there, so concerned, hands fluttering
helplessly.  He puts his hand on her chest (nowhere near the perfect tits…okay,
not too close), and feels her breathing.  “Breathe…,” he pants, “slow…please!”
“What?  I—“
“Slow,” he pants, staring at his hand where it touches her.  “Please!”
“O-okay…,” Jess sounds uncertain, but puts both hands over his one and slows
her breathing, watching him.  Realizes what he needs.  “Like me, Cas, with
me…feel it?  In…out…slower…that’s it…,” making her voice calm now.  She reaches
her hand, pets the hair at his forehead (something both Winchesters do,
something his mother used to do), gentling him, that soft, small touch.  And
he’s doing it, deep breaths, slowing it down.  A headache starts; he still
feels dizzy.  But he isn’t dying.  Minutes pass; he’s not sure how many.  He
takes his hand from her and folds to the ground on his knees.  Two panic
attacks in the space of one hour.  He’s gonna need a fucking minute. 
“Th-thank you…sorry,” he tells the ground.
“Jesus, Cas, what was that?” Jess asks, sounding like her old self for a
moment, forgetting to hate him.
“Panic attack,” he tells her, like he would no one else.  Right now, he doesn’t
know what truths he could protect from her.  All his insides on the outside. 
  “Happens sometimes.”
“Oh.  Do…do you wanna go to the nurse or something?  I’ll take you.”
“You’re being...too nice...again,” he says to the grass.
“Yeah.  Sorry.  You’re an asshole, Cas.  You wanna go to the nurse, asshole?”
Huffs a laugh, incredibly.  “No thanks.”  He sits up like a normal person. 
Then lays on the ground.  Fuck it.  “I’m supposed to be in English…you?”  His
voice is soft, tentative.  Waiting for her to remember, to be cruel, to end
this truce.
“Language Arts,” she says, picking at the grass.  She’s sitting there, cool-
girl casual, and Cas thinks he knows what attracted Sam to her (besides the
face, the tits).  She doesn’t care what people think, who catches her out here
cutting class with him.  She has poise and character.
“I-I’m okay now.  You can go if you want.”
“Why should I go, I was here first,” she says mutinously and he peeks at her
again.  “I guess S-sam went to class.” She says, and Cas can tell she was going
for unconcerned, but the stumble on his name ruins it.  Her cheeks flush and he
pretends not to notice.
“You know he hates to miss any,” Cas tells her…pauses.  “Jess—I know he—“
“Stop, okay, I don’t wanna do this,” she insists, but he sees that tremble in
her lower lip.  “Whole stupid school talking about it…we only dated like one
month!  It’s not…not even a big deal.”  She looks away from him so all he can
see is her hair, the pale turn of her neck.  Tension in her shoulders.  He
touches one and she slaps his hand away the same way she did her friend
Kelly’s.   “I’m fine!”
He just stays, watching her.  The way he watches Dean, watches Sam.  Never
blinking, steady, alien blue gaze that the elementary school kids found so
intimidating.  “It wasn’t his fault, it was mine,” he grits out.  She should
know.
“No it wasn’t, why are you saying that?” She whips around to face him, eyes
reddened, puffy, and pretty fucking annoyed.  “Are you like every other boy,
lying to the stupid girlfriend so your friend can do what he wants behind her
back?  Say what you like about Sam, he doesn’t lie.  He told me what happened.”
“You don’t understand,” he whispers, but his stomach knots up in warning, that
feeling he gets when he catches himself breaking a rule.  He can’t tell her how
he knows.
A minute or two goes by; Jess is back to ripping up the grass and Cas is back
to studying her.  She sniffles lightly.  “Are you guys like…together now?”
He closes his eyes against this fresh grief, blinks, stares up at the grey
sky.  “No…no way, of course not.  It was just…nothing.  Stupid.  Told you,
I…the whiskey.”
She’s the one doing the studying now.  “You’re blushing.  You really like
him.”  He thinks she’s going for matter-of-fact, but she actually sounds bleak.
“Don’t worry, Jess.  It’s never gonna happen.”  His voice is leaden with
absolute certainty and her look now is curious, like he did something weird. 
Frowning at him a little.
“Why am I thinking about giving you a pep talk so you’ll believe in yourself
enough to try to go after my ex-boyfriend…who cheated on me…with you?”
Cas looks at her.  “That is pretty fucking weird.” 
She starts laughing and he feels his lips twitch; ridiculous to laugh on a day
like this has been, all these problems still waiting.  She cuts herself off,
probably thinking the same thing.  Then does one of those explosive laughs, a
spitting, so-not-cool, immature laugh, a kid playing the ‘first one to laugh
loses’ game.  Cas looks at her with wide eyes and she claps a hand over her
mouth, her face red.  “Your lips are trembling,” she says, still behind her
hand.  She does an impression, making her own lip tremble.
They lose it.  It’s so stupid.  His stomach twists, already trying to tell him
he shouldn’t be laughing, too much wrong, too much to worry about (Dean, Sam,
Dean).  And it’s working, his laughs dying away before hers.  Hers trail off
the same way, sadness seeping back in her eyes; he knows because he’s
watching.  Always watching the people he’s with, endlessly looking for cues,
signals, what should he do, what are they going to do (is he safe with them). 
She catches him doing it.  “I guess we’re still friends.  Asshole.”
“Sam calls me that, too,” he says casually; regrets it when he sees her wince.
“Can we…are you gonna talk about him all the time, cause if so, I might need a
week or two before we can be around each other.”
“Sorry,” he says, meaning it, but secretly wondering what else he’ll talk
about.  He’s with Sam constantly.  He watches her, wanting to say something but
not knowing how.  “I really am sorry you...I hurt you.  And I’m glad.  Us. 
That we’re.”  He clears his throat.  “Still friends.”
She looks at him wryly.  “You poet, you.”  She stands up, brushes herself off. 
He sits up, feeling gloomy again; once she leaves he’ll have to start thinking,
decide what to do next.  “I guess I’ll get going,” she says, then stops,
looking at him again, that way she does, like she’s worrying about him.  A
serious look.  “Cas…what just happened to you…that panic thing.  If it’s
because of what’s happening, what those kids were saying …fuck them.  They’ll
move on from this and talk bad about someone else by tomorrow.”
He smiles faintly.  “Yeah, I know.  Don’t worry, usually I can handle them.” 
He loses his smile, because that part is true.  He’s just been feeling so
off…not himself…ever since (cuz the way you are right now?  You just changed my
mind...I don't want you).
He shudders, chest squeezing, looking away from her.  “It’s just a bad day.”
                                       ~
After that he goes home.  He can’t go to class as raw and open as he is, just
walking around begging to be victimized.  Except when it comes to Sam, right? 
Him, you can hurt.  Seriously, he’s so fucked up.  He keeps thinking of Sam’s
stricken face, hearing his own voice (vicious, bitchy), his hands raised
against him in violence, when Sam has never offered him anything but love,
acceptance.  All day free for all against Cas, defenseless until his best
friend shows up, sticking up for him (like always), comforting him. 
Ya know.  The boy he loves.
If he hasn’t made it clear, he hates himself.
At least nobody’s home, so he can spend a few hours sleeping, the only way he
can escape the cycling of his thoughts.  It’s a relief, small, but he’ll take
it.  But as soon as he wakes up, he heads next door. 
Of course.
Dean is at work, where he went for at least a few hours after dropping Sam at
school.  Sam will be home soon, and Cas wants to apologize properly.  And he’s
a little scared, too.  Because maybe this will be it.  The thing that makes Sam
decide this is too much…this friendship isn’t worth it.  Sorry, Cas, but I
think I’m ready for a best friend who doesn’t have crazy mood swings and
sometimes thrash and scream in his sleep, who isn’t weird and out of it all the
time, and maybe has more than 4 friends.
He sits himself on the front porch to wait for the school bus (the one he
should be on.)  Then nearly falls out of his skin when the door opens behind
him.  Sam’s brows lift, face otherwise impassive.  “What are you doing out
here?”
“What are you doing ho—Sam, what’s…what happened?” Cas asks, shocked.  He just
saw Sam a few hours ago, and he didn’t have a cut over his eyebrow and scrapes
on that side of his face.  His fingers, too, red and raw.  Cas starts forward,
wanting to help, to inspect, but something about Sam stops him.  Sam in the
doorway, and for the first time Cas doesn’t feel necessarily welcome.  He stays
where he is.
“Brady, runnin’ his mouth one time too many.  Told him about that.  I’ve been
tellin’ him,” Sam says flatly, changeable eyes green-gold in the afternoon
sunlight.  But not necessarily warm.  Something about him, just then, even how
he’s talking, losing some of his careful enunciation, sounding a little more
like the way Dean leans into his honeyed accent.  Just a little, but Cas
shivers. 
“I’m…I’m sorry, Sam…about today.  I-I don’t—“
“Yeah, what was that?” Sam asks, his voice still strange.  Cas can’t decide, is
it cold, or does he hear some warm undercurrent of anger.  “Beggin’ to…to go
down on me?”  Sam’s cheeks flush, he looks down then back up, and Cas is a
little relieved.  Still Sam, innocent, respectful Sam.  “So mad at me for
standing up to those jerks, why? I thought we were in this together.”
“I…I…,” Cas feels helpless to explain.  “I had a bad day…all day I couldn’t get
angry, only sad, only feeling so bad, so wrong and then…then you made me stay
there, I just wanted to get away, and I just—“
“Mr. Perfect, that’s what you said.  My life is perfect, right Cas?,” Sam cuts
him off, voice bitter in a way Cas has never heard before.  “Everything coming
up roses for me, right?  That’s why my mom’s dead almost as long as I’ve been
alive, that’s why my Dad doesn’t even bother with me.  S’why all I got is
Dean…one kid bein’ raised by another kid.  And you, Cas.  I got you.  Right?”
Cas blinks at him.  He’s right.  He guesses he never thought much about Sam’s
problems; it always seemed like Sam had so much more than he does (anger, low
in his belly, because he does, he fucking does have so much more, not born with
a dick in your mouth, were you, Sam?…you know you’re not good enough for any of
him, Dean’s voice, instant ice water on that anger…he does know…he does.)
“Cas,” Sam says sharply, pulling Cas out of his head like he always has to…then
quieter, asks, “Where did you go just now?”
Cas looks at him seriously, giving him the alien stare.  “You can’t go with me
where I go most times, Sam.  You know that.”  Voice raw with pain, his head
such a dangerous, agonizing place.  No, Sam is not allowed a glimpse of all
that darkness.
Sam drops his eyes, voice soft now.  “Yeah, I know.   I just…I need you too,
sometimes.  Not…not too much, I know you…you have a lot already.”
“I…haven’t been there for you,” Cas says cautiously, still not sure where Sam
is coming from.  Well-adjusted Sam, surrounded by friends, acing his classes. 
What does he need?
Sam steps out on the porch finally, and then sits on the top step.  Cas sits
next to him but each boy against his respective bannister, keeping a space
between them.
“It’s not that,” Sam says looking at the ground.  A minute or two passes, the
school bus shows up and they watch kids file off.  Cas starts to think Sam’s
not gonna continue, but finally he does.  “Why’d you sleep in Dean’s room after
we…after.”
Cas feels his face heat up and knows Sam’s blushing, too.  He’s totally
floored.  It’s true, he went immediately to Dean’s room (gotta get punished),
falling asleep, then waking up in agony that in some ways still hasn’t ended. 
He went there because he had to go, but he can’t tell Sam that.  It had
occurred to him Sam might have made assumptions, but he didn’t know he’d been
hurt by it.
“Then you...the next morning, you left without even saying good-bye," Sam
continues and Cas feels a piercing pain, just something else he can never
explain.
"Sam," he whispers, agonized.
"Were you…upset?” Sam asks softly, sounding a little lost now.  “The things I
said…I made you cry.  You thought…I was using you?  Or did you leave because I
cheated, and—“
Cas takes Sam by the shoulders and kisses him; it’s an emergency, he has to. 
The kiss is fast, an urgent brush of lips that came from nowhere.  Him, sitting
there in this edgy, uncomfortable funk that he’d been in all day, self-hatred,
uncertainty (bottom dropped out.)  Knowing, too, what he’s supposed to know
about Sam (not good enough, gave him away, told Dean, Dean will handle), but
Sam is talking like this and from the center of his being he can’t have Sam
think any of those things.  Some tiny part of Cas that is buried under all
this…shit.  That loves this boy.  That can’t stand him hurting.  Strong enough
to rise up in this moment, take over.  Giving Sam this truth:  that he loved
kissing him.  That the only thing he’d wanted that night was more.
Which is good.  Because they’re kissing now.  On the steps, where anyone can
see (not thinking about that), and it’s sweet.  Sam’s arms circling Cas’s
shoulders, too, trading small kisses without really coming up for air.  Sam’s
tongue this time (Cas is being careful, mindful of his neediness, of the way
Sam feels more comfortable taking the lead), slipping over Cas’s bottom lip,
gently asking.  Cas opens for him, of course he does, sucking his tongue in
lightly, keeping it slow, soft, letting Sam explore.  Responds with his lips,
his twisting, teasing tongue, keeping his own heat on simmer.  He can feel him,
little tightening of his fingers, miniscule movements to get closer, push Cas
back ever so slightly.  Cas breaks the kiss a little shyly so he can stare at
Sam’s face, close like this, Sam-in-Sunlight, painted gold. 
Sam takes another kiss and Cas opens, but he’s still looking.  He slips one
hand from Sam’s shoulder to slide his fingers through Sam’s shaggy chestnut
bangs, hair feeling like silk compared to his.  “We use,” kiss, “the same,”
kiss, kiss…kiss, “shampoo.  How come mine’s—“
Sam, kissing him, a little more intensely, pushing his hands through Cas’s
hair, too.  “Love yours.  Love it like this, love it messy.  More kiss, less
talk.”
Cas, twitching in his jeans for this new Sam, this pushy, demanding, kissy
Sam.  He laughs a little in Sam’s mouth, and Sam laughs, too, but his kisses
slip a little lower, pushes Cas as far back as he can go, has him leaning
against the bannister behind him.  Languid kisses to Cas’s jaw…starting down
his throat. 
Cas lets his eyes slip closed.  “Anyone can see us,” he mentions, letting out a
little gasp  as Sam licks under the top of his collar.  He remembers the
bruising, the makeup that Sam might be tasting, and he cups Sam’s chin,
bringing his lips smoothly back up to his mouth, running fingers over Sam’s
face.
Sam, happy to oblige, answering against his lips, “So…”  But he breaks apart a
moment after, still holding Cas’s shoulders, Cas still slightly dipped back,
feeling like some kind of melting damsel (but, you know, a dude version of one)
for her Disney prince.  Sam is rubbing his thumb over Cas’s cheek, looking
concerned.  “Are you worried?  We can go inside.”
Both of them straightening a little, parting a little, realizing all the
implications of his offer.  Privacy.  Inside Sam’s empty house.
Where his bedroom is.
Gonna help you with Sam, Cas.
Ice water again.  Consider the spell broken.  Cas would put more space between
them but he’s already as far as he can get, Sam maybe an inch apart.  Watching
him.
“Hey, don’t worry, Cas, I didn’t mean…I won’t like…take advantage of you.”  Sam
is the one to inch away this time, looking down, blushing furiously.  Looking
like the last boy in the world to take advantage of anybody.  His hands clasped
in his lap now and Cas is…looking at them.  Suddenly he's feeling like Wall-E
(Sam and him two years ago, stretched on their bellies in flannel pjs, falling
in love with the little robot), wanting to try holding hands.  Stupid, right? 
Lame.  But…
Not like he can do it with Dean (don’t worry, baby angel, gonna tell you just
what to do with my Sammy.)
Screw it.  He doesn’t get Sam as a boyfriend, but maybe…a few stolen boyfriend
type moves wouldn’t hurt anything, right?  He slips his hand over the top of
Sam’s…gently folding his fingers over Sam’s hand, and Sam clasps it, too,
looking questioningly at him. 
Tugs Sam’s hand into his lap.  Stares down, rubbing the smooth skin with his
thumb.  “I’m scared, Sam.”
Sam, straightening immediately, focused and concerned.  “What is it, Cas?”
“Of changing things.  Losing things.  With us,” he says, still not looking up. 
“I-I need you.  Without you, I--,” he stops, forced to swallow a sob that tried
to climb up his throat.
Sam squeezes his hand.  “Cas…I’m not going anywhere.”  Said with certainty.  “I
told you, I need you, too.  You and Dean are it for me.  More even than Dad,
there's you.”
Nods.  “Okay.  But what will it be like, Sam?  I…I sleep in your bed.  Every
week.”
Sam swallows, eyeing Cas’s lips before looking away.  “So…?”  His voice is
almost defensive and Cas gets a little thrill.  Sam doesn’t want him changing
that…he wants him there.  In his bed.
“So what will you…expect?”  Can’t look at Sam when he says it; feeling fragile
suddenly.  Those words weren’t Dean’s, they were his.  Will you use me, Sam? 
Can I say no, to you?
Will I ruin you?  Twelve and ruined already?
Sam takes his hand back gently, looking a little overwhelmed.  “E-expect? I…I
don’t know, nothing!”
“Maybe…maybe we should talk to Dean about it,” Cas parrots, even if Sam doesn’t
know that’s what he’s doing.  Dean’s words, now.  Obedient Cas, good little
boy, please take me back, Dean, don’t still be mad.
Sam is frowning, thinking hard.  Cas can imagine what about.  Dean can’t
actually just let them date and still sleep together like innocent friends;
Dean (not the real Dean, of course, but the one he has to play) can’t be that
forward thinking.  Pretty sure John Winchester would not be cool with that
either, given the trundle bed that’s finally on order.  And always better to
ask forgiveness than permission.  It’s obvious from his hesitation that at
least part of Sam wants this secret…wants this fantasy of him and Cas, sneaking
kisses (and other things) after lights out, free to explore each other in
private. 
“Please, Sam.  I’m scared,” Cas takes his hand again and watches Sam’s eyes on
him soften, some of the confusion, the stubbornness leaving his features. 
“Dean will know what to do.  He’ll help us save the friendship.”
“What if…,” Sam starts, then licks his lips nervously.  “What if we’re supposed
to be more than friends…like boyfriends or something?”
Cas, staring at their clasped hands so Sam can’t see the flash of true grief in
his eyes.  Trust me, we’re not.  “Then…if we’re supposed to be then we will
be.”
“Okay, Cas…we’ll talk to Dean.  If that’s gonna make you feel better.  But what
if he forbids you from sleeping over or something?”
Cas resists the urge to roll his eyes, which would be unfair to Sam.  Because
really not fucking likely.  Instead he inches slightly closer to Sam.  “He
won’t,” he says sweetly.  Primly.  Looks at Sam through his lashes and sees his
kissed-up pink lips part.
Then Sam smiles.  “Getting kinda close again, Cas.”
“It’s cold,” he says innocently.  Inches closer.  Licks his lips.  And Sam is
on him.  Kissing him breathless (getting pretty good at this, Sam).
Really, all in all, not a bad day.
                                     * * *
When Dean pulls into his garage at six o’clock, he’s happy to see the two
prettiest boys in the world, sitting practically on top of each other on his
front steps.  It’s dark out now, but the porch lights throw them in sharp
relief.  Holding hands (eyeroll, such a girl, Samantha) and looking
apprehensive.  That excites him.  So, then, two naughty boys, maybe.  His
spankin’ hand is ready and rarin’ if that’s the case.  Trust and believe.
“What’s with the hand holding?  Did you guys finally make out?” 
Sam is bitch-facing him pretty hard but he still comes forward to hug Dean,
kiss his cheek once they’re inside.  Cas is fetching him a beer from the
fridge, then he’ll hug him, too.  They look at each other while Sam starts
pulling out bags of frozen vegetables and some kind of chicken that he’s baking
(usually done by now, usually food on the table by now, another clue in the
Mystery of the Two Naughty Boys.)  Since Dean works now, Sam often makes dinner
and it’s fairly adorable to see him all domestic.  Unfortunately, he keeps
trying to make Dean eat healthier (and their Dad by extension, allowing him to
grab leftovers in between his jobs, his whatever else.)  So, a lot of fairly
bland food that Dean ruins by smothering it in cheese or barbeque sauce or
whatever he can grab to improve it.  Sam is disappointed at first, but Dean is
adamant.  “A workin’ man like me or Dad needs more calories, not less, Sammy. 
I look like I need to lose weight to you?” Lifting the bottom of his t-shirt,
Sam’s envious eyes sliding over his perfect abs. 
“Noo, but Dean—“
“No buts.  Less rabbit food, more meat ‘n potatoes.  And pie.”
“I’m not making you pie, Dean,” Sam will say grumpily.  “It’s hard and takes a
long time.”
Dean’s long suffering sigh.  “We’ll go grocery shopping on the weekend.”  That
way Dean can oversee that shopping list.  Sam even cuts coupons, it really is
cute.  Their Mom used to…
Anyway.
Cas.  And Dean.  Staring at each other.
This is something that happens, especially when they first see each other. 
Dean’s spring green eyes leveled on him, assessing (have you been behaving, are
you mine), Cas’s crystal blue answering (yes, Master, yours), assessing, too,
(are you angry with me, do you want me, is this a bad day, a good day).  All in
a stare, both of them practiced at it, gleaning all the information they need
from a look.
Then Dean can turn to Sam, his Sammy.  “Gonna tell me what happened to your
face?”
Both Sam and Castiel still, and Dean’s awareness heightens.  Oh, this should be
good.
“Got in a fight,” Sam says uselessly, irritating Dean slightly.  Because, no
shit.  He waits, staring at Sam’s back where he’s lining a baking pan with foil
for his chicken.  Sam glances at Dean, a bit nervous now.  “I got in a fight at
school.  With Brady.”
“Thought he was your friend.”  Sips his beer.
“He was.  I told him more than once to stop talking that way about Cas, but he
kept up.”
Dean nods, pride swelling in him.  “Fucked him up good?”
Sam flashes a smile over his shoulder.  “I’m sure he’s glad we’re suspended;
he’ll need the rest.”
“Suspended?  Sammy,” Dean shakes his head, noting the surprised, guilty look
Cas shoots Sam.  Takes a moment to admire those puffy kiss-swelled lips.  Hmm. 
“Yeah, suspended…it’s only one day for first offenders.  Neither of us are
trouble makers at school,” Sam says lightly, but Dean can hear the nerves now. 
Getting suspended is a spanking offense in the Winchester house.  He turns,
ready to make his case.  “Dean, come on, you got in lots of fights in school—“
“And took my licks from Dad for it, too.  Same as you will.  Tonight.  From
me.”
“Deeaan, I’m not a little boy, I’m almost in high school—“
“You say that like I won’t be spankin’ you in high school if you need it. 
Although to be honest, by then it’s usually just whipping.  Because you’re
right, you’re older and should know better.”
“I don’t know anybody that still gets spanked,” Sam’s face is flushed now;
pissed and embarrassed.  “And you didn’t have to say it in front of Cas!”
“Sure are mouthy tonight.  Wanna stomp your foot at me while you’re at it? 
Have a tantrum?”  Dean’s voice is steely, his eyes narrowed on Sam.  “Maybe we
do need to skip straight to the belt.”
“I’m not having a tantrum, Dean, I’m trying to talk to you but you won’t even
listen!”
“Stop what you’re doing.  Right now.”
“Dean—“
“Now. Hands at your sides.”
Sam does it, fingers curled into fists.  Delightful.  Dean glances at Cas, who
is trying to disappear at the kitchen table.
“Cas, why you over there lookin’ so guilty?  Sam, is it Cas’s fault you got
suspended?”
“No, Cas.  I chose to fight at school,” Sam’s voice slightly softer for Cas’s
sake, but the undercurrent of anger and frustration is still there.  Pretty
baby’s gone way too long without correction if he’s this defiant…or maybe he’s
trying to be a tough guy for Cas.  Dean smiles, kind of liking that, too (even
if he is about to crush it).  Good boy, Sammy…gonna be an Alpha Male, like me.
Just, you know.  Not ever with Dean (mine, my Sammy, my Baby Boy).
“That’s right.  Good boy.  And you’re right.  You’re gonna be a man, soon.  Not
a baby anymore.  Needs more than hand, but not the belt if you can fix those
little hands and look at the floor like you’re supposed to.”  Sam’s face is
still too tight for submission, but his fingers go slack, his eyes lowered. 
Not bad.
“I…I hit Sam.  At school.  And…and I was yelling and cursing in the hall.”
Both Winchesters look at the scrawny boy at the kitchen table in surprise (at
least until Dean says, “Sammy, face front, head down.”)  Dean’s eyes
practically glow when he realizes the gift he’s being given.  His voice is soft
but stern.  “What do you mean, you hit…Sam?”  His eyes on Cas in that moment
are unforgiving, his enunciation purposeful.  He likes the squirm, the
immediate drop of shoulders and head, twisting of little fingers (now that’s
submission, Sammy.)  But if Cas put hands on Sam, that’s a punishment that’s
going to need some privacy.
“He just pushed—“
“Quiet, Sammy.  Castiel, answer me.”
“These kids were bothering me and I…I wasn’t feeling so good.”  Looks at Dean,
willing him to understand.  Cas’s punishment, Cas so beautifully and completely
broken down by the end.  Trying to go back to school.  He nods slightly (he
gets it, all right) but still…hands on his Sammy, his slave’s hands on his
fucking Sammy? 
Cas lowers his eyes again, biting at his lip.  His voice is even softer; Dean
has to force him to speak up.  “Sam came to help…I…I just wanted to run away.”
Wry twist to Dean’s lips; poor little bitch.  “S-sam…made me stay.  I-I got
mad,” Dean’s frowning again (who the fuck are you to get mad?) and Cas catches
it, goes white. 
“And?” Dean has to say because Cas’s words dried up right there.
“A-a-and…I-I…y-yelled—“
“Dean, that’s enough, quit scaring him!”  Sam, head up again, looking right at
Dean, eyes narrowed. 
“Sam,” Dean, really starting to lose his fucking patience.
“You can’t spank him anyway; he’s not your kid.  Or your brother,” Sam rushes
on, embarrassed.
(You are, though, Sammy, you were right the first time, you’re my kid.)
“He can,” Cas whispers, and they look at him again, Dean not even bothering to
correct Sam this time.  Because, holy shit.  Another gift.  “He can,” Cas says
louder and looks up at them.  He still looks sick with fear.  “I-I-I’m a
Winchester.  J-John…your Dad said so.  Aren’t I?”  This last part thrown out
almost shyly, blue eyes flicking from green to hazel and back.  “Aren’t I
family?  Yours?”
MIIINE.
Dean knows his answer, but he wants to hear Sam’s first.
“Yeah…yeah, course you are,” Sam is telling him, and Dean watches how soft his
face gets; not really sure how to feel about it, but makes note of it anyway. 
“But Cas…come on, that doesn’t mean…you don’t need to…”
“I need to,” Cas answers, but he’s looking at Dean.  “I want to be yours.  For
real.  Treat me like…like it’s real.  Please.”
“I agree it’s real…you’re…ours,” he quickly corrects himself, both Cas and
himself acknowledging with those communicative stares (Mine, Cas…Yours, Dean). 
“But I won’t spank you unless Sammy agrees, too.  All the way, Sammy.  I’m not
gonna do it if it freaks you out.  It’s what he wants, though.”
Sam looks helplessly at Cas.  “How can I let you be hurt?  You’ve
already…you’re already so…”
“No, don’t say that, wait,” Cas pleads, big blue eyes shimmering with
desperation, guilt.  “Those things I said…I…I pushed you, I…and then you got in
a fight because of me, shut up, Sam, it is because of me, and now you’ll be
spanked.  So I should, too.  I got us into this.  Aren’t we in it together? 
You said we were.”
“I…Cas…” Sam, that strange soft look on his face, like he’s helpless against
Cas.  Dean frowns, not sure he likes it.  In this together, but where is Dean
in that?  How can they be in anywhere, anything, without him?  When they are
his?
Cas is getting up.  Ignoring Sam now, walking timidly, slowly closer to Dean. 
“I pushed Sam hard, he hit the lockers,” he starts, sounding so, so sorry (and
really, Sam, you let this little butterfly push you that hard?  Mental note to
spar more often.)  “I said…stuff.”  Cas takes a breath, gathers his courage,
eyes only for Dean.  “I said Sam was so perfect he just makes more trouble for
me when he gets in those kids faces.  I was yelling in the hallway…that I’m the
fucking faggot” Dean’s dick, twitching, hearing Cas put himself in those terms,
“I’m the fucking freak.  Then I…I said Sam you…you want…”  he breaks off,
clearly struggling with this part.
Dean swallows hard, takes his own deep breath...riveted.
“Cas, you don’t have to say that part—“ Sam, anguished, embarrassed.  But it
just urges Cas on, gives him the boost of courage he needed. 
“I said ‘you want a blowjob?  Sam please suck my…”
Dean feels his lips part in shock.  Jesus, the things Cas does at school (Can I
see your, please suck my) ,fucking spectacular. Such a crazy little fuck, Dean
loves it.
Cas swallows again; he and Sam both looking at the floor now, cheeks burning
bright.  “Sam stopped me but that’s when I…I yelled ‘Fuck you’ at him twice. 
That’s when I pushed him.”  Cas keeps his head down; he’s much closer to Dean
than Sam is now.  “Let him punish me, Sam.  I don’t know if I’ll be suspended,
maybe.  Some teachers came but I ran away.  But what I did was worse than what
you did.  Wasn’t it, Sam?  You were mad, too.”
Dean gives it a beat, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. 
“Sammy…call it.  Is he ours?  Or should he go home…you know you’re grounded. 
Maybe he is, too…but here.”
Sam, looking so uncertain…then looking from Cas to Dean, and something in his
face changes.  Some new determination, an oddly needy look.  “Okay…yeah…he’s
ours.  Mine and yours, Dean.  And Dad’s, I guess.”
Dean gives him a considering look, but mostly he’s just elated.  Something he
thought was just a jackoff fantasy, about to happen.  “All right.  But we need
to eat, and I need time to think about how this goes down.  Sam, you can finish
makin' dinner.  If you need Cas to help you, he can.  Otherwise, I want him
alone in the living room in the corner, face to the wall.”
Sam looks at him oddly, this strange addition.  He hasn’t done corner time
since he was a baby.  “He’s doing it.  His offense is worse than yours, and I
want him thinkin’.”
“But Dean—“
“Sammy!   You’ve gotten all the leeway you’re gettin’.  Make dinner and don’t
talk again until it’s ready.  Got it?”
“Yes…”
“Yes, what?” Dean’s really pulling out all the stops, another surprised look
from Sam, lips twisting as though he wants to argue.  Steely green eyes
convincing him not to. 
“Yes, Sir,” he says, and if it’s grumbly, Dean blames himself.  Lettin’ this
boy get soft and spoiled, that’s what he’s been doing.  Well, no more.
Cas heads for the living room and Dean follows, sees Sam watch him whisper in
Cas’s ear.  “That was very good, baby angel, and I liked it a lot.  You knew I
would, you gave this to me, and that makes me happy.”
Cas looks up at him, blue eyes brimming with hope.  Dean pats him and
disappears upstairs.  To think.
                                       ~
Dean is lying on his bed, thinking about how he wants this to go down.  He
doesn’t have long to figure this out.  The smell of food is already wafting
upstairs, and that’s good, too.  He bets the boys will have trouble getting any
of it down; he thinks he’ll probably have to direct some forks into pretty
little mouths.  But Dean’s made of different stuff; he’s always hungry.  He’ll
eat just fine.
The first thing he realizes is that he can’t spank them one at a time and make
the other watch.  I know, that sounds really, really awesome, but hear him
out.  Cas’s ass is still probably bruised from his punishment (Dean had been
really hard on him, and all the ice and Arnica cream in the world doesn’t make
up for the fact that bruises like that take time to heal.)  So Sam can’t watch
him because he’ll see it.  Not to mention the annoying certainty he has that
Sam would find it too difficult to watch Cas get punished; would probably try
his Baby Hero thing and intervene. 
And Dean would have to beat the shit out of him.  Who wants that, when he’s so
happy tonight?
So where does that leave us?  Gotta line them up, one next to the other.  Pants
down, pretty little silken white asses (well…one still kinda purplish maybe),
round and waiting for his hand…or something.  Hmm.  Where does he put them? 
Sam usually takes his spankings over the knee, that’s no help. 
Maybe on his bed.  Two of them, on all fours.
Sam will probably think that’s weird.  Might feel just a little uneasy when
Dean tells him.  But it’s not up to him, and as far as Dean can tell, it’s the
most comfortable and accommodating option.  Can’t fit them both on the couch. 
He could drape them over the arm, maybe (done that with Cas plenty of times). 
But that’s a tight fit.  If he puts them on his bed (his cock is getting hard),
then after…when they’re crying…red-faced and so sorry (Daddy) Dean.  He can
take care of them.  Poor, sore little bottoms.  Christ. 
So, what to use?  He already told Sam it won’t be his hand (well, he should
have said not just his hand…no way he’s not touching bare skin first…gotta have
a warm-up, right?)  He knows, he’ll make Sam get—
“Dean, it’s ready!” Sam calls, and Dean gets up smoothly.  He adjusts himself
(fucking shit, he’s too excited about this) and heads down, surprised when he
sees Sam has set the table.  The three of them have eaten together tons of
times, but Sam and Dean are casual types, grabbing food and parking in front of
the television.  Yet there’s Sam, setting out actual plates (is that their
mother’s China?), folding paper towels into triangles. 
“Castiel, come on,” Dean calls, both Winchesters looking up as the pale,
subdued angel comes in, Sam gently squeezing his hand when he thinks Dean won’t
see.  He’s impressed with Sam’s meal when he sees it, and tells him so.  Sam
smiles shyly and hops up to get Dean another beer. 
“It’s oven fried chicken.  So, not too healthy, right?”  Puppy eyes, so hopeful
as he hands Dean his drink and sits back down.
Dean is charmed, reaches across the table to touch his face, stroke his hair
back from his forehead.  “It’s awesome, Sammy.  You’re awesome.”
They eat, with Cas picking at his food until Dean admonishes him, different
reasons that he says out loud (“Don’t want to hurt Sam’s feelings, right?”) and
with just his eyes (didn’t I tell you eat all your meals?)  Dean makes Cas
clear the table by himself and takes Sam into the living room, sitting on the
couch and tugging the skinny thing into his lap.
“I’m too big for this,” Sam grouses like he always does now, but cuddles
against his brother. 
“Never too big,” Dean says lightly.  “You okay?  With what I’m gonna do to
Cas?”
Sam shrugs, squirms a little, biting his lower lip.  “Guess so.  It’s weird
but…we’re pretty weird.”
Dean has to laugh.  “Yeah, that’s us.”
“How’r you…you know.  Are…will you make us…w-watch each other?”  Crimson little
face, Dean loves it so much, he has to touch the heat there. 
“No, gonna do you together,” he tells him…likes wording it that way, watching
Sam swallow hard.  “Gonna put you both on my bed, Sammy.”
Sam looks at him, startled. 
“It’s okay,” he soothes, tugging Sam’s head down to his shoulder.  “That’s the
only place there’s room enough and I don’t have to be squatting down or
something.”
Sam pauses…shrugs a little against Dean’s chest.  “I…I guess.”  He curls into
Dean a little tighter, making himself a little smaller.  “Will it be bad,
Dean?”  his voice sounds younger than he is and Dean closes his eyes, savoring
it. 
“Nah, not too bad.  First offense, and it sounds like that prick had it coming,
didn’t he?”
Sam nods, relaxing slightly.  “Keeps calling Cas a fag, talking all this
shi—stuff.  I’ve had it.” 
Dean likes his grim little voice, his tough little brother.  “Like the way
you’re growin’ up, Sammy.  Too disrespectful by half, and we’re gonna work on
that now,” feels Sam shudder, squeezes him, “but for all them girly ways—“
“Deeaan,” Sam, complaining, trying to squirm away but Dean not letting him.
“—you’re turnin’ out pretty tough.  That’s good.  Need to be tough, Sammy.”
“Just not with you,” Sam says darkly and Dean lets him up enough to see his
face.
He smiles, putting a little dare into it.  “You can try, little brother. 
You’re always welcome to try.”
Sam stares at him.  Finally lowers his eyes.  “No, Sir.”
“Don’t wanna disrespect me, do you?”
“No, Sir.”
“I know that,” Dean says, softening his voice a bit.  “And you know I’m just
tryin’ to do what’s best for you, right?”  (Some truth in there, anyway…legit
spankings with a side of Dean really getting off on them.)
And Sam, urgent, the way he always gets when he thinks about how much Dean does
for him, has always done for him.  “I know, Dean, I’m sorry.  I love you,
Dean.”
“Most, Sammy?  Still love me most?”
Sam twists to wind his arms around Dean’s neck, hugging desperately, telling
him, “Always, Dean.  Always gonna love you most!”
Cas clears his throat, shifting nervously behind them.  Sam slips out of Dean’s
lap and he lets him go this time.  Time to get this show on the road. 
“Upstairs, to my room.  No talking unless I ask you a question.” (That one’s
for Sam, mouthy little shit.)  “Sammy…”
Sam stops on the stairs, looking back questioningly. 
“Get your hairbrush first.”
                                       ~
Dean has other things he can use besides belt or hand (though they are his go-
to’s.)  Now that Cas is getting bigger, he’s been starting a collection. 
Paddles and things.  Fun little toys to try out.  Slowly, nothing too much,
he’s still just a kid after all (that thrill Dean still gets, fucking this
kid.)  And he’s delicate, too, at least under Dean’s hands. 
But the hairbrush isn’t even part of that.  It was sort of a gag gift, really. 
Dean in a drug store (picking up more lube for someone’s sweet hole, among
other odds and ends), and he sees this girly thing, a wide, round wooden brush,
with a subtle, swirling design carved into the edges.  Just enough to make it
feminine.  He had fun giving it to Sam, already knowing what he’d say when he’d
give it to him (“Pretty brush for that pretty, pretty hair, Sammy”), amusing
the shit out of himself.  The bitchface had been impressive, as expected, along
with all the complaints, but Sam kept it.  Just like he does every gift Dean
gives him, no matter how humble or “Not funny, Dean.”  Dean had given him a
practice swat with it that day, liked the loud yelp he got, the way Sam rubbed
his bottom and stared at Dean (Hey, that really hurt!) 
He knows Sam remembers, too, the way his face goes white.  He looks like he
wants to argue again, but he doesn’t.  Turns and heads the rest of the way
upstairs. 
Dean helps himself to another beer.  Slowly ascends the stairs, taking his
time.  This is amazing and he’s got to savor it, each second.  Like pausing in
his doorway to admire his two short, slender boys, just entering adolescence
now, all skinny limbs and concave chests.  Sitting on Deans bed like an illegal
offering, two for the price of one.  They look nervous, Cas keeping his eyes
low (the way Dean likes), his hand just shy of touching Sam.  He looks a little
distressed, and Dean guesses it must be confusing, being in this room, about to
submit to a spanking…with Sam there.  Mixing his two worlds.
Sam is looking at him, sure, but having trouble holding his gaze.  He has the
hairbrush in his hands and he’s twisting it nervously. 
“Got somethin’ for me, Sammy?” Dean asks quietly.  Hesitating, Sam awkwardly
hands him the brush and sits back down, waiting.  “Hands and knees, Castiel.” 
His voice, quick like a whip, and Sam gives him a startled, questioning look,
but Cas moves the way he always does, instant obedience.  Tipping his hips,
offering up that little bottom.
“Dean—“
“What’d I say about talkin’, Sam?”  Glares at his brother coldly.
Sam swallows, lowers his eyes.  “No talking unless you ask a question.”
“That’s right.  Get up next to Cas, same way.  Quick about it.”  Dean watches
him obey, and gives himself a moment to appreciate the sight of them.  He
approaches and pushes Sam just that much closer to Cas, their bodies a
hairsbreadth away from each other, enough squirming and they would probably
brush against each other.  Sam is struggling to be still, licking his lips
nervously, flicking glances at Cas.  But Cas is all stillness.  Eyes closed. 
Waiting on his Master’s pleasure, as he always does.  This is going to get so
good.
“Some rules.  You can close your eyes, you can look down, you can look
forward.  Don’t look at each other, and do not look back at me.  Back here is
none of your business.  Got it?”
“Yes, Dean.”
“Yes, Ma—“ Cas gasps, Dean pinching the inside of his thigh hard, having
anticipated the mistake.  “Dean, yes, Dean!”  Sam looks at Cas curiously and
Dean swats him hard. 
“What’d I just say, Samuel?”  Name he hardly uses, but sometimes you gotta get
old school.
“Ow! Sorry!  Don’t look at Cas!”
Dean moves to Sam’s side, liking how he cringes.  Whispers in his ear, “Watch
it.  I wanted to go easy on you, but I guess I can’t.  Not with that mouth,
huh?  Can I, Sammy?”
“No, Dean,” Sam says quietly.  He’s gotten his face slapped plenty for mouthing
off, doesn’t act quite as brave with Dean up close like that. 
Dean circles over to Cas’s side, watching them.  “Looks like I forgot to tell
you to take your pants down.  That’s okay, I’ll do it.”  He gets behind Cas and
slides his hands over his waist, to the front of his jeans.  Opens the button,
slides down the zipper.  His hands are lightly caressing, perving him because
he can.  He tugs down his jeans and boxers, making sure they hit his knees,
leaving him nice and exposed.  He notices how much better his ass has gotten,
welts all faded, bruised but much better.  It’s gonna look so pretty under a
nice even cherry color.
He wishes he could touch, could kiss those fading marks, but he moves to Sam,
doing the same job to his pants and underwear, if much more clinically.  Steps
back.  Admiring those small, perky round asses, all lined up for him.  Fucking,
fucking shit.
“Sam, why am I punishing you?”
“Fighting at school and getting suspended, Sir.”  Still subdued, now that it’s
about to happen.
“And?” Dean grits out significantly.
“Mouthing off when you said to be quiet, Sir.”  Even more subdued.  Afraid. 
Dean likes it.
“Cas, same question?”
“Yelling and cursing at school in the hall…pushing Sam.  Cutting classes.”
Dean blinks, he didn’t know about that one.  “Jesus, Cas. “
“Dean please, it’s his first—“
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK.  Dean’s hand, coming down on Sam hard (so much
for warm-up).
“Sammy!  Shut.  Up!”
 Sam gasps but otherwise takes it silently. 
“That’s enough of this bullshit.  Cas with your acting out at school when you
know better,” Slams one, then another into Cas, likes the squirm he gets.  “And
Sam with your fucking mouth!”  Five more for Sam, because now that he thinks
about it, he really is pissed.  Who the fuck are you talkin’ back to, little
boy?
He stops, looks at the pale pink already starting on Sam’s ass, Cas’s even
lighter, but that will change.  Beautiful boys, all his right now.  He slips a
finger under Cas’s ass, rubbing the sweet bit of skin between his hole and his
cock.  Realizes he’s probably making Cas hard and thinks that’d be pretty
funny, if Sam sees Cas get hard after this.  Hears the tiniest of shallow
breaths, good boy, nice and quiet.  “Ten hand spanks.  Twenty hairbrush
spanks.  Ten more hand.  You don’t have to count.  You just have to take it. 
Cry as much as you want, all the pain sounds you wanna make, that’s fine.  You
don’t cover your ass and you don’t move away.  Got it?”
“Yes, Dean”  From both.  In unison.  Dean adjusts himself and takes a second to
sip his beer.  
"Also realize you might have a hard time staying up on your hands...cuz this is
gonna take a while.  If you have to drop down, that's fine as long as your ass
stays up.  But...," he walks towards Sam, rubs his back slightly.  "I do want
you to try.  Staying up for me, just like you are now."  He moves back, seeing
Sam's little determined face.  He bets his boy won't drop once.
 He starts (SMACK SMACK SMACK.)  It’s a little more difficult this way.  A few
hits for each boy, then switching, trying to get that even glow he wants while
keeping to the count he promised.  His smacks are hard, but not rage-spanks
like Sam got that infamous day.  Still his hands are huge, bigger than one
cheek on either boy.  It’s effective.
Cas is crying by the time he’s gotten his ten, which probably doesn’t bode well
for him, but then he’s been trained to cry, Master so loves his tears.  Sammy
holds out, but his little sounds are all the more gorgeous for how Dean rips
them from his throat, hard meaty smacks to a sweet, round ass, smaller,
stinging ones rounding him out.  They’re both pink when it’s time to switch to
the brush, and if Cas was fake-crying, Dean will find him some real tears right
about now.
“Good job, boys.  Time for the hairbrush now.  You ready?”  Nothing, no amount
of propriety, of being careful, could have stopped him from rubbing a hand over
each small ass, feeling that chubby roundness under the guise of rubbing out
the sting.  Sammy relaxes slightly, barely noticeable, but his slutty kitty
leans in, and Dean rewards him, slipping fingers into that crack, tickling
lightly over his balls.  Yeah, he shouldn’t be pleasing him right now, but he’s
too fucking turned on, he’s gotta touch him.  Cas’s gasps are a little louder
this time, Dean figures he’s passing it off as pain.  He keeps his eyes on Sam
and that’s how he sees it, that tension, Sam dying to look at Cas.  “Eyes
front, Samuel.”
“Yes, Dean,” Sam says quickly, widening his eyes (a how the fuck did he know
look if Dean has ever seen one).  Then he closes them, as if to avoid
temptation.
Dean takes his fingers away from Cas (missing the whine that he sometimes gets,
his bratty baby.)  Picks up the brush.  Slaps it against his brother’s stinging
ass (tougher on Sam, you can take it baby brother), liking the little jump, the
way his ass jiggles.  Rubs it with the brush.  Turns and brings it down full
strength on Cas.  For ten without stopping.  Cas writhing and crying full out,
moaning in pain, that little ass jumping.  Sam’s squirming, too, finding it
hard to listen to Cas suffer.  That’s okay, it’s his turn.  Ten, full strength,
no stopping.  The fleshy top of his ass gets the most, with just enough for
that sweet sit spot so he’ll be thinking about this for at least a few days. 
And there…Sam’s tears, quieter now that he’s older, but Dean can make him make
noise.  Bringing the brush down hard enough to force a sob. 
And blinks in surprise.  “Cas!  Five more for looking at Sam, what did I tell
you?” SMACK SMACK, with his hand, unable to wait.
Cas squealing, squirming in pain, “Ah, Please, Ma—Dean! Don’t look at Sam, you
said don’t look at Sam!”
SMACK, hand again.  “Say sorry!”
“Sorry, Dean,” he whimpers and Dean has to stop himself from going off on him
(worthless, stupid slut) the way he normally would if Cas disobeys. 
Fifteen in a row for Cas, and he’s wailing by the end of it.  Sam is crying,
too, though his pain must have calmed some with the break; Dean thinks he’s
crying for his little friend’s suffering.  It’s so hot.  God, all their pain,
it’s so fucking hot.  If he could only...and shit, he shouldn’t be thinking
this now, but thinking of them, and what he could say (“Cas is crying, Sammy,
why don’t you give him a little kiss, make it better…?”)  Shit, his dick is
hard and his jeans are painfully tight now, he wishes he could just take it
out.  Bad idea, with these sweet asses, so bare and needy in front of him, all
that pretty pink.
Focus.  Jesus.
He gives Sam his ten, nice and hard, getting that focus right back where it
belongs, and even Sam is crying hard when he’s finished.  He puts the brush
down, admiring his work, sweet cherry red for Sam, nice and even, and Cas is
just that much darker, his old bruising barely noticeable under the flaming
red.
“Good job,” his voice is gravel, and he hopes Sam doesn’t recognize the lust in
it.  He knows Cas does, pressing back even now, getting his touches, taking
them sweetly.  He’s still crying hard, they both are, and it’s fucking music,
so sweet and young and hurt.  Hurt by Dean, the way they need to be.  “Shh,” he
tells them, not meaning it, rubbing over the hot skin.  “Almost done, good
boys.”
He goes back to switching it up between them, and he can see how his hand is
murder this time on all that sensitive flesh.  Ten each and they’re done.  Two
boys reduced to weeping babies for him, waiting for (Daddy) Dean to make it
better.  “Okay…okay, relax…it’s over,” he tells them, helping each boy to lay
down now, right where they are on his bed, on their stomachs. “Gonna leave you
for a few minutes, let you think about this.  No rubbing, no talking.  Just…try
to calm down.  Think about why it happened.  What I need you to do from now
on.”
He leaves them quietly and goes straight to the bathroom, turning on the water
and releasing his achingly hard cock at last.  He’s wet already, thinking about
those asses, those cries, the things he could do, and it’s barely any strokes
before he’s spurting like a pre-teen, explosive and satisfying.  Even then he
takes a minute, realizes he’s actually shaking.  Coming so close to the thing
he wants more than anything.  Both boys, all his, so pretty and punished,
needing his dick.  Cas is so getting fucked tonight.  He’s getting fucked
within an inch of his life and he’ll talk about Sam the whole time for Dean. 
Yeah.
Dean cleans himself up and drinks from the tap, splashing water over his face. 
Because it’s not going to be any better, those naked asses still waiting for
him to see, all that red, and pretty tear-stained faces, so sorry, so ready to
be good.  He has to keep his composure.  He has to not look at Sam like he
wants to fuck him through the floor.
To give himself more time, he goes downstairs and makes them a snack of cut up
apples and cheese, then grabs a water bottle (he could get two but thinks it’s
cuter if they share.)  He stops at the medicine cabinet, too.  Regular
painkiller for Cas (need you awake, baby) and PM for Sam.  He’s not giving them
cream this time, at least not today.  Sam’s right, they’re getting big.  He
wants it to hurt.
He puts the pills in separate pockets so as not to mix them up (devastating,
the idea of knocking Cas out and leaving Sam wide awake.)  He goes back in his
room and the boys are quieted, looking away from each other…but their hands, he
notices, touching ever so lightly.  He wonders, then decides he doesn’t mind if
they were holding hands. 
Cute.  If they wanna be girls, he doesn’t mind.  He likes girls.
He pulls his desk chair over.  “Ready to talk?”
“Yes, Dean,” Sam says softly, blue hazel eyes so shiny and earnest.  Once his
temper is past, Sam hates for Dean to be mad at him, always needs to make up as
soon as he can.  It’s endearing as hell.
Cas blinks behind Sam, those beautiful blues all wet and broken.  “Yes, Dean.”
Dean sets down the snack between them, with Sam diving in and Cas only
reluctantly taking some after a pointed look from his Master.  He gives Sam
control of the water bottle and they pass it back and forth.  He gives them the
pills and is gratified to see Sam pop his trustingly, not even looking to see
the PM on he side.  Dean talks to them again about their offenses, focusing on
Sam’s mouth and Cas’s…well being crazy where everyone can see (he’s sweet about
it for Sam’s sake, but Cas should really fucking watch it.)  He likes the
subdued tones, little sniffles and hitching breaths. 
“Dean, are you gonna put cream?” Sam, never afraid to ask for what he wants,
sounding about six years old with that little tentative voice.
“Not this time, buddy.  You’re right, you’re growin’ up.  Need you to feel it,
so you remember.  Then we won’t have to do this again.  You’re good kids, both
of you.  You don’t get into trouble like this, especially you, Sammy.  And I
see you tryin’ to look after Cas…that makes you the big brother, you know? 
Countin’ on you to set an example.”
Sam’s eyes widen at the prospect and Dean hides a smile.  He checks in on Cas,
who should have spoken up, or at least be trying not to scowl by now (not a
baby, don’t need lookin’ after), but his expression hasn’t changed, his eyes
still dulled, pained.  Dean frowns, but that’s a problem for when they’re
alone.  It’s irksome though…he realizes he misses his brat.
“Okay.  You can pull your pants up if you want.  We’re all done here.”
Sam has his up quickly, blushing and wincing, then turning to look at Cas. 
Catches sight of his face.  “Cas,” he whispers, his heart hurting for him. 
“It’s okay, Cas, you said you wanted him to…are you okay?” 
Cas looks at him and nods…tries to glance at Dean and starts to cry.  Dean gets
up to hold him but Sam is quicker, wrapping Cas in his arms and pressing kisses
to his tearful cheeks.  Dean’s eyes narrow until he realizes Sam is leading
Cas, leading him across the bed.  To Dean. 
“It’s okay, Cas, look, Dean can make it better now…look, he’ll make it all
better, he does it all the time.  Here just…it’s okay,” he tells him gently and
he’s trying to push Cas off the bed, so he’ll go into Dean’s lap. 
“He…he doesn’t want me to,” Cas says brokenly and Dean is reaching for him,
lifting him into his lap, sideways, tucking his arm under Cas’s knees, his
other arm behind his back, that baby way that only still works because Dean’s
so big and Cas is so little. 
“Shh, I got you, Cas, you’re okay…look at me, holding you just like your mine,”
Dean kisses his messy curls, breathes in his scent the way he does to Sam.  A
scent that’s become nearly as familiar, and just as much Dean’s.  Mine.
“See, Cas?” Dean looks up in surprise, because Sam is crying, too.  Happy
tears, Dean realizes, letting go of Cas’s legs so he can draw Sam into his
side.  “See, you’re ours and that means Dean is yours now, too, okay?  That’s
what you need, like I have.  He’ll…he’ll look after you and love you and keep
you safe.  Like he does for me.”  And Sam isn’t looking at Cas, he’s tucked up
against Dean’s shoulder, those hazel eyes so stormy, blue and grey and green
all at once today, so hopeful and pleading, locked on his big brother. 
And Dean isn’t sure about this.  Because he does belong to Sam, he guesses, the
same way he belongs to his Dad.  His life is about his needs, his wants, but if
it didn’t interfere, there isn’t much he wouldn’t do for his family.  But Cas
is…he’s an item.  Something Dean can put in his pocket and carry around or toss
up in the attic if he gets tired of playing with it.  He kisses Sam’s forehead
and buries his face in his shoulder so he can look narrowly at Cas.  Who is
looking at him with painful, shining hope.  Please keep me, Master.  Please
don’t give me away.
Dean looks at that beautiful face and thinks about how different Cas has been
since his punishment.  How off, how uncertain.  Imagines Cas without that tiny
bit of confidence in Dean that he’d managed to build over the last two years,
asking prettily for his little favors, pouting and grumping with the knowledge
that he won’t get killed for it.  Thinks about how much he enjoys that (despite
himself.)  And in truth, he can’t really imagine getting bored playing with
him.  His soft little slave.  So much still to try, and isn’t it more fun if
Cas whines about some of it?
His silence is too long and Cas’s eyes cloud over, new tears slipping out as he
goes slack in Dean’s arms.  Hopeless.  Sam lifts his head from Dean’s shoulder
and gives him the eyes again.  “You didn’t tell him, Dean.  You have to tell
him now, like you do for me, okay?  You can make him feel better, don’t you
want to?”
Dean sighs; his brother is a pain in the ass.  But he does want to, if only to
get his brat back.  “You want that, kiddo?” he sits Cas up, bounces him a
little on his knee, getting him to open his eyes, focus.  “Want me to keep
you?  Look after you?”
Sam pressing against him as tight as he can, burying his head again, shaking as
he cries.  Wanting this so badly, Dean realizes.  Cas straightening up so he
can press his face against Dean’s, hugging him too.  “Please, Ma…please Dean. 
I want that.  It’s all I want.”
“And you’ll be good boys for me?”
“Yes, Dean.”   Chorused. 
“Then I’ll keep you.  And I’m yours, too.  Your big brother,” Dean says for
Sam’s sake, but he and Cas are talking other things.  Then he moves them all to
the bed where he can smother them with kisses and cuddles.  Pure, brotherly
affection, without a single wandering hand.  After a while he sees it, they
both do:  Sam and Dean see Cas finally relax, the tension seeping out of his
limbs as he glows up at Dean.  Falls asleep. 
Sam’s exhausted, too, and Dean lets him fall asleep in his bed before moving
him to his own.  He changes him into pajamas, enjoying it, this rare occasion
to see Sam naked again, beautiful with his red bottom.  Sam is dead to the
world and pliant throughout, and Dean keeps his stroking hands mostly under
control.  He steals a kiss, because no matter if he lets Cas borrow them,
Sammy's lips are his.
He tucks him in and closes his door behind him.  Goes back to his own room and
locks himself in with Cas.  Opens his pants gently, not wanting to wake him
(not yet).  Takes out that sweet, silky prick.  Takes him in his mouth and
starts slowly sucking him down.
Time to help Cas feel better about things.
Chapter End Notes
     Cas's outburst in the hall and every single consequence of that was a
     surprise to me, so that's a huge chunk of this chapter (Sam getting
     pissed, them kissing, Cas offering to be punished, Dean getting to
     spank them both together) that just...happened. I thought Dean would
     try to fix Cas's mental state a little, realizing he prefers him with
     that tiny bit of spirit rather than completely crushed, but I didn't
     know he'd do it in this chapter at this time. I thought he'd let him
     stay broken longer. Oh well.
     You should also know that giving my brain that break has me just
     fucking bursting with ideas for these three. So we'll have to see
     what happens. Hope this was worth the wait.
***** A New Game (This Won't Hurt a Bit) *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean tries to make Cas more like he was before his punishment, and
     Cas and Sam get his answer about them being able to date. It's all a
     set-up of course.
When Dean wakes up the next morning, he’s alone in his bed and feeling
relaxed...well, for him.  The reality of being Dean is being subject to
unending hunger (being its bitch, really), so that no matter how he eats,
fights, and fucks, he wakes up like this, already wanting, already thinking
about what he needs, what he wants next.  Each fantasy he fulfills just makes
him want more.  He is always burning; a fire that ebbs at times but never goes
out.  Or a shark that has to move or die.
Take last night, for instance. 
Lying in bed now, he thinks of them…his boys.  The way they looked on the step
when he came home. Then inside the house, the way they hopped lightly around
him, trying to please him, looking up at him with those big eyes, vying for his
approval. 
The way they looked on all fours with their pants down.  Scared and
waiting...letting him hurt them, the way he knows they need.  Showing him they
are his with their tears, their submission.
He puts his hand down his boxer briefs, stroking…thinking.
Then after he put Sammy to bed, his time with Cas.  His sweet little slave, so
broken, hurting so badly…not from the beating he took, but from the fear Dean
put into him in the dark.  Fear that Dean wouldn’t want him anymore.  Tiny
spirit broken under the lashing it got from Dean’s cruel tongue.  It feels
good, knowing he can do that to him. And after all, he deserved it.  After the
way he’d behaved, he deserved just what he got.  Dean isn’t sorry at all,
wouldn’t take back one word.
Except.
He doesn’t really want him to stay that broken.  After all, it’s a matter of
being careful.  Cas is acting out at school again; that’s only going to get
worse.  Dean knows that better than anyone.  When he’d been the one acting out,
he’d discovered early on how his face, his silver tongued charm, could work
miracles, get him out of trouble time and again.  That’s not going to work for
Cas (beautiful, yes…charming?  More like awkward), so Dean has to help him.  If
he wants to keep fucking him without getting caught, anyway.
And that’s a given.
Last night Dean had been riding high after that spanking, but jerking off in
the bathroom helped him keep control.  So he didn’t just start finger fucking
Cas while he was still asleep, the way he might have wanted.  Instead he’d been
sweet and gentle, waking him by sucking that little dick (still tastes so good,
clean little boy dick) into his mouth, pulling his pants down slowly and
licking at the peach fuzz over his balls before kissing his way over creamy (if
still bruised) thighs.  Cas had woken on a moan, sleepy eyes worshipful,
wanting, pretty pink lips falling open to make the sounds Dean likes.  Dean had
stopped only to take his pants, underwear, and socks all the way off, baring
him from the waist down.
Then he’d knelt between his legs.  “Show me, baby angel.  Show me what I want.”
And Cas had put his hands under his knees and tugged them up, legs spread,
opening up to Dean, showing that gorgeous red ass.  They hadn’t fucked all
week, and Dean knew he’d be so tight for him.  “Who do you belong to?” he
murmured, lightly kissing the fading bruises he sees, fingerprints and pale
lines where the belt struck over and over. 
“You, Master,” Cas had moaned, squirming under the attention.  His eyes were on
Dean’s face like he was afraid if he blinked, Dean would disappear (or
change…angry Dean, hurting him, punishing him, hating him).  “I’m yours.”
“Mmhmm,” Dean agreed, his face pressed against the crease of Cas’s inner thigh,
slipping his tongue over it.  “All mine.  Tell me…what do bad boys get?”  He
moved to his other thigh, Cas’s hard little prick weeping right next to his
face.
Cas, gasped, still trying to watch.  “They…they get punished, Master.”
Sucking a bruise lightly into the skin, using his hands to keep Cas’s hips
pinned to the bed, but lightly.  “True.  Were you a bad boy for me?”
Cas had to look away.  “Yes…I was bad, Master.”
“Yeah,” stroking over Cas’s thighs, starting to kiss down over those hot red
cheeks, taking his time.  “You were.  And did I punish you, sweet baby?”
Cas, hissing at Dean’s lips and tongue on the tender skin.  “Yes, Master.”
“And did you learn your lesson for me?” Parting Cas’s sweet cheeks, licking a
stripe, then circling his hole, making it all shiny and wet.
“Yes, Master…ple…uhhn,” Cas had whined, and Dean smiled while his nose was
still buried between Cas’s ass cheeks.  He’d heard the cut off please.  His
little brat was still in there, he just needed to feel safe enough to come out
to play.
“Hmm.  Sounds right to me.” Dean stopped touching him, moved to lie down on the
bed next to him.  Cas blinked at him, breathing kind of hard still, holding his
legs obediently.  “You can let go,” Dean told him and he did, a shadow of a
frown crossing his face.  Dean hid a smile.
“Master?” Cas had looked at him, so uncertain, digging his fingers into the
bedspread, the way he does when his hands want to go somewhere they’re not
allowed.  A symptom in itself, since Cas hadn’t even asked if he could touch (a
request Dean often grants, actually…he loves seeing him jerk it like a baby
porn star.) 
“What’s the matter, little angel?”
A pause.  “Nothing, Master,” he said, his voice no more than a tiny whisper and
Dean could see it in his face, that he was admonishing himself. 
Dean sighed.  “Take off your shirt for me.  You know how I like to see you.”
Cas squirmed out of his shirt and spread his legs, looking at Dean, endlessly
watching his face. 
“So pretty,” Dean whispered.
“Thank you, Master,” Cas whispered back.
Dean moved to his side and started lightly stroking Cas’s soft skin, starting
at his face and slowly moving down his throat.  "Wish you'd believe me that
it's over now.  I miss my little brat."  
Cas looked at him then, leaning into the soft touches, so hopeful, but then his
face clouded over and he gave a minute shake of his head, almost to himself and
not Dean.  His face is faraway, the look of someone who hears more voices than
the ones in the room.
"Baby, hey, stay with me...look at me...," Dean looked in his eyes and decided
to try honesty.  He would see if he could make him understand.  “Cas I have to
punish you when you’re bad.  I have to do it.  And I have to hurt you…even when
you’re not bad, you know that too.  Because that’s what it means, being mine. 
You know that by now, that's why you let me...that's why even when it hurts,
you give it all to me.”
Cas had swallowed hard, his eyes filling with those easy tears again, nodding
jerkily before he could find his voice to speak.  “Yeah…yes, Master.”
Dean continued to stroke over his satiny skin, sliding his hand over his
shoulders, his skinny chest, up and down his ribs.  “But you still want to be
mine.  Knowing what I’ll do…what it means for you.”
An odd look had crossed Cas’s face, almost desperately confused, and he nodded
uncertainly, crossing his arms over his chest and curling up into a ball. 
Suddenly Dean realized that this might be dangerous.  Maybe he shouldn’t make
him think about this too much.  “Shh, baby, look at me, let your Master help
you,” Dean tugged Cas close to his side and kissed his eyes closed, kissed his
cheeks, his forehead. 
Cas pressed against him tightly, clinging to him.  “Please, help me, Master,
please, I…I don’t…I don’t know…“  He shook his head, still looking so lost. 
His laser blue gaze found Dean’s and begged.  “Want to be good, want to be
yours, want…please, I…”
Dean hushed him, sat up and gathered the naked boy into his arms, mindful of
his sore bottom.  “You are mine, you are.  I took you back.  I took you from
the room and you were such a good—shh, baby, sweet baby, don’t cry—you were
such a good boy for your punishment, weren’t you?”
Cas pulled back, gasping and desperate.  “No! N-no, I’m no good, Master you
won’t…I’ll mess up and you, you won’t want me!  I-I…what do I do then, Master,
nobody…nobody will ever…I-I…and they…they see it, did you…did you tell them,
at, at…at school, did you…they…they see it, Sam will, will…” And Cas was
gasping, struggling to get his words out, rocking in Dean’s arms, clutching at
his chest.
Dean knew what Cas needed; he should have intervened already except he was too
wrapped up in trying to understand his muddled speech.  He took Cas’s hands and
put them on his chest, directing him to breathe along with him (something he
just guessed at, but it worked just fine last time by his car.)  “Breathe,
baby, just like me…shhh, nice and slow…there you go….in...out, with me, that’s
it.  Good boy.  That’s it.”
It took a while and when it was over Cas was still shaking, leaning all his
weight against Dean, repeating the words “sorry” and “Master” incoherently, a
few tears leaking that he tried to wipe away. 
A different man would have dressed him, coddled him.  Put him in bed with Sam,
let him snuggle up, Tucked him in, watched him until he fell asleep maybe.
Dean still wanted to fuck him.
So he got him a drink of water, and held him and rocked him for a while.  He
whispered forgiveness, sweet words and nicknames falling easily off his
tongue.  And when he felt the young boy relax against him, he started with
chaste kisses to salty cheeks and lips.  After a while he opened up so he could
taste.
And Cas kissed him back, moving to straddle his lap as soon as Dean lightly
stroked his outer thigh.  Traumatized or not, they’ve been fucking (Dean's been
raping him) for two years, just about as often as he can manage without getting
caught or having his dick fall off from overuse (that’s not a thing but you get
it.)  Their bodies respond automatically now:  they are fluid together, lips
and fingers well versed in each other.  All Dean has to do is start to move and
Cas is helpless but to move with him.  His small cock, which had softened when
he’d gotten so upset, started getting hard again, the way his body always
responds for Dean now.  “Baby, why don’t you unzip my jeans and put your hand
in there, huh?  Can you be a good boy, do that for me?”
Cas nodded, his fingers already working the button.  When his small hand found
Dean’s dick and started to stroke, Dean leaned to kiss his little ear, his
neck.  “See?  That’s for you.” 
“For me?” Cas whispered hopefully, using both hands now, the way Dean likes,
seeing his fat dick between two delicate boy hands.
“See how much I want you, baby angel?” And Dean put his palm to Cas’s lips,
getting a tiny smile from the boy who covers it in wet little licks.  Then his
hand dipped between Cas’s legs, palming his hard little 12-year-old cock. 
“This for me, Cas?”
Cas shoved his mouth into Dean’s, clumsy since his hands were too busy to
direct it, kissing roughly.  “Yes, yes!” he whimpered against Dean’s mouth,
suddenly desperate.  “It’s yours, all yours Master!”
Dean smiled (an evil smile, it has to be said), reaching up his other hand to
grip the back of Cas’s head.   “Is it, now?”  Cas had never called his dick
Dean’s before, not specifically.  It’s been Dean’s, that much is understood. 
But he’s never really exercised his authority over that one specific part. 
Unless you count when Dean makes Cas piss himself.  Okay, he guessed that
counts.  Still, Dean was intrigued...it gave him a lot of ideas.  “Wanna rub it
against me?”
Cas nodded again, crawling off Dean’s lap.  Dean pushed his jeans and boxers
down and off.  Cas fingered his t-shirt…bit his lower lip and slid his small
hands hesitatingly under the cotton. 
“Something you wanna ask, baby angel?”
A pause and Cas shook his head.  Dean rolled his eyes.  Saw Cas tense up as a
result and closed them, reaching for patience.  He slipped out of his shirt and
tugged Cas back on his lap.  “Make us feel good...be my good boy.”
Cas put his small hands on Dean’s broad shoulders and started to grind, and
Dean lost his breath.  It is still so gratifyingly filthy, watching this
innocent looking little boy rubbing his hard little cock against Dean's. 
Bigger now, sure; the first time Dean made him do it he was only ten, his dick
barely two inches long.  But still so much smaller than Dean, still so wrong,
watching those delicate hips roll, feeling his slim, wet cock against Dean’s
own fully grown one.  He waited until Cas’s breathing got quick and stuttering,
his movements a little sloppy, before he unceremoniously plucked him off and
set him gently back on the bed next to him.  He was thinking if he kept teasing
Cas, working him up and stopping, Cas wouldn't be able to overthink his
reactions so much.  
Blinking big blue eyes at him, lips parted in shock, Cas whined and Dean
laughed, a little breathless himself.
“What is it baby?”  Dean asked, coming up on one elbow to look at the squirming
boy, that slim pretty cock so red and needy.
“I…you…Master!” Cas shook his head and closed his eyes; Dean could tell he was
trying to get a handle on his frustration.  Kind of hard for a pre-teen,
though, all those overwhelming sensations, and he’s not used to being teased. 
Usually Dean lets him come as much as he wants, as much as he’s able.
Dean started kissing him, slow kisses with his hand on Cas’s little face,
moving a hand to still Cas’s hips when he would try to grind up against Dean’s
body, getting a lovely whimper of protest that he swallows up.  He pulled
back.  “I think this is a good time to show you a new toy.”
Cas had given him a wary look and Dean couldn’t help but laugh again,
relieved.  It was working.  He reached into his end table and dug around,
coming up with what he wants, a small gel cock ring that he tossed to Cas.  It
is cotton candy pink, and Dean chose it specifically so Cas would bitch and
moan about it.  
Cas caught it and frowned, playing with it a bit, bending it, enjoying the
jelly-like texture.  “What is it?”
“That’s a cock ring, baby.  Gonna put it on you for a bit, see what that does.”
“O-on me?  A ring…on my…,” Cas looked at him with those expressive dark brows
furrowed.  “Why?  I-I mean—y-yes, Master,” Cas corrected quickly, looking
down. 
Dean frowned, nonplussed.  “Cas, do I usually punish you for asking questions
about what we do?”
“No, Master,” Cas answered softly. 
“Then ask when you want to.  Just like always,” Dean tried to keep his voice
gentle, but he was sure that a little annoyance crept into it.  This wasn’t
going how he wanted, and he’s not a man who accepts that lightly.  Certainly
not from Cas.  But he’s the one who had done this to him, so he was trying to
suck it up.
Cas shook his head, sealing his lips tightly. 
Dean stared at him for a moment.  Then pushed partly on top of him, kissing
him, demanding, Master-to-slave kisses that Cas responded to expertly,
instinctively.  Having him thus distracted, Dean took hold of his hard little
prick, thumbing over the wet head before stroking him teasingly slow.  He
waited for Cas’s kisses to get erratic, his breath coming hard.  “So you like
it then...” he spoke into his mouth, slowing their kisses, too, so Cas could
answer.
“Like it,” Cas repeated eagerly, trying to keep the kisses hard, demanding with
his small mouth. 
“You just love this pink ring,” Dean continued, making his kisses teasing now,
dipping into Cas’s mouth and then tugging out of reach for his response. 
“Mmm!” Cas responded with a touch of impatience, trying unsuccessfully to fuck
up into Dean’s hand, but Dean thinks he meant it to be an affirmative ‘Mmm’.
“Next you want a pink dress to match,” Dean’s kisses were honey slow now,
licking over Cas’s lips, so he saw the hesitation, the fluttering of his dark
lashes.
“I…I…Master?”
“Sure, baby angel…a nice pink frilly dress so you can be my pretty princess,”
Dean told him, kissing his way over his jaw, down his throat to his collar. He
stopped stroking Cas’s dick and squeezed lightly instead, rubbing his thumb
over the little slit, hoping for just enough stimulation so Cas could think,
but still be unable to hide his honest reactions. He glanced and sure enough,
Cas’s eyes were open now even as he let out little moans from what Dean was
doing.  “Take you out…nobody will know it’s you.  Call you Cassie.”
 “Master!” Cas whined, dragging the word out until it had at least 3 extra
syllables, sounding genuinely annoyed.  He wiggled under Dean’s attentions like
maybe he’d just push him off if that was an option.
Dean laughed softly against Cas’s neck, concentrating on kissing around his
collar.  “What, baby?”  He didn’t get any more feedback and he had to lift up
to check.  Sure enough, Cas was pouting, but he wiped the look off his face as
soon as Dean noticed. 
Dean redoubled his efforts on Cas’s cock, twisting with his fingers, slipping
down to squeeze his little sack lightly.  “Yes?  Pink dress?  Baby angel, you
answer me or we’ll order one right now.”
Cas sat up suddenly and Dean allowed it, releasing him and turning over to lie
on his back.  “But…but…”
Dean crossed his arms behind his head.  “But what?” This is usually the part
where Cas plays the good little slut, trading kisses and touches while he tries
to wheedle his way out of whatever it is Dean wants that he doesn't like.
He doesn't move.  When Dean looks at him, he's staring down at the cock ring. 
"Baby, you can do this," Dean says softly, wanting to give him another chance,
not wanting to ruin this by having to punish him again.
"But...what if you...," Cas turns suddenly, pressing against Dean fearfully and
Dean holds him.  "In the, in the place, you said...I was...trying...I was tri-
tricking you.  When I do that."  He hides his face, as though he's afraid that
the reminder will start it all up again.
Dean sighs.  "Castiel, it's a bad idea to try that when I'm that angry.  If
you...if you just think about it, you already knew better."  Dean tells him, a
bit uncomfortable.  He's thinking of those times when his rage is at its worst,
the things he does and says to Cas, who stays as silent as he can until Dean
finishes.
Cas peeks out at him.  "So...so you won't get mad during regular times?"
"I'll get the same way I always get," Dean answers, slightly irritated.  "I
think you know what you can get away with and what you can't by now."
"You're getting mad now," Cas points out and Dean huffs a sigh.  
"Cas, yes, you're...this is frustrating."
Cas slips on top of him, a little hesitantly at first, but with more confidence
when he sees the way Dean's eyes darken.  "Mad at me, Master?" Cas asks
softly and Dean sucks in a breath, all irritation forgotten.  Cas slides down
Dean's body, kissing his taut flesh sweetly as he moves until his face is next
to his dick, which is still rock hard and leaking.  He rubs his face against it
like a kitten, getting shining pre-come on his cheek and lips, blue eyes locked
on Dean.  "I guess I should shut up then."  His hands begin to stroke Dean's
cock teasingly and he breathes hot against the head, his tongue so close but
not touching.  He gives it a quick lick, still watching Dean cautiously, but
when Dean only moans, thrusts, Cas relaxes somewhat, doing what he knows.  He
gives the head a filthy kiss, as though he were kissing the mouth of his lover.
"Yeah, that's it, baby...show me what that fuckin' mouth's for," Dean
encouraged, stroking his soft curls, and Cas wrapped his pink lips around him,
starting to suck.
It was hard—oh, shut up.  It was difficult for Dean not to lose himself in his
slave’s hot wet little mouth, small fingers working the base of his dick just
the way he was taught.   Since he fully intended on coming deep in the boy’s
ass at some point that night, he had to tug him off by his hair a lot sooner
than he meant, sitting up to kiss him, tasting his own cock in the seventh
grader’s mouth.
“Good boy, Cas...you're such a good boy.  No pink dress then," he assures him,
and Cas smiles gratefully.  "But it is time for your toy,” Dean told him and
finally, there:  Cas’s lower lip pushed out so prettily.  Dean sucked it into
his mouth, he couldn't help himself.  
“I already…,” Cas kissed back, then gently tugged away, turning a little to the
side (a rebellious move, actually, turning his face away even slightly...daring
to suggest that he doesn't want Dean's kisses.  Shows more progress, Dean
thinks.)  “I already have my…my collar, Master.  How come I need a ring, too?”
Dean paused, then laughed softly, realizing what Cas was thinking.  “It’s not
that kind of ring, baby.”
He didn’t explain further and Cas didn’t look any less grumpy about it.  “My
collar is black…didn’t they have a black one?”
Dean had lifted one brow.
Cas crawled up his body, making sure to rub as much of his soft skin against
Dean as possible on his way, sulking as prettily as he knows how.  “I just
think my…can’t it have a boy color?”
“I think it’s gonna look pretty, baby,” Dean told him, gently putting him on
his back and getting another whine for his efforts which made his dick twitch.
“Not supposed to be pretty,” Cas muttered and watched him slip the ring over
his dick and balls, looking interested despite himself.  He kept trying to
school his face, but then that lower lip would find its way back out.  “What
does it do?” he asked, and Dean loved his little voice, so soft and tentative. 
“You’ll see.  How does it feel, baby?  Too tight?  Anything hurt?”  Cas shook
his head and Dean smiled, kissed his forehead.  “You let me know if you feel
anything weird, like it gets cold there or starts to hurt.”
“Whyy would it do thaat?” Cas asked, and Dean thought he probably doesn’t
realize the cute way he’s dragging his words. 
“Shh, it won’t do that unless it doesn’t fit right, then you let me know.”
“Okaay,” Cas answered, looking down still, examining his little erection. 
“It…it looks bigger…does it look bigger, Master?”
Dean snatched him up, making him yelp.  “Cas, Jesus, you’re just so fucking
cute,” he told him, kissing him almost desperately, kissing over that soft,
slender body.  Cas moaned, tried to rut against Dean’s hip as Dean fastened his
lips over one small nipple, sucking, scraping his teeth lightly, feeling the
hard little point against his tongue.  He moved to the other one and sucked
until Cas's back arched.  Then he pushed him on his back again, even as he
moved to take that red little cock into his mouth, sucking him down.
“Master, please…please!” Cas, writhing as much as Dean let him, but Dean had
his hips down, not willing to have his mouth fucked by Cas, even now.  He
sucked hard, though, using his fingers to rub his tight little balls.  He sent
his eyes up and Cas was desperate on the bed, heels digging into the mattress,
hands balled into fists, head tossing…he was so beautiful, Dean wished he could
swallow him whole. 
He felt Cas’s skinny hips jerking under his hands…knew he was coming dry…and he
slowly lifted off.   He saw Cas whimpering, looking at his still-hard dick,
panting hard.   “Wha…Mas…ter…I…wha…?” 
Dean touched the wet length lightly and then gave the head a kiss.  Cas twisted
on the sheets, looking helplessly at Dean.  “Master, why’s it…what’s…”
Dean touched the ring.  “That’s what this does, sweet angel.  Can’t come ‘til I
take it off you.”
Cas let out a long whine (simply gorgeous, music to Dean's ears.)
Dean had moved next to Cas and tugged him into his lap, pushing those skinny
legs wide, his tormented little prick still standing proud between them.  He
started rubbing against Dean’s (also hard, also leaking) dick and Dean watched,
still loving that grown up roll of those sweet little hips.  “That’s it baby,
grind that little boy cock for me.”
Cas writhed against him, making frustrated little noises.  Finally he dropped
his head against Dean’s chest, still rubbing their cocks together.  “Can’t
I…can’t I come, Master?  Pleeeaase?”
“Kiss me,” Dean had whispered and Cas was immediate, slotting their mouths
together, shoving his tongue almost violently inside Dean’s mouth, his need
making him impatient.  “Please?” he begged again, squirming in his lap like a
little wanton thing. 
Dean had to lift him a bit with one arm and grip his own fuck-hard cock at the
base, getting too close himself and having no intention of coming like that. 
Cas whined at the loss of contact, even struggling a bit to get free (so
fucking hot). 
He put him down and held his hips steady, loving the little muscles trying to
move anyway under his light grip.  He looked at Cas and kissed the tip of his
nose.  “No.”
Cas stopped moving, pretty lips falling open in an O.  “But…but…why noooot.”
Dean shrugged, sliding his fingers over Cas’s face.  “I just don’t want you to
yet.”
Cas looked at him another moment and then rolled off, landing on his back next
to him.  He made an exaggerated pain sound when he hit, then touched his still-
red bottom with a wounded look in Dean’s direction.  Dean tried to hide his
amusement at the pissed off little boy.  “Upset, baby?”
“No, Master,” Cas growled and Dean smiled; he couldn’t help it.  He should have
had his kitty ears on for this. 
“Castiel…there is a way I’ll let my baby angel come sooooo hard for me.”
Cas squirmed a little more, again gripping the sheets under him.  “Hooow?”
Dean reached into his night table again, pulling out a small bottle of lube. 
Cas saw it and immediately lifted his legs, tugging back, spreading so sweetly
and Dean actually moaned, had to press his palm against the base of his cock
again not to come right there.  Fuck, Cas was so fucking hot…he wasn’t even
trying to be seductive, that’s the thing…he saw Dean take out the lube and his
legs just parted. 
“Gonna let you come on my cock, baby…you’d like that, right?” Dean asked,
slicking up his fingers, drizzling lube down Cas’s crack, between the gorgeous
red cheeks.  Cas made these sort of fake sob sounds, writhing a little.  “Aww,
what’s the matter, baby, you don’t want my dick?”
“Want it but…but Maste—ah!” Cas gasped as Dean slipped his slick finger in and
he was right; Cas is tighter than usual.  He really does need to be fucked
every day. 
“But what, baby?” Dean divided his concentration between his finger
disappearing into the tight ring and Cas’s panting little face. 
“Gonna…gonna take too looong….please can’t I—“
“No,” Dean told him sternly, and he does the fake sobbing thing again, sounding
like he wants to make himself cry over it.  “Don’t you cry, Cas, I’ll put you
right over my knee.”
Cas let out a sound of pure frustration and Dean shoved a second finger inside
him, turning it into a yelp at the last second.  “’S’matter, Cas?  Doesn’t this
feel good?”  And he crooked his fingers, rubbing over that bundle of nerves
just right, getting Cas to arch his back. 
“Ohh…,” Cas groaned, dick leaking on his flat belly, leaving shining traces
that Dean wanted to lick.  So, he did.  Keeping his fingers rubbing that spot
mercilessly, he bent forward, licking at Cas’s flat stomach, all around his
needy prick.  Cas’s hips bounced and Dean lifted his eyes in slight warning. 
Cas was already looking, apologetic and begging all at once, “Please, please,
sorry, soo, sorry, please!”
Dean lowered and sucked the head into his mouth, sucking in time with the
movements of his fingers, deep inside the boy.  Until Cas really did start
crying.  He didn’t get spanked for it, because he didn’t know he was doing it,
tears seeping down his cheeks while he whimpered and writhed on the bed as much
as Dean would let him.  Dean smiled around his dick and let him go, scissoring
his two fingers, and slipping him a third.  “Almost ready, baby, hang in
there.”
“Pleeeeeeeeeease,” Cas sobbed, sounding so pretty and helpless. 
“Need….neeeeeeeeed…”
“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” Dean told him, hushing him.  “Almost there.”
“D-don’t…caaare….pleeeeease…fu….fuuck me!” Cas begged and then whimpered,
feeling Dean press the head of his dick against his rim, pushing into that
tight wet heat.  Cas’s mouth was wide open, letting out little moans with every
breath, his tears slowing now that he was close to relief. 
Dean crawled on top of Cas, keeping most of his weight off him, and slowly
pushed his way in, shutting his eyes at the feeling.  He wasn't going to last
and he knew it; Cas was way too fucking hot, all needy like this.  “Fuck, baby,
so fuckin…fuck….tight, baby angel…”  He stayed there, letting Cas get used to
him and was shocked to feel Cas trying to shove down on his dick without
prompting.  “Mmm, that’s it, move on my cock, baby.”
“Please,” Cas begged, sweating, eyes closed, using his hips to rock onto Dean's
dick.
Dean kissed him and started to move, keeping to nice, long strokes.  He knew he
was still big for Cas, still stretched him inside, but these days Cas takes him
like a champ (Dean guesses it’s comparatively easy, after taking Dean when he
was just a small ten year old.)  Dean knows how to fuck into him just right,
for pain, for pleasure.  That night he just wanted the latter, making sure to
hit that sweet spot with every stroke.
Cas’s small hands found his shoulders, digging his little fingernails in as he
tried to hold on.  Both of them were groaning and gasping now as Dean licked
the salt from Cas’s face.  “You wanna…c-come baby?”
Cas moaned, unable to articulate, so overwhelmed, lips parted, eyes shut
tight.  He tried, though, broken sounds, little parts of words.
“Ple…Mas…Ple…Ungh…”
Dean snapped his hips hard for a few strokes, wanting Cas to feel this even
after he's done.  “Mine…you’re…you fuckin…all MINE”
Cas clung to him desperately, the most frantic, debauched little thing Dean had
ever seen.  Making all those pitiful sounds as he tried so hard to answer.
“Y…yoourss..plea…sse..”
Dean was a little rough, shoving his hand between them, tugging the flexible
little cock ring off, and Cas spurted immediately hot and wet between them,
crying out loudly with his head thrown back, scratching up Dean’s shoulders. 
Dean was lost, seeing his little boy come so hard, feeling his ass clenching
and releasing his dick, and he slowed, gasping as he fucked his come into Cas’s
tight little ass.  He leaned forward and bit Cas’s  shoulder.  Cas didn’t cry
out and when Dean went to pull out, he realized Cas was asleep. 
So Dean felt free to do something he doesn’t usually indulge in…licking at the
light sheen of sweat on Cas’s stomach and cock, cleaning him up.  His come is
barely salty, his scent still pure on his dick.  Cas whimpered, twisting his
hips in his sleep, trying to get his poor little oversensitive prick away from
Dean, which only made Dean more determined to finish, hushing his boy, licking
him thoroughly.
“Master…,” Cas whispered and Dean looked up into sleepy blue eyes.  His angel
slave, so thoroughly fucked out for him, so precious this way.  “Love you.” 
And he fell asleep again while Dean was lightly fingering his ass, rubbing his
own come inside, massaging it into his little tunnel.
                                       ~
It sounds like a lot, but Dean thought the night was still young.  He cleaned
them both off with hand wipes, and Cas barely stirred, so used to this
attention from Dean.  He slipped on his boxer briefs and tucked Cas under his
blankets, liking the naked boy waiting for him there.  He went to check on Sam,
still sleeping, adorable in his pajamas (flannel pajama pants with one of
Dean’s old t-shirts), tucked under the blanket.  Dean smoothed his hair back
and kissed his forehead, liking seeing him this way, safe, in Dean’s care. 
He let Cas doze for a little and then woke him by straddling his body, kissing
his forehead, his cheeks.  “You wanna go out for a while?”
Cas had blinked, struggling to focus.  He looked dead tired, but he gave the
right answer anyway.  “Yes, Master.  But what about Sam?”
“He’ll be fine,” Dean told him, only slightly uneasy at the thought of leaving
Sam virtually unconscious and unguarded.  Intellectually he knows it’s unlikely
anyone would break into the house while he takes Cas out for ice cream, but
part of him is always a little extra when it comes to Sam’s safety.  It is his
worst nightmare, someone…hurting Sam, forcing…Dean not there to save him. 
But he wanted to do this.
He dressed Cas the way he did after his punishment, tugging on his clothes for
him as if he were very small (something he realizes now he’s really into; he
thinks maybe it reminds him of taking care of baby Sammy).  He let him walk to
the car, though, making sure he grabbed his jacket this time because it’s
November and the nights get pretty cold.  He took him to a drive through where
they picked up a couple of apple pies for Dean (the small ones that come in the
cardboard sleeve) and a strawberry milkshake for Cas.  Dean felt a pang,
wishing he could bring something back for Sammy, but his brother was definitely
down for the count. 
And he couldn’t have been here for this conversation. 
Instead of staying in the parking lot like most kids would, Dean drove around
for a few blocks and parked next to a reservoir, where it was quiet and cars
going by were few and far between.  He sat back in his Baby and ate his pies,
not quite as good as the real thing, but still warm and sugary sweet.  He’ll
take it.  Cas’s eyes slid back and forth from the reservoir (a pretty body of
water with lots of wooded area around it; sometimes in early evenings or
mornings you can see deer there) and his Master.  He still looked tired; the
little nap must not have done much after the long day he’d had, but he was
pushing through because it’s what Dean wanted.  So every time his eyes tried to
slip closed he would sit up straighter and take another sip of his cold drink.
When Dean finished, he wiped his hands and mouth with a napkin and tugged Cas
into his lap, taking the shake from him.  He took the long plastic spoon that
the shake came with and pulled off the plastic top so he could scoop the cold
pink dessert into Cas’s mouth.  “Did you get a chance to say anything to Sam
today?  Looked to me like you spent some time together on the steps…”
Cas closed his lips over the spoon and swallowed the thick, sweet dessert,
showing no objections to being fed like a baby.  He nodded.  “We…we kissed
again, Master, but I told him we have to talk to you about it!  Just like you
said,” he rushed out, getting nervous.  Dean didn’t know why; he did say they
were allowed to kiss and touch.  He encouraged it.
“That’s just right sweet baby,” Dean told him, feeding him another spoonful
once he relaxed.  “What did Sam say?”
Cas paused, but Dean merely looked at him, both of them knowing he has no
choice in this (Dean’s little double agent.)  “Sam…he’s afraid you’ll say I
can’t sleep over.  Or I can’t sleep…near him.”  There they are, the pretty pink
cheeks to match his red bottom. 
Dean laughs.  “So cute the way you blush like a virgin, Cas.  Not one, are ya? 
Not by a long shot,” Dean says suggestively, sucking lightly just under Cas’s
ear.  He’d have rubbed his little crotch but his hands were kind of full, what
with the cup and spoon. 
Cas’s little face fell a bit, eyes dropping to his lap.  “No, Master.  I’m a
slut.”
Fuck.  Much as Dean likes hearing him say that, he doesn’t want to undo any
progress he’d made in bed.   “But only a slut for me, right baby?  It’s not so
bad if you’re my slut.  You don’t have to have sex with anyone else unless I
say you do, and if anyone tries to make you, I would…well I’d kill them for you
if you wanted.  I’d bleed them for you; I’d bleed them just for touching you,
except Sammy.  That’s not so bad, is it?”
Cas smiled almost shyly, like he’s still afraid Dean won’t want to see him
happy.  “Not bad, Master.  I like being only your slut.”
Dean kissed him then, feeling how cold his lips and tongue were from the shake
and liking it.  He fed him another spoonful, dripping it on his tongue, and
Cas, knowing his Master so well, kept it there, watching Dean’s eyes on it,
pointing his tongue so prettily to show off the bit of bright pink cream. 
Unable to help himself, Dean had sucked it off his tongue and the boys kissed
slowly.  It occurred to him that Sam’s tongue was in this same mouth and he
realized he was getting hard under Cas.  Cas realized it, too, and rocked
against him lightly.  Dean continued to feed him his drink as though his little
boy wasn’t slowly riding him through their jeans.  “Do you need me to help you
with those kids at school?”
“No, Master, I…I can do it, I can…usually I can do it,” Cas stilled his hips,
clearly upset and Dean pressed a kiss to his temple, another to his cheek. 
“All right, baby, shh, it was just a bad day.  You’ll do better Monday.  But if
you can’t, you’ll tell me and…I can help you, Cas.  Always remember, it’s
better to tell me when it gets bad or if you can’t do something.  You only
think of the hard stuff, but I can be good to you, baby.  I can look out for
you,” Dean told him, and he meant it.  Everything he’s offering, he’s prepared
to give.  He’d think nothing of hurting someone on Cas’s behalf, and if it
comes to being more discreet, he sure as shit knows his way around the people
in this town.  He can make them behave the way he wants, one way or another.
 “Whether it’s teachers you’re having problems with or other kids or
just…you’re just going crazy.  I’m the only one who gets it.  I can help.”
Cas was looking at him, mesmerized.  “You…you want to help me?”
“I want to own you, Cas.  That means your problems are mine, because they
affect what belongs to me.  I can’t have that.  I’ll decide what problems you
have,” he told him, scooping more shake into his mouth.
Cas nodded, a little dreamily, like he was finding the whole conversation to be
surreal.  “Master?”
“Baby?”  Dean spent a little time scooping shake into Cas’s mouth every time he
tried to ask his question, finally getting the grumpy “Masteeeer!!” he was
looking for.  “Okay, okay, what is it?” he asked, chuckling.  He felt relief,
that he’s still able to get this from him.
“I love you, Master,” Cas told him, lowering his lashes.  “You told me so and I
want to so I do.  Can you…will you…could you ever…” he can’t finish, and Dean
kisses his cheek again, needing to think.  He stared down at his little slave,
so pliant and pretty in his lap, that gorgeous face and the puffiest pink
lips.  Biting at that pretty lip, so Dean uses his finger to pull it gently out
of his mouth, not wanting to see them get chapped (an uphill battle with this
kid.) 
“I don’t know, Cas,” he said finally.  He could give him the words just to make
him happy, bind him tighter.  He knows he could and Cas would probably prefer
it that way.  They’re just words, and it wouldn’t be the first time he said
them with all sincerity, while feeling absolutely nothing.  He’s done it
specifically to hurt, to cause chaos.  Of course it doesn’t bother him, using
those words like that; he’s always lying about himself, to everyone. 
But every once in a while, Dean feels like being honest, especially with the
broken little boy who knows the real Dean Winchester, bound to him in secrecy. 
Cas is so different from him, despite having gone through similar things.  He
still loves, somehow.  Dean just felt like he should know how this would go. 
“I don’t…I don’t feel things like that.  I could lie to you, if you want.  But
I’ll use it against you, you know I will.”
“You say you love Sam all the time,” Cas whispered.  “I…I think you love Sam.” 
But Dean caught the look on his face and wonders if this is part of the story
Cas has learned to believe, part of how he keeps going.
Dean shrugged, knowing Cas could feel the movement even if he wasn’t looking
just then.  Like for this conversation, he was afraid to look.  “I’ve been
telling Sammy that since he was born.  I’m used to taking care of him, keeping
him safe.  That’s all part of lookin' after him.  That’s how I keep
him…happy.”  He trailed off, a little fuzzy on that point, frowning to
himself.  “He’s mine, my Dad gave him to me and I kept him safe…just a kid
myself but I did it.  He’s different from you, Cas, he and I are…he’s
different.”
“Sam is different,” Cas nodded, still looking kind of…out of it.  “Can you…do
you think you could say it, even if it was a lie…if I was really good?  If I
was a really good boy for you?”
Curious, Dean stroked his hair, watching his distant face.  “Don’t you think
you’ll get hurt more?  If I do that…and take it back later?”
Cas looks at him full in the face then, eyes wide and still somehow far away. 
“I just wanna know what it’s like.  Having you say that to me.”
Dean watched him, thinking about it.  “We’ll see.  But now I want something
from you.”
Cas blinked, and it was like watching him come back online, his eyes focusing
properly, fixing on Dean’s.  “What is it, Master?  Anything.”
Dean kissed him for his perfect answer.  “I think I need to fuck you again
tonight, baby.  But we’re gonna play a fun game while we do it.”
“We are?” Cas had asked him, looking just a bit wary and Dean had to smile,
pushing him gently back to the passenger seat and handing him what was left of
his shake. 
“Yup, we are.  I’m gonna touch you and kiss you and play with you all over…and
talk to you about Sam.  And you’ll talk to me about Sam.  What you think about
him, what you like about him…things you imagine doing to him...and I’ll say
things I imagine you doing with him.”
“A Sam game,” Cas whispered.  Dean had seen him close his eyes as soon as he
told him the finer points of the game, squirming just a bit.  He was obviously
so down for this.
“Yup.  I’ll even put a blindfold on you.  So you’ll hear me talkin’ to you,
feel me all over you…but you can just imagine Sam.  Just the way you want him.”
“Sam,” Cas said longingly and Dean smiled again. 
Down for this as fuck.
They went home and played the Sam game.  Dean got to fuck his still-loose hole
and make him scream for Sam, while filthy images of his baby brother and little
boy slave danced naked behind his closed eyes.  This time when Cas fell asleep,
Dean left him that way.  His Dad came home sometime after that, and Dean went
down to chat with him in the kitchen.  Mostly because he thought it was funny,
standing there talking to his father with a naked, fucked out boy in his bed. 
Careless, but not really.  Cas was covered up to his neck in blankets and his
nightmare issue is well documented in the Winchester house.  So unless his Dad
went peeking under the covers (and let’s face it, if he did, there might be
some wiggle room for a negotiation), there wasn’t gonna be a problem.  His Dad
didn’t stay long, words slurred in a way that indicates a good long night at
the bar, something that hasn’t bothered Dean in the least since his Dad turned
his second son over to him.
It’s only after he turned in that Dean went back to his boy.  Castiel never
even woke up while he put pajamas on him and tucked him in next to Sam (who
turned in his sleep, tossing an arm over Cas’s waist, and how sweet is that?) 
Dean watched them, fascinated by their beauty, their innocence.  He kissed
foreheads, then lips.  Pushed them slightly closer together, gratified when Cas
curled, tucking his head against Sam’s chest.
He didn't want to leave, so he stayed there in the dark...watching them sleep.
                                       ~
Okay.  Dean knows how it looks.  He bets it looks like he’s planning on taking
Sam.  If you’re thinking that, you’re way off.  He isn’t! (Sam, naked and
obedient in his bed; Sam and Cas, fucking each other on his say,
worshiping him, crying, pretty little boys begging for him so sweetly). 
He isn’t. 
Castiel is still his place holder.  A substitute for Sam, so his little brother
could go on shining up at Dean the way he always had.  He still values that, he
knows he does.  But Jesus Christ, the way they’d looked together on his bed. 
So…he’ll just play with them.  A bit.  With Castiel’s help, he can finally get
to Sam (even if he can’t actually take him). 
And you can just shut your suspicious ass up about it.
He takes a shower, half hard as he does (sometimes a raven haired angel slips
in with him, but not today--kid must still be knocked out.)  Once he’s dressed
he heads down to the kitchen and starts pulling out eggs, bacon, sausage, and
other breakfast foods (plus the bell peppers, onions, mushrooms, and spinach
for Sammy’s veggie omelet).  He knows once he gets cooking, the rest of the
house will start to move.  The boys used to pop out of bed sometimes as early
as six in the morning (if it wasn’t a school day, anyway) and either blast
cartoons or race up and down the stairs until Dean shouted at them to quit
making all that goddamn noise, but now they sleep at least a little later
thanks to their impending teenage years. 
Their father isn’t usually a factor, but Dean always cooks a lot of food so
it’s not a problem if he’s around.  He has his own ravenous appetite to think
of, and Sam is just starting to shovel it away (into a hollow leg, Dean thinks-
-skinny little shrimp of a brother).  Cas is still one of those kids you have
to force to eat.  He isn’t a picky eater at all, just slow and methodical,
going through the motions the same way a person might brush his teeth or make
his bed.  Something you do because you should.
Sam comes down first, probably as soon as the butter starts sizzling in the
frying pans.  He's trying hard, but it’s doubtful he’ll ever be as easy in the
kitchen as Dean.  Still, he loves to help, so Dean hands him a baking sheet and
a can of pre-made biscuits (good enough for Mary Winchester, good enough for
Dean.)  They move easily together, having done this dance since the days when
all Dean could handle were pop tarts and bowls of cereal while his brother
played with pots and pans at his feet.  Thinking of chubby baby Sammy, Dean has
to reach for him to squeeze him and force kisses to his crown while he squeals
and struggles.  His one good thing.
Today his one good thing is looking a little stiff, and Dean smiles when he
notices he doesn’t seem that eager to sit at the table.  “How’s your ass doin’
today, Sammy?  Gonna need a pillow?”
Sam scowls at him.  “Can you not ask about my ass, Dean?”
“Fair enough,” Dean chuckles and ruffles his already messy hair, another
gesture that’s woefully unappreciated.  “Where’s Cas?”
“Asleep,” Sam comes and hops up on the counter (carefully, using his arms to
gingerly lower his bottom to the hard Formica) so he can watch Dean without
being in the way.  “Poor guy is knocked out…he really did have a shitty day
yesterday.”
Dean shoves him off and hands him the bread to make toast, getting an eye roll
in response.  “Yeah?  Maybe you should go hold his hand some more,” he leers at
Sam and likes seeing him flush in response.
“Shut up!  Hand holding is nice, you should try it, Dean…maybe you could
actually get to know someone for a change?!”  Sam is huffy, taking it out on
the toast that he roughly butters.
“I will try it, right after my dick falls off and I wake up with tits and a
pussy.  Mornin’ Dad.”
John Winchester sighs and barely affords him a glance.  “I don’t know what
you’re teachin’ the kid, but it don’t sound right.  Mornin’, Sammy.”
“Morning, Sir,” Sam answers stiffly, the change in his posture immediate. 
There was a time when Sam was more comfortable with his father, but as he’d
grown more independent (and Dean more capable of taking care of his needs), the
distance between them had widened until they were nearly strangers just sharing
the same house.  Dean doesn’t like that it hurts his brother (and he knows it
does) but he likes the way it binds Sam even tighter to him.  That right there
is everything right with the world.
Cas slips shyly into the room just as Dean is putting steaming plates of food
on the table.  Both boys sit gingerly before they start to fill their plates
(Sam takes a tower of food, creating a junior version of his older brother’s
plate while Cas takes just enough to earn his Master’s approval, each item
carefully separate on his dish).  John’s dark eyes move between them before
finally resting on Sam as he takes the cup of black coffee Dean pours for him
(and if he adds to it from a flask, Dean figures that’s his own business.) 
John is what’s called a functional drunk, meaning just because he needs to
drink just to get through the day doesn’t mean he’s ever late to work.  If
that’s how he wants to take himself out, Dean guesses he’s entitled. 
“What happened to your face, kid?  You get in a fight?”
Sam pauses with a forkful of omelet halfway to his mouth.  “I…yes, Sir.”
“That have anything to do with you having a hard time sittin’ this mornin’?” 
John’s face looks stern but his eyes are amused when he looks at Dean.  “Don’t
tell me you’re followin’ your brother’s footsteps.  You're supposed to be the
smart one.”
Dean snorts, busy with the towering bacon, sausage, and egg sandwich that he
made for himself.  He thinks he might need a bigger mouth.
Sam frowns, keeping his eyes on his plate.  “I'm not doing anything, Sir.”  The
words are a little less polite this time, and Dean knows it’s because Sam
sometimes resents any sudden (and fleeting) interest his father takes in his
life. 
John looks at him steadily but there’s nothing to see, just his younger son
eating quietly and keeping his opinions to himself for the time being. He looks
instead at Cas, who is taking small bites of an already small piece of
scrambled egg.  “Castiel, you looked to be sufferin’ the same problem. 
Wouldn’t have thought your Mom would be that tough on you.”
Both Sam and Cas freeze, their eyes going straight to Dean. 
Who sighs, taking a moment to finish swallowing his food, then chasing it with
coffee.  “She didn’t spank him, I did.”  He keeps eating, trying not to be
annoyed with the fact that he’s the only one doing it.  The boys are looking
down in the sudden uncomfortable silence while John stares at Dean with real
concern. 
“Let’s talk in the garage,” John is getting up, automatically assuming that his
elder son will follow.
“Dad—“
“Now, Dean.”
Dean clenches his jaw but years of obedience are hard to overcome and he’s
already up, following him through the door and shutting it behind him.  Both
boys look nervous and he throws Sam a wink over his shoulder.  He isn’t worried
and they shouldn’t be either.
As soon as Dean closes the door, his father starts.  “What are you thinkin’,
son?  Are you askin’ for trouble?”
Dean moves toward Baby, rubbing at an imaginary smudge with his sleeve.  His
girl could use a wash.  “You worry too much, Dad.”
“Dean,” his father uses that tone that has his head coming up, snapping to make
eye contact.  “You of all people should know better.  You don’t put hands on
someone else’s kid.”
Dean narrows his eyes and smirks.  “Well, now, Dad, you’re gonna break his
heart.  He was so set on bein’ an official Winchester and all after what you
told him Halloween.”  He sees his father’s eyes flash angrily and he holds up a
hand.  “Relax.  C’mon, man, you met that mother, you remember what I told you
about his…about her boyfriend, what he did, what she allowed.”  He pauses,
seeing his father wince as the dig hits home.  “Kid came and asked me to punish
him.  Begged, in fact.”
John gives him a skeptical look and he shrugs.  “You can ask him.  You can ask
Sam.  C’mon, Dad, you know she’s got him staying here three, four nights every
week.  That’s not Sam, that’s not him…that’s her, sending him here.  She tried
to send him here last week when he was sick, get us to look after him instead
of her.  He’s on his own, Dad.  I think he’s lookin’ for a parent, and he sees
what Sammy’s got.”  Which is me, not you.  Right, Dad? 
John softens, moves toward his son.  He touches his shoulder and Dean…endures
it.  “I know all that and I feel for the kid, I do.  But you’re my kid and
you’re…you’re young yet, Dean.  You’ve seen so much of what’s bad out there,
but there’s still more you don't know about, and I don't want you blindsided. 
You think that woman over there couldn’t change her mind on a dime, wake up one
day and take interest?  Think she’ll take kindly to you putting hands on him,
seeing him with his pants down?”
“It ain’t like that,” Dean lies coldly, shrugging off his father’s touch.
“It’s however she’ll feel like seeing it.  And he’s a good kid but…you know
what he’s been through.  Maybe he’s so excited she starts showing up for him
that he hams it up a bit, tries to keep her attention,” Dean tries to interrupt
but his father soldiers forward this time, putting a hand up to ward him off. 
“These things happen, Dean.  They would put you on a list and your life would
be over.  Nobody wants to hire you, nobody wants you livin’ near ‘em.  And they
sure as hell wouldn’t let you near Sammy.”
Dean shuts his eyes, letting the violent urges wash over him.  After all, his
father isn’t threatening to take Sammy, even if it felt like that.  “You worry
too much,” he says softly.  “She gives less of a shit about him every year. 
Any day now that new guy’s gonna ask her to turn him out on the street, and
she’s gonna say yes.  And he’ll be here because he’s got nowhere else to go.”
John hesitates and then nods.  “Fair enough.  And when that happens, we’ll
revisit this conversation.  Until then, son, you wanna hold him to certain
rules, you wanna ground him, tell him he can’t watch TV whatnot, fine.  Don’t
put hands on him, Dean.”
Dean laughs suddenly, his control wearing thin.  “Or what, Dad?  You gonna whip
me?  I think those days are done, don’t you?”
His father looks taken aback by his reaction, staring at him oddly.  “No…no,
son, you’re a grown man.  You do as you see fit, I just…”
“You think I’m messin’ with him?”
Shock, this time, then genuine pain, anger.  “No!  Dean, I know you’d
never…after what you…what he...”
“Don’t bring it up,” Dean growls and his father closes his eyes and shakes his
head. 
“I’m not tryin’ to hurt you, boy.  I’m tryin’ to help you.”
“Well, that’s somethin’ you just ain’t good at, Dad.”  There’s a moment of
silence, and Dean realizes what he’s doing.  He backtracks.  “Look, sorry.  I
don’t mean any disrespect,” he tells him quietly.  “I…you know me and my
temper, man.  I hear what you’re sayin’ Dad, I’ll talk to him.  I’ll be
careful.”
“That’s all I want,” John answers, looking relieved.  There’s an uncomfortable
silence; Dean knows his Dad hates these emotional outbursts.
“You should go treat that hangover.  Looks nasty,” he tells his father and John
latches onto the excuse.  
“Yeah, you’re right.  I uh…I probably won’t be stickin’ around much longer.”
“Goin’ round to Ellen’s?” Dean asks, gives his father just the right grin and
he returns it gratefully, smoothing over the awkward feelings talk.  “Seem to
be spendin’ a lot of quality time there these days.”
“Mind your tone, boy.  Maybe you’re not too big to put over my knee after all. 
You can join all the red asses in the kitchen.”
Dean rolls his eyes (he’d love to see someone try it…anyone, even his Dad.) 
“You need to stop spiking your coffee.”
Back in the kitchen, Dean notices the boys have their chairs pushed closer
together.  Two solemn faces greet him and his father and he ignores them,
grabbing a biscuit off Sam’s plate as he passes his chair. 
“Hey!” Sam tries to defend his biscuit and Dean easily fights him off, ruffling
his hair to add insult to injury. 
“Thanks, Sammy, already buttered and everything,” he says charmingly with his
mouth full of his prize.  He’s enjoying Sam’s pursed lips and folded arms when
Cas puts Dean’s plate down in front of him. 
“Microwaved it for you,” he says and Dean smiles at him.  He’s so cute, serving
him like that.  Dean wants to drag him in his lap and kiss him breathless, but
he settles for briefly rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Thanks, kid.  Did you eat enough?  Sam, you lettin’ him get skinny on us?”
Sam’s eyes widen again, same as the last time Dean suggested he look after Cas,
and he looks consideringly at his friend.  “He didn’t have any home fries,” Sam
starts scooping them on his empty plate.
Cas blinks at him then frowns.  “I’m full already, I had--I don't need home
fries!  Quit it!”  He tries wrestling Sam for the spoon, both of them giggling,
and Sam finally lets him win. 
“Well, at least eat some of it.  For me?”  Sam hits him with the puppy eyes and
Cas melts. 
He eats all of it.  And if he complains the entire time, he’s so adorable doing
it that nobody minds.
 
                                     * * *
 
Cas is still really tired from the day before, but he’s doing his best not to
take it out on any of the Winchesters (especially the one liable to kick his
ass for it).  Even so, he has to admit he’s feeling better today.  For one
thing, he doesn’t have to worry about school for the next couple days (and he’s
fairly certain he’ll just be turned right around and suspended when he does get
there, leaving him free to spend the day with Sam.) 
Then there’s Dean.  He can’t deny there is still a constant need to check in,
to at least reassure himself that Dean still wants him, hasn’t changed his
mind.  He still fears losing him, and he definitely fears pissing him off (not
the dark, Dean, don't leave me in the dark).  Maybe he only feels better
because he’s spending all this time near his Master.  Maybe he’ll feel like
shit again when he has to go home, go to school.  It’s an anxiety-inducing
thought, running at the back of his mind. 
But last night Cas had done whatever he could to prove to Dean that he still
belongs to him.  And he felt like Dean wanted him to believe that he still
wants him, that he even enjoys Cas the way he was before the punishment, even
when he complains sometimes about the stuff he doesn’t necessarily love (he
really hopes his Master was kidding about the pink dress thing).  That part
feels dangerous to believe, like he should be very careful.  And on the other
hand, he almost needs to believe it just to function. 
As for Dean ever loving him back...he’s not thinking about that today.
It’s really all about Sam, though.  No matter how much he believes the things
Dean says about the two of them when they’re alone, or when he’s away from Sam,
he can never be completely miserable with Sam beside him.  His constant
presence is irresistible warmth and he bathes Cas’s cold, battered soul with it
generously.  His mind, his heart, they whisper all his worries, but with Sam
around, it just seems less important.  Less desperate, he thinks.  Sam is
always laughing, always playful, drawing him out of his darkness over and
over.  And now there’s this new, wild edge to them, this constant potential for
more that feels frightening, but the way roller coasters are frightening, or
walking through a haunted house at an amusement park.  The kind of scary that’s
fun, that’s exhilarating.
They haven’t kissed since last night, but he can tell Sam is thinking about
it.  Sometimes it’s a certain light in those multicolor eyes, other times it’s
the way he’ll catch him staring with color high in his cheeks.  He’s thinking
of it, too, but his thoughts, his wants are tempered because he knows they
still have to talk to Dean.  He already knows how that’s going to go.
At the very least, there will be more kissing. 
After clearing up from breakfast, Sam pulls Cas aside.  “I wanna talk to Dean
today…about…you know.  Everything.” He offers a crooked smile.  “But not until
my…my Dad leaves.  I don’t want him thinking he can butt in,” Sam finishes,
throwing a dark look toward his father that the older man doesn’t catch.  
“Okay,” Cas agrees, watching him curiously.  He doesn’t comment on Sam’s
obvious resentment.  He doesn’t really understand it, though.  Just last night,
Sam was complaining that his father pays him no attention.  Now when his father
takes an interest, Sam is instantly aggravated.  Cas guesses it’s too little
too late. 
He doesn’t judge.  He doesn’t know what he’d do if his own father showed up
after all this time, but he doubts he’d be forgiving.  It would’ve been nice to
have another adult in his life, someone who maybe…made better decisions than
his Mom.  Someone who cared where he spent his nights.
 “You okay, Sam?” he asks, rousing out of his own dark thoughts.   He remembers
what Sam said about needing Cas to be there for him, too sometimes.  He’s
trying.
“What?  Yeah, I’m great.  Come on, we’ll go ride bikes or something until he
leaves.”  Sam’s bike is a hand-me-down from Dean, like most of his things. 
Cas’s came from a garage sale (the lady had wanted $60 for it, so Sam convinced
Dean to go and he talked her down to $10…along with free cookies and lemonade. 
Her husband had been kind of pissed, and Dean had basked in his little
brother’s hero worship all the way home.)
“We can’t, we’re grounded,” Cas tells him, the words sounding odd on his
tongue, but he likes them.  Nobody’s ever punished him like a normal kid
before.  He feels like a kid on an old sitcom or something.
“Right, so that’s no bikes, no TV or Playstation…shit,” Sam looks thoughtful
and then smiles.  “Funny…kinda doesn’t feel like punishment when we still get
to hang out.”
Cas smiles back, but his stomach gives a little anxious lurch.  “Don’t say that
too loud or Dean will separate us.”
                                       ~
They make themselves scarce by hanging out in Sam’s room, reading comics and
arguing over whether Iron Man should really have been able to win in a fight
with the Hulk.  But as absorbed (and infuriated on the Hulk’s behalf) as Sam
seems, he’s on his feet and heading for Dean as soon as the front door closes
behind his father.  Cas has to hand it to him; when Sam wants something, he can
be incredibly focused.  Cas is feeling more nervous than anything else, but he
follows behind because it’s what Dean wants.
They find Dean in the garage where he often is, endlessly working on his car. 
If either boy asks, he’ll explain in detail exactly what he’s doing.  He’ll
even show them how to do it (without, of course, actually allowing them to put
their hands on “her”).  Most times he’ll get them to hand him the right tools
for each task.  Neither boy ever really shows that much interest, though.  Cas
shows up to serve (and even he has to admit that Dean Winchester in his element
is a thing of beauty.) Sam shows up because he genuinely likes hanging around
his brother.
Today he’s messing around under the hood, although at some point he’ll pull out
into the driveway to wash her by hand (thus ensuring that a bunch of neighbors
will suddenly find reasons to be on their front porches—Sam likes to tease him
that he attracts more attention than the annual cheerleader fundraising carwash
at the school.)   Cas perches on John Winchester’s workbench, while Sam
overturns a bucket so he can sit close enough to hand Dean whatever he needs.
“Whattaya want, short stuff?” Dean mutters and Cas is impressed at how
disinterested he sounds.  As if he doesn’t know exactly why they’re here.
“Um…,” Sam’s face is beet red now that he has to start this.  “So…you know how
me and Cas were holding hands?”
“Yes, Samantha, I noticed,” Dean smiles without looking at him.
“Okay,” Sam says, choosing to overlook the hated nickname.  “What…what if
we…wanted to like…date?”
Dean spares him a look this time.  “You didn’t ask me before you started seeing
that pretty blond chick.”
“Dean!  I mean like…each other.  What if we wanted to be boyfriends?”
Dean’s eyes widen and he straightens up, wiping his hands on a rag. 
“Seriously?  You think that’s a good idea?”
Sam blinks at his older brother, looking a little crushed that his immediate
reaction is so negative.  “I…what do you mean?  We…we kind of like each other. 
Like like each other, I mean, so…so we—“
“No, I get it,” Dean cuts him off.  “I’m just sayin’ you’re 12, dude.  And he’s
your best friend.  You seriously wanna risk fuckin’ that up?”
Sam frowns stubbornly.  “We won’t mess it up.  We’re friends for life, even if
it doesn’t work out.  Right, Cas?”
“Right,” Cas says softly, smiling to himself just a little.  Sam’s faith feels
so good.
“That’s great you think that, but you’re not psychic, Sammy.  Did you know you
were gonna be broken up with little blondie that fast?”
Sam looks guilty, but still determined.  “Noo, but it’s not the same.  I was
just getting to know Jess.  Cas and I are like…bonded.”
Bonded.  Cas shivers a little, taking the word in, putting it someplace safe in
his mind so he can take it out when he’s alone and savor all the implications. 
Sam Winchester, bonded to him forever.
Dean sighs.  “I know you won’t wanna hear this, so try not to yell at me. 
You’re too young for forever.”
“That’s not true!” Sam yells.
“It is, Sam.  In fact, I don’t know why you keep trying to have relationships. 
How many of your friends have actual boyfriends or girlfriends?”
“Some,” Sam grumbles, and Cas silently corrects him to ‘two.’ 
“Great.  How many of those last more than a month, tops?  Including you?”
Sam scowls and says nothing.
Dean sighs again.  “I’m not sayin’ you can’t, Sammy, I’m sayin’…you shouldn’t. 
If you’re sayin’ Cas isn’t temporary…you really think you’ll get together at 12
and stay together for life?  Because I think you’ll just end up messing it up
and losing each other over something stupid.”
Sam shrugs halfheartedly and Cas feels for him, how disappointed he looks. 
“I…but we really like each other.  As more than friends.”
Dean crosses to him, gives him a half hug that Sam leans into gratefully.  “Got
that, buddy.  And…that brings me to your next problem.  You know I can’t really
let you keep sleeping in the same bed if you’re into each other.”
Sam rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.  “That’s dumb, we slept
next to each other last night and nothing happened.”
Dean shakes his head, going back to his car.  “Come on, kid, give me a break
here.  If Cas were a girl, he wouldn’t be allowed to sleep in your bed with
you.  He wouldn’t even be allowed alone in your room with you, not if you were
‘dating’.”  He uses his fingers to make the quotes, something he usually won’t
do.  “Sorry, you know Dad wouldn’t like it.  I had to sneak all my hookups in
here, and you’ll have to do the same,” he says with a smirk and a wink, trying
to soften the blow.
“Since when does it matter what Dad thinks when it comes to me?” Sam says
acidly and Dean blinks at him.  “Come on, Dean, it’s true!  And you’ll be a
hypocrite if you sit there telling me I’m too young to…try stuff.”  He blushes
but manages to hold his brother’s stare.
Dean sighs again.  “No, I’ll be the only parent you got, and that’s what a
parent’s supposed to do:  keep you safe, even from yourself.  Why would I want
you to be like me, Sammy?  I grew up too fast; I don’t want that for you.”
Cas peeks up at Dean, trying to decide if there’s any truth to that.  He shakes
his head and looks down again, because fucking obviously not.  If Sam were to
suddenly want it, Dean would bend him over his car and fuck him right there and
then.
“Dean--,” Sam starts but Dean cuts him off.
“No.  Sorry, but I don’t think Cas should sleep over anymore.  Or that you two
should be alone in the house when me or Dad aren’t around,” he says decisively
and Cas keeps his eyes lowered so he won’t be tempted to roll them.  He loves
his Master, but this is such a crock of shit and it’s hard to just sit there
for it.  Maybe he doesn’t want him to say the words (I love you, Cas, love you
my good little boy.)  He lies as easily as breathing, and once again Cas is his
accomplice.
Sam sputters, looking desperately at Cas, who tries to look equally shocked and
upset (he thinks he manages mildly put out).  “Dean…come on, man…don’t—“
“Just doin’ what I think is best for you.  Always doin’ my best for you, aren’t
I, Sammy?  You won’t hold that against me now, will you?” Dean looks at him,
green eyes so wide and sincere and vulnerable, just a big brother doing his
best. 
Sam gets up and hugs his brother hard, looking torn.  Normally a statement like
that is enough to make him back down, but it’s obvious he refuses to lose Cas
without a fight.  “Come on, Dean, don’t do this.  You just told Cas he’s
family.  I…I want him around.  We won’t do anything, okay?  I swear.  We won’t
even date; we’ll just stay friends, like you said.  I…I can’t lose him—I
won’t.”
Dean hesitates, and when he finally answers his voice is rough, like he’s
annoyed that Sam is getting him to go against what he thinks is best (Cas
almost wishes he could start a slow clap...he keeps his eyes carefully lowered,
in case Dean should read his sarcastic, rebellious thoughts.  He guesses he
really is feeling better today.)  “Your word, Sammy.  Promise me you won’t take
advantage of the situation.”
Sam shifts his grip and hugs Dean tightly around his waist.  “I promise, I
won’t.  Okay, big brother?  We’ll just go back to the way it was?”
Dean strokes his hair, looking at Cas over his head with dark promise in his
eyes.  “Okay, I believe you.  But if you disobey…you both take the
consequences…and they’ll be pretty severe.  So don’t let me catch you.”
Cas stares back at his Master.  He listens to Sam swear up and down that Dean
will never have reason to punish them for crimes they’ll never dare to commit. 
Dean leans down to kiss his cheek, still holding him in a tight hug, his lethal
green eyes never leaving Cas’s face.  And Cas acknowledges with his eyes that
yes, he remembers.  He knows the game has started and he remembers all the
rules.
                                       ~
"I dont understand, Master...you want us to disobey you?" Cas was looking at
his Master that first night he explained, feeling so uncertain and nervous.
Dean had smiled, stroking his hair lightly.  "I just know he will, baby.  He's
gonna want you too much to help it.  He will disobey, and then you'll tell me
everything you do together."
"But he'll know--"
"He won't know," Dean had cut him off sharply, pleased with himself.  "I'll
only punish him if he really gets caught, by me.  He'll never know you're
telling me anything.  Don't you get it?  This is a game between me and Sam.  If
I win, I get to punish you both again.  If he wins...he gets you, baby.  And
you'll be such a good slut for him...won't you.  Teach him everything he wants
to learn.  But never start it, Cas, that's cheating.  Think of yourself as his
shy little girl...letting him make all the moves.  You can be sexy.  You can
flirt.  But you never touch him first.  Got it?"  I catch you doin' different,
you'll get punished with Sammy and then again when we're alone.  I don't think
you want that."
Cas had shuddered, because no, he didn't want that.  And Dean had been excited
then, stroking his hands over Cas's body, kissing his throat aggressively.  "N-
no, Master.  I-I'll be good," Cas had gasped, trying not to sound as worried as
he felt.  He didn't think this game was a good idea...not for any of them.
"Lighten up, baby angel, this is gonna be fun.  A game for me and Sammy,
Cas...and you're the prize!"
***** Cakewalk (Go Team Sam) *****
Chapter Summary
     NEW TRIGGER WARNING FOR DOMESTIC ABUSE. Dean gets a little side
     action from Jo Harvelle, and he becomes her abusive "boyfriend."
     Welcome to the start of Dean's new game.
Chapter Notes
     Hi all,
     I know this is the longest time between chapters, but this is also a
     crazy-long one, so maybe that makes up for it a little. I just kept
     getting more and more from Cas, and nothing from Dean. Took forever
     to find out what he was up to (no good, naturally). But I just didn't
     want the chapter to end without hearing from him.
     Also, if you're looking for dark!fic recommendations, I've put up a
     few bookmarks for some really amazing fics by other authors (I guess
     one of them isn't dark--it just has a few dark elements.) Most are
     stories that really messed my shit up the way you guys claim this one
     does to you. ;)
Okay.  Not that he would ever say it to Dean.  But the first few weeks after
his stupid game started are kind of fun for Cas.  If only because Dean is
losing so severely and Cas, in his most secret put-away heart, is very firmly
on Team Sam. 
Not that he would ever tell Dean.
Sam lasts about a week before he tries kissing Cas again.  They don’t do it at
school, even though Sam sort of thinks they could (he feels like Dean wasn’t
specific enough in defining what’s punishable; he thinks he only made it clear
that they shouldn’t mess around on Winchester property.  Cas knows Dean will
define it as whatever he sees fit, but Sam isn’t hearing him and he stops
trying to make a case.)  But things at school have just barely calmed down for
them, and neither feels like being grist for the gossip mill any time soon.
It happens the first time in Cas’s room, which is weird because Sam almost
never comes to Cas’s house anymore.  Between Roscoe’s open hostility (something
new and decidedly uncomfortable for Sam, who is used to adults adoring him) and
Amelia’s nervous energy and constant, soft suggestions that maybe Sam needs to
get going, or maybe they could do their (homework, hanging out, whatever it is)
over at Sam’s (Cas could certainly spend the night, too, if he wants), it just
makes more sense not to even bother. There’s also a new rule that Cas can’t
have anyone over when no adults are home, which has more to do with Roscoe
being paranoid about his pot stash that no one is supposed to know about than
concern for Cas or any “friends” he might be dying to be alone with in the
house.
The day Sam kisses him, Cas is being a little bit shady.  Sam wants to go to
Mick Davies’ house, where a bunch of kids are getting together after school and
Cas had agreed to go along.  That, however, was early in the week, when it
sounded like fun and he could convince himself that he could stand to be
sociable once in a while.  Now that it’s here, and Sam’s texts are growing
increasingly impatient, Cas just…he has to bail.
He’s been better day by day, it’s true.  The panic attacks finally slowed,
first to once a day, and then he had a day without any.  His life is still
insane but he’s…he’s managing.  He guesses that’s why he’d been optimistic
enough to agree in the first place.  The wrong decision, he now sees, based on
what feels like a lead ball of dread in his stomach.  So he’s in his room and
he’s (somewhat guiltily, but not enough to stop) ignoring Sam’s texts.  He
already has a story ready to go:  he was so tired, he just fell asleep, and his
phone was on vibrate, so it didn't wake him, so you know—
That’s when Sam walks into his room.  Now Cas is alone in the house (or
supposed to be) and the doors are locked.  Soo…
“You broke in my house?” he squeaks at Sam from where he’s lying on his stomach
on the bed with his tablet. 
Sam laughs.  “You really need to lock the deadbolt if you want to keep anybody
out.  I knew you were up here being an asshole, and here you are, just as I
thought.  Come on, everybody’s already there; you know Mick wanted us for moral
support in case that red headed girl turns him down.”
“Charlie or Rowena?”
“Charlie.  Get up.  Ass. Hole.”
Cas rolls onto his back and feels his heart skip when he catches Sam staring at
his ass.  He pretends not to notice (easily done, actually, since he had his
heart set on missing this thing and now it looks like Sam might make him go—his
anxiety is squeezing him tight inside already.)  He looks at his friend
pleadingly.  “Sam—“
“Cas, you can do this.”
“I’ll get the next one,” he insists, but he can't keep eye contact when he says
it.  Right now it seems impossible that he'll ever want to go.
Sam rolls his eyes.  “You always say that.  You always manage to make the plan,
but when it comes time to go, I get the big sad eyes.”
“That’s your thing…big puppy eyed jerk,” Cas grumbles, eyeing him resentfully.
“Up.  That’s what you’re wearing?  Cas, why would you keep a shirt that has a
big hole in it?  I’ll get you something else,” Sam heads for his closet.
Cas watches him, indignant.  “Your shirts have holes, too, they're all Dean's! 
Sam, come on, I don’t want—“
“Cassie?  Are you home?  The back door isn’t locked; did you forget to lock
it?”  It’s his mother, and the boys look at each other in alarm (it will occur
to Cas—very soon, in fact—that his mother isn’t going to do anything about him
misbehaving, but at this point both he and Sam react with the horror of good
boys who are generally obedient.)  Cas hears his mother’s footsteps and he’s
off the bed, shoving Sam in the closet and slamming the door in time for her to
open his. 
He spins to face her.  “I…I guess I did, sorry.”  He moves to the door, wanting
her eyes to come away from the closet (which he never closes.)
She gives him a distracted smile.  “No worries, just…if Roscoe had come home
first…”
He looks at the floor, feeling his own face go blank.  “I’ll be more careful,
Mom.”
“I know you will.”  She looks at him quickly and nods, forcing another smile. 
She doesn’t look sad these days, she looks…twitchy.  She’s really different
with Roscoe, a third version of his mother (Alone Amelia, Jimmy’s Amelia). 
This one wears cheap clothes that are a bit too young, tight, and revealing on
her pale, 30-something body (it works, to some extent, the clothes and the lost
look on her face, how frail and underfed she seems…she can pass for a lot
younger.)  She’s still pretty, but just…pinched.  Tight with the nervous energy
of someone living under a heavy shadow.  “Going to Sam’s?” she asks, and he
tries not to hate her for the hopeful sound in her voice. 
He sighs, knowing Sam is listening, begrudging him his smug triumph.  “I might
be going to this…thing.  With Sam.  And kids from school.”
“That’s…that sounds real nice, Cas,” She darts another quick look at his face,
sends it to his throat, his arms.  “Just…be careful this time.  Last time you
guys…you came home all banged up, remember?” (Cas feels a spike of nervous
energy; Sam doesn’t know about that)  “Don’t…don’t overdo it, okay?”  She’s
already backing away, though, like she’s afraid by even saying that he’ll try
to confide in her or something, make her do something about it.  That’s what he
assumes anyway. 
“All right, Mom,” he says softly, watching her turn toward her room.  Then he
shakes himself and closes his door, heading to open the one to his closet. 
And yelps when he gets dragged inside.  For no reason (except maybe it makes
the whole thing feel more conspiratorial), he closes the door behind him and
leaves them in the dark.  “Nice going, jerkoff, now how do I get you out of
here?” he whispers, trying to sound annoyed, but he's trying not to smile and
Sam isn't impressed.
"Oh, please.  It'll be easy.  Hey, what was that about you coming home banged
up?  When was that?  I don't remember that," Sam comments and Cas's stomach
gives a quick lurch.
"It was...duh, it was when I got sick...a-after Halloween, and don't change the
subject!  We gotta get you out!" he insists, suddenly more serious about it.
“Hmm,” Sam trails off.  He’s close enough that Cas can feel his breath on his
face, and all the sudden Cas is tense for another reason.  "Yeah, we could do
that." 
He (remember the rules) doesn’t move, he barely breathes he’s so still, playing
the part, the shy little boy who’s alone with his crush.  “It’s hot in here,”
he says nervously and then laughs; he can’t believe he’s nervous.
“You closed the door,” Sam says softly.  Their eyes are adjusting with the
light from under the door, and Sam reaches up to touch Cas’s face, making him
jump a little.  Sam laughs.  “You’re nervous, look at that…like you think I’m
gonna…do something…” he leans forward, pushing Cas against the door with his
body.
“We’re…we’re not supposed to,” Cas forces himself to say it (instead of kiss
me, touch me, put me on my knees.) 
Sam is pressed against him and Cas turns his hips a little, trying not to let
on that it’s getting him hard.  But Sam smiles knowingly.  “Kind of hot, doing
what we’re not supposed to.  Besides…what’s a little kiss, right?  Do you want
a kiss, Cas?”
Cas licks his lips, he can’t help it.  Sam is playing with his hair, leaning
against him, and it’s so hot, almost uncomfortably hot, he’s definitely
sweating now.  He nods, and Sam is kissing him, just like that.  His lips are
smaller than Cas’s, a delicate pretty bow mouth, and Cas licks away at it. 
Already he’s stiff in his jeans and he knows Sam is, too, he can feel him
against his hip.  Suddenly all he can think about is reaching his hand down and
rubbing over that bulge in Sam’s jeans.  Let me, Sam…let me, let me…
But he’s the shy girl.  Boy! So he contents himself with letting his kisses
drift to Sam’s throat (he doesn’t even know he took control of the kiss, it
just happened naturally.)  He kisses softly, sucking just a bit, and then Sam
is the one making quiet gasping noises, leaning back into the clothes and
hangers behind him (can’t be that comfortable but he doesn’t seem to care). 
Cas’s mouth moves up the slim column of Sam’s throat to his small ear, which he
tugs between his teeth and sucks, gratified when Sam moans and surges forward,
humping against Cas. 
He pulls away, making Sam chase him back against the door, and this time Sam
plasters himself against Cas, rubbing slightly.  “You gotta be quiet, dummy,”
Cas tells him.  “We’re supposed to be trying to get out of here.”  He says it
admonishingly, but it’s the last thing he wants.  His body likes Sam exactly
where he is, and he’s sure Sam can feel it.
“Okay, yeah.  Yeah.  We’ll stop.  We’ll go.  Just,” Sam says and then he’s
kissing Cas urgently, sucking his tongue into his mouth the way Cas taught him,
licking at him, pulling at him.  Cas’s hands are up around Sam’s neck (he loves
doing this, loves how proportionate they are to each other, he’ll never get
enough) so he can pull his body as tight against Sam as possible.  He feels
Sam’s hands moving up and down his sides, and then his fingers slip under his
t-shirt, warm fingers (Sam is always warm, wonderfully warm) running over Cas’s
skin. 
Cas gasps and Sam pulls back, maybe to check if he’s okay, but he ends up
stumbling backwards over one of Cas’s sneakers on the floor behind him.  The
clothes are nothing to catch his fall, so he ends up on his ass, with Cas
almost following.  He manages to catch himself, sort of leaning over Sam, whose
hands are still up his shirt, sort of holding his waist.  They giggle, trying
to be quiet, and Cas starts to pull away before thinking better of it, sinking
to the floor and straddling Sam’s lap.
Sam’s glimmering eyes widen in the dark.  “Cas,” Sam whispers, hoarse suddenly,
and Cas sees him swallow hard.   He looks interested and nervous.
Because the moment Cas is there, he forgets the shy role he’s supposed to be
playing.  He looks at Sam the way a boy who loves to fuck looks at his next
lover. 
He rolls his hips just right, grinding their cocks together (again,
proportionate, what a perfect fit against his), his eyes never leaving Sam’s so
he sees the little groan fall from his lips.  “Shh…baby,” he tests the word, in
a light whisper against Sam’s lips and likes it, no, loves it, actually.  He
leans up for another teasingly slow wet kiss and slips his hands into Sam’s
hair, then down his back, tickling soothingly as he grinds.  He lets his hands
slip under Sam’s shirt, tickling his way back up, skin so soft like his own,
back slender like his.  His hands move around to the front without breaking the
kiss, rubbing his thumbs over Sam’s nipples (so small, so much like his own). 
He pinches ever so lightly, feels the slender body shudder under him.
“Cas!” Sam whimpers this time and Cas hushes then kisses him, deeply,
thoroughly.  His hands caress down Sam’s chest to his flat stomach, but only to
push his shirt up, slowly.  Sam pulls back from his lips and Cas takes
advantage, kissing, lightly sucking his way down his throat.  He tastes so good
and clean, just soap and sweat and Sam.  He nuzzles the hollow of his throat,
wanting to live there, licking until he finds Sam’s pulse point under his
tongue, feeling how his heart is pounding just for Cas.  He realizes he’s just
sitting pliant under him, his eyes shut tight, his breathing sort of hard and
broken up, more along for the ride than anything else.  Cas can feel his
fingers gripping the back of his shoulders.  “Cas, Jesus,” Sam gasps.
“Got you…baby…,” Cas breathes the word against Sam’s skin, coming back up for a
kiss before dipping his head to taste the skin of his bare chest, mouthing just
under his t-shirt.  He mouths his way slowly, licking across to one hard
nipple, flicking his tongue against it, liking the tiny cry from Sam.  He’s
licking him there, scraping his teeth, when he thinks about Sam’s hard cock
under him and realizes he can do something better for him than grinding.  He
spreads wider and sends his hand down, lightly cupping the bulge in Sam’s
jeans, then rubbing with his palm. 
Sam moans, a little too loudly and Cas shuts him up with a kiss, letting his t-
shirt fall in the process.  But his palm doesn’t lose contact with Sam’s cock. 
Sam is pushing up into his touch, and taking that as a green light, Cas moves
to the button at Sam’s jeans, flicking it open (practiced, easily) and
unzipping him before running his fingers just under the band of his boxer
briefs.  He starts kissing Sam harder, getting excited, he’s finally gonna
touch him, feel him, the first cock he’ll feel on purpose, his choice, and of
course it’s Sam’s.  He slips his hand under the band, finds sweaty, satiny
skin.
Sam grabs his wrist and breaks free of his kiss. “Cas, Cas, wait…!” he begs,
but then he lets out a groan and his body is jerking under Cas.
And Cas shudders, taking his hand out of Sam’s pants and putting both of them
around his neck again, pulling him tight, squeezing them together.  “Baby…,” he
whispers again, just to give himself that exquisite pleasure one more time. 
Kisses him because he can’t help it.  Then he pulls back and slithers out of
Sam’s lap.  The closet is small, so he’s still close, and he smells it then. 
It smells like sweat and sex. 
“Do you…can I uh…borrow some jeans?  And boxers?”  Sam’s voice is quiet.  It’s
too dark to tell but Cas thinks he’s probably blushing to the roots of his
hair.
“Oh, God, yeah, sorry,” Cas  is up, opening the closet.  He peeks out, like
Amelia (or worse, Roscoe) might be in there waiting to say ‘Ha! Gotcha!’ before
moving to grab out a pair of jeans Sam has borrowed before and some boxer
briefs from his dresser.  His heart is pounding when he turns to face Sam, who
is avoiding his eyes, a sheepish smile on his swollen lips.
“I’ll just…” Sam starts to go back into the closet to change.  “Um…do you
have…?”
“O-Oh…right…wait…here…,” Cas is so nervous now, blushing himself.  He was hard
when he’d gotten out of Sam’s lap, but it’s wilting now.  He tosses Sam a
packet of wet wipes.  “No, don’t!” he says a bit too urgently, startling Sam
into making eye contact.  “I mean, you…you don’t need to use the closet.  I’ll
go…I’ll see where my mom is, so we can get you out of here.”
“All right,” Sam replies, and this time his smile is a little closer to his
own.
Cas slips out and tries to figure out why he feels so wrong, so caught out. 
His breathing is starting to get labored, so he takes a moment leaning against
his door, just calming himself.  It’s hard because he knows what he did.  He’d
let Sam see…that was him, back there, that was the real Cas, Dean’s Cas, the
slut, the babywhore.  Writhing on his innocent friend like some kind of bitch
in heat, putting his hands, his mouth all over him.  He covers his mouth and
closes himself into the bathroom until the shaking stops.
When he feels calm enough to go back to his room, he uses their old secret
knock (if quietly) so Sam will know it isn’t his mom and he doesn’t have to
hide.  His friend is sitting on his bed with his clothes balled up in his lap.
“Sam I’m really sorry—“he starts, but Sam smiles wide, showing those dimples
that Cas loves.
“Sorry?  Cas that was so hot…I didn’t know you were so fucking hot!” Sam says
and Cas blushes, frowns a little.  Sam isn’t calling him a slut, but it feels
that way.  “I…I just can’t believe I…I mean before you even…,” Sam trails off,
blushing scarlet and Cas smiles reluctantly, coming a little closer so he can
tentatively touch Sam’s warm cheek.
“That’s a compliment,”Cas tells him lightly.  “Means you liked it.  You like
me.”
Sam glances at him, then away, although he snakes his arms around Cas’s waist. 
“You didn’t, though.”
And what should he say?  I fuck your brother all the time, so now I last a
little longer.  “I…jerk off a lot.  Just did earlier.”  Now it’s his turn to
blush, he sounds like a crazy person, but that’s better than the truth.  “Do
you?  Jerk off, I mean,” he asks Sam, genuinely curious.  Do you think about
me, too?
Sam shrugs, still doing his best impression of a tomato, even as his features
try for casual.  “Yeah, course.  Apparently not as much as you, horn dog.  God,
Dean’s right, you guys are alike.”
Cas flinches, but tries to cover it up.  Forces a smile and slips out of Sam’s
grasp.  “Yeah.”
 
                                       ~
 
It’s okay.  He lost control but thanks to Sam, he didn’t actually cross a
line.  It took a little while for him to stop feeling…slimy.  Uncomfortable. 
He internally berates himself, and whenever Sam tries to talk about it he
changes the subject.
It doesn’t matter.  Sam is hooked, and what Sam wants, Cas gives. From then on,
sneaking kisses is their life.  Kissing in the tree house, or before Dean gets
home (not much he can do about that one; it’s a huge advantage for Team Sam.) 
They learn his schedule to the minute, so they can be brazen in the Winchester
house:  Sam on top of Cas on the couch, or making out at the kitchen table with
their homework spread out in front of them (Sam sometimes pulling Cas into his
lap—like maybe he wants to start something—but Cas always sits sideways, legs
closed like a gentleman). 
The thing is (and this is why Dean is losing so handily at first) it never goes
farther than kissing, because Sam seems to be waiting for Cas to make the move,
and Cas has put himself on permanent lockdown.  So he is the shy boy who keeps
his hands above Sam’s waist at all times, and blushes anytime Sam’s warm
fingers find bare skin (under his shirt, you perv…as if Sam is trying to get
down Cas’s pants already.)  If it means he has to furtively jerk off in the
bathroom after, then so be it (except on days when he knows he’ll be with Dean
later…he can beg to play the Sam game, and Dean almost always says yes.)
“Nothing?” Dean will ask, Cas perched on his lap.  Cas is facing the other way,
smiling; it’s funny to him that Dean is frustrated, that Sam is just too
innocent for this to work.  At this point, Dean isn’t even trying to catch
them.  He's still hoping to catch a lot more than kissing.
“Nothing, Master,”Cas will try sounding perplexed and not smug.  “He’s not
slutty at all.  He’s a good boy.”
Dean’s fingers tighten warningly, but only a little.  “You seem real happy
about that, baby.  I know you’ve been gettin’ real frustrated though.  Slut
like you can’t hold back forever.”
“But Masteeerr,” Cas, turning around to press against him, giving him a full-
powered pout.  “You said be shy!”
Dean, smiling and stroking him, laughing a little at how the pout thing still
works.  “I did, you’re right.  Just a sweet, shy little girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Master,” Cas growls into his neck, getting him to laugh again.
Dean gives Sam some skin mags after that.  Secretly, Sam and Cas kind of laugh
about it, this old fashioned porn.  But they look, of course they do.  And get
really turned on.  Somehow it leads to them sitting next to each other on Sam’s
bed after school, each with a hand down his pants, jerking it with the
magazines spread on the bed in front of them.  They get comfortable doing
this.  They have contests to see who can come first.  Eventually they work up
the courage to let each other really see, pushing their shorts down their
thighs at the count of three.  Cas, while not necessarily excited about
exposing himself, has been dying to see Sam that way.  Sam's is bigger than his
own (while still a lot smaller than Dean’s), long but slender and Cas knows,
knows he could take it all the way inside him.  If Sam wants.  If Sam ever
wants it.   If he fantasized about Sam fucking him before, it gets a lot worse
once he sees him hard for the first time.
Things start to shift a little.
Because they look at the magazines in the broad daylight, since obviously
they’re less likely to get caught in those hours between school and Dean coming
home from work.  It makes sense.  It’s pretty satisfying until it isn’t.  Until
lying next to each other in bed just gets too tempting to pass up.
They have the trundle bed that John ordered, but he got a full sized so that
Sam could grow into it.  Since they’re still pretty small and so is his room,
they really don’t bother to open the second bed as it becomes ridiculously
inconvenient to move around it the moment they’re not actually sleeping.
Yup.  That’s the reason.
The full size does mean that there’s no real excuse for them to cuddle up the
way they always have.  So when Cas gets in the bed, he makes sure there’s space
between them.  Space that Sam, when he sees it, respects.  They’ll wake wrapped
in each other somehow, always seeking each other once they’re asleep, but Cas
thinks that doesn’t count, and he always extricates himself as soon as he wakes
in the morning.  He’s usually the last to fall asleep (or he leaves the bed
for…other commitments, and comes back.)  If it’s the latter, he’ll be exhausted
and sore.  He doesn’t even pretend, he just lifts the blanket and crawls over
to his friend, who accepts him, even in sleep. 
Except on bad nights.  Nights where all he can think is that Sam shouldn’t have
to touch something so foul. 
This night, though, they are still lying with that cold space between them on
the bed, that no man’s land under the comforter.  Cas is on his side with his
back to Sam, waiting for him to fall asleep.  He’s thinking it’s going to be an
easy night.  Dean will probably be satisfied with a blowjob if he makes it
good.  Okay, probably not.  But he hasn’t misbehaved, and Dean hasn’t
looked…off.  It should be okay.
That’s when he feels Sam’s fingers touch the back of his neck.  The fingers
lightly touch the curls there, before gently tickling over his skin.  He
freezes for only a second, but it’s not long until he’s curling his neck into
the touch (like a little cat, Dean always says.)  “What are you doing?” he
whispers.
A pause, but the fingers don’t stop.  “Nothin’.”  He’s using what little nails
he has, and it feels amazing.  His fingers disappear under the collar of his
flannel pajama top.  After a moment, he asks, “Want me to do your back?”
Cas hesitates, but who is he kidding?  “All right.”  He shifts a little closer
on the bed, and Sam gently lifts the back of his shirt.  Then he’s using the
fingers of both hands to trace lazy patterns on Cas’s back.  Somehow it manages
to be both relaxing and erotic, each time his fingers slip lower on Cas’s back,
and just the fact that Sam is so close, his scent surrounding Cas, feeling the
warmth of his presence behind him.  It isn’t long until he’s tugging his shirt
off, making Sam laugh at him.  “Shut up, you were missing spots.  Get my
shoulders.”
“You’re bossy sometimes.  You know that?”
“And you talk too much, come on!”  Cas doesn’t agree, but if Dean heard it, he
might have classified that as a whine.
“Shh!  Dean’ll hear you!”  Which of course made it harder not to laugh, so
they’re giggling and snorting into the blanket. 
The door swings open and Sam’s hands are gone like they were never there.  Cas
has the blanket to his neck and he doesn’t move, but his heart is thundering
with sudden fear.  It’s not like Dean doesn’t know what that means.  Not like
he doesn’t use the same trick, tucking Cas in so he doesn’t appear naked.  He
sneaks a glance, and feels instant but tempered relief:  it’s only John
Winchester in the doorway.  “Lights out means just that, kids.  If you can’t
keep it down, one of y’all can go sleep in Dean’s room.”
“Where’s Dean?” Sam asks, his tone just short of nasty.  They all can hear the
implication, that only Dean has the right to tell him what to do.  Cas peeks at
Sam’s father and sees his brow lift.
“Dean’s out.  Don’t worry about where Dean is.  Worry about doin’ what I say,
Sammy, how about that,” John suggests, and Cas makes himself small under the
blankets, made anxious by the tension in the room.
“Fine.  Shouldn’t you be at work?  Or the bar or something?  It’s just, usually
Dean’s here, not you,” Sam says oh-so-reasonably, and Cas winces at the venom
threading his words. 
John’s face darkens and he seems to grow taller in the doorway.  “Kid, you do
know this is my roof you’re under, right?  And no matter what I let go on here,
you’re my son.  Now I’ve been toleratin’ a lot of disrespect from that mouth
because I trust your brother to look after things.  But you keep on testin’ me,
I’m gonna put a stop to it myself, you hear me?”
Sam is quiet and Cas can’t bear to look, playing possum, but he’s watching John
in his peripheral.  He doesn’t look pleased.
“It can happen right now, Samuel.  Right now, right in front of your friend,
and your brother probably told you I don’t use my hand.  Maybe that’s your
problem, he’s been too soft on you from the get.”
And he knows, suddenly Cas knows that Sam is going to tell him a somewhat
polite version of ‘go fuck yourself’ and then he’ll have to watch his friend
get whipped for the second time in his life.  So he reaches back and grabs Sam,
locks his fingers around Sam’s arm.  Begging with his grip, hoping he
understands.  Please don’t.  Please don’t make me watch this.
“Yes, Sir,” Sam grits out at last.
“I don’t want ‘yes, sir’, I want to hear an apology and then you shut the hell
up and go to sleep, like I told you the first time,” John tells him, and Cas
sees he’s a man who only has to raise his voice a little to be intimidating.
“I’m sorry…Dad.”  The words are mild, and Cas tenses up again.  Surely John
will hear the sarcasm.  Surely he’ll hear the accusation.
“Yeah.  You’re sorry.  I’ll be talkin’ to Dean about this.  See if he don’t
need help handlin’ you after all,” John retorts, and this time Sam doesn’t
reply.  Cas strokes his arm with his fingers, feeling the tension under his
taut skin, trying to calm him in the only small way he can manage.  “Don’t let
me hear another sound.”
“Yes, Sir,” Sam replies, and there’s a tense moment where Cas wonders if John
will decide that counts as another sound.  Instead he closes the door.  Once
they hear his footsteps head downstairs, Cas turns, cautiously sliding closer
to Sam, staring at his profile.  Sam is lying on his back, face dark with
anger.
“He’s such an asshole,” Sam whispers.  “I hope he does talk to Dean, Dean’ll
just tell him off for thinkin’ he can get involved now.  Hope I’m there to hear
it.  Fuck him, and his stupid house.  He doesn’t want us here, Dean ‘n’ me can
just--”
“Shh, Sam, please…please don’t say that, okay?  Y-you don’t need to leave,” Cas
burrows into Sam’s side, shuddering, the hairs on the back of his neck standing
up. 
“What?” Sam seems to realize Cas is upset.  He tugs him close and his voice
sounds slightly less tense when he speaks again.  “Sorry…he just gets to me,
you know, when he tries to act like some kind of parent.”
“I guess,” Cas says noncommittally.  John doesn’t seem like the worst father to
him.  They have food, clothes, and shelter.  He made sure they know how to
defend themselves (or at least, he’d taught Dean, and Dean was passing it on to
Sam).  He could’ve given them up to foster care at any point and he hadn’t. 
Maybe he wasn’t much, but Cas still thought he was better than nothing.
“He should stick to what he knows best, workin’ and gettin’ drunk.”
Cas tries to get closer and Sam puts an arm around him, making a face when he
does.  “You’re cold, you’re always cold.”
“I know, and you’re always warm,” Cas smiles and slips his fingers up under
Sam’s shirt, making him hiss. 
“Jeez, your fingers are like ice, what are you, part ghost?” he whispers,
yanking Cas’s hand back out from under his shirt.
“Shut up and get back to work,” Cas demands, turning his back to Sam.
“Bossy,” Sam breathes against the back of his neck, tickling again.  Except
this time he follows with lips, a chaste kiss pressed to his neck that Cas
leans into.  He turns a little, and Sam’s lips follow, moving forward on his
neck. 
“What are you—“
Sam kisses him and he’s responding before he can think, but he keeps turned
mostly away, knowing if he turns, it’ll be all over.  Instead he pulls back. 
“Sam, we…we should sleep.  You’ll be all grumpy tomorrow.”  He says it, but he
doesn’t really mean it. 
“I’m never grumpy in the morning,” Sam resumes tickling his back, leaning his
head on Cas’s shoulder, so their faces are pressed together.
“Okay, I’ll be grumpy.”
Sam sighs and pulls away from Cas, leaving the line of his bare back cold.  He
sits up to put his shirt back on.
“I’m not tired though.  I’m thinking.”
“Bout what,” Cas asks him, head still buried in flannel.
“Those magazines.”
Cas swallows but he keeps his tone nonchalant.  “We can…we’ll do it again
tomorrow if you want.”
Sam is quiet and Cas thinks he’s going to drop it, when he speaks up again. “We
should watch real porn.”
Cas looks at him.  “What, now?  We just got in trouble for making noise.”
“What makes you think we’ll make noise,” Sam says slyly, making Cas blush.  The
last time they looked at porn together was long before this…thing between
them.  Just a couple of kids staring in awe, feeling totally horny and doing
absolutely nothing about it.
“C’mon, we’ll be quiet, and then I’ll be able to sleep.”
Cas hesitates again, but suddenly all he can think of is getting Sam to watch
some guys fucking each other.  The last time they’d watched porn, it’d been all
hetero.  But now…
“All right, but get your headphones. And don’t stomp around, John’ll come back
upstairs.”
Sam laughs and slips from the blanket, back in a flash with his tablet and
headphones.  They turn on their bellies and prop the tablet up at the top of
the bed, by their pillows.  Each boy takes one earbud.  Sharing them means they
have to be incredibly close while they watch, and Cas can feel Sam pressed to
his side from shoulder to hip.  He’s already twitching in his pajama pants
before Sam even gets to the site. 
Cas takes over then before Sam can pick a straight couple.  He finds the
perfect one, two “teen” boys hanging out in a bedroom. 
“Teen my ass…they’re older than Dean!” Sam immediately scoffs and Cas has to
remind him to keep it down.
“They’re not as hot as Dean either,” Cas says without thinking and then blushes
furiously as he realizes what he said, his stomach flipping a little.  Sam
blinks at him, like he’s not sure how to react.  “I just mean…they’re skinny! 
He’s more muscular!” He tries to fix it, flustered. 
Sam is still looking at him.  “You like ‘em big, huh?” he jokes, but his eyes
are narrowed. 
Cas feels oddly hot and cold, unsure about revealing himself like that (unsure
about even thinking like that, given what Dean…is), but also a little excited
that Sam seems…jealous. He pauses the video.  “Don’t give me shit…your
brother’s the hottest guy in this whole fucking town, everybody says that.  Old
Mrs. Winslow says that—she’s like a grandma--and so does Jenny McCann in my
Language Arts class because she saw him drop you off once.  Once!”
Sam rolls his eyes, nods.  Cas finds himself wondering if Sam gets tired of
hearing about how hot his older brother is, though he’s never seemed anything
but proud.  “Sam, I like you,” Cas blurts out suddenly, wanting to make himself
clear.  “That’s what I like.”  Whatever fucked up feelings he might have about
Dean, there’s no mistaking the conviction in his voice, and it gets him
kissed.  He kisses Sam back but stops before it can become anything more.  He
still really wants Sam to see some gay porn.
The two boys in the video might not be Dean hot, but Sam and Cas finally agree
they wouldn’t kick them out of bed either.  A blond and a brunette, petite so
they can try to pass for younger, Cas guesses.  Secretly, he doesn’t even want
to watch them.  He wants to watch Sam, see how he’s reacting.  Especially when
the shorter boy crawls between the Blondie’s legs and starts licking away at
his obscenely large cock. 
“Whoa,” Sam whispers, and Cas steals a look at his face.  “I always wonder how
guys want to put their mouths there.”
Cas shrugs uneasily.  Whispers back, “You get used to it.  I think.  It’s just
skin, really.”
Sam looks at him askance.  “Yeah, skin you pee from, with slimy stuff coming
out of it.  At least they're not hairy.  Gross!”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew how good it felt getting it,” he answers
stiffly, hoping his burning cheeks aren’t noticeable in the dark.  He realizes
how that sounded.  “I just mean…look at that guy, he’s like losing his shit. 
He likes it a lot.  And the guy giving it to him looks happy too, he’s
like…moaning and stuff, too.”
Sam looks at him pretty curiously but now he turns back to the men on the
screen in time to see Blondie start to fuck into Short Guy’s mouth, his dick
disappearing down his throat.  “Shit,” he whispers, and Cas hides a smile.  He
can't do that for Dean, not yet, but he bets he could make it for Sam.
They’re quiet for a while, which helps Cas to relax somewhat.  For him, it’s
still less about the porn (which actually makes him a little uncomfortable;
what’s going on between the two “boys” is far tamer than what Cas gets up to on
a regular basis, impressive as Sam seems to find it) than it is about watching
porn with Sam.  He sneaks looks at him as often as he can, wishing he could
just stare the way he wants.  Wishing Sam would sit up and take his gorgeous
dick out, with Cas's face so close.  What would Sam do if Cas just leaned over,
took it in his mouth?  He'd make it so good...
“What about that?  You gotta agree that’sgross.”
Cas looks, and Short Guy has his friend on his back on the bed, nearly folded
in half.  Blondie’s hole is already gaping wide open and Short Guy is lapping
away at it like he wanted to get to the candy center.  Blondie is moaning and
squirming, over the top and theatrical but the sounds are still pretty hot.
Cas swallows.  It’s true, Dean hasn’t made him do this, and he hopes he never
does.  But Dean does it to him all the time, and it feels amazing.  “I…I
wouldn’t want to try it,” Cas admits. 
Sam giggles and nudges him.  “You sure?  What if the guy’s really hot?”
Cas tilts his chin up.  “Then he can do it to me all he wants.”
Sam looks at him for a long moment, but then he’s drawn back to the movie. 
Short Guy, who was just jutting his stiff tongue into his friend’s hole, has
now turned Blondie on his hands and knees and is lining up his dick to push
inside him.  And even Cas’s eyes are glued; this isn’t something he’s ever been
able to just watch.  He guesses it doesn’t look exactly like that when Dean
fucks into him; his ass is still so small in Dean’s hands, his cock enormous
inside him.  These guys are clearly more proportionate to each other (like he
would be with Sam, fuck.)  The friend on the bed is arching his back, groaning,
just a lot of ‘give it to me, baby’ and ‘fuck me harder’, while his friend says
things like ‘so tight’ and ‘feels so good inside you!’ 
Cas realizes how hard he is, just watching Short Guy’s dick rutting into
Blondie’s gaping hole.  He's become incredibly aware of all the places his body
is lightly resting against Sam:  his shoulder, the length of his arm, his hip. 
He feels like every hair is standing on end.  In the corner of his eye, he sees
Sam’s tongue dart out to lick his lips, and he shifts on the bed ever so
slightly. 
It gives Cas an idea.  He shifts too, but his movement is deliberate, a roll of
his hips that manages to push his dick against the mattress, while also making
the side of his hip rub against Sam’s—not lightly either.  Sam’s eyes are on
him instantly (Cas doesn’t look at all, but he knows.)  He squirms slowly,
sinuously again, giving a tiny arch to his back, knowing his ass will be
undulating with the movement.
“Cas,” Sam whispers hoarsely and Cas smiles inwardly, while still pretending
he’s not aware Sam’s paying attention.  “What are you doin’?”
Cas looks at him but Sam’s eyes are on his ass.  He moves again and Sam bites
his lower lip.  He smiles.  “You’re looking at my ass again.”
“That’s because it’s…just...kinda perfect...,” Sam trails off.  His hand finds
its way to Cas’s back, and Cas’s heart starts pounding.  This is like last
time, only there’s no Jess holding him back.  Sure enough, Sam’s hand slips
lower until he’s tentatively touching Cas’s ass over his pajama pants.  “Is
this okay?” he whispers and Cas can only nod, watching him.  It’s surreal,
feeling this light, innocent touch, with the sound of hard core fucking in his
ear, but it’s Sam’s hand doing the touching, and Cas’s dick is diamond hard,
he’s sure it’s leaking into his boxers.  His hand is feathery light over Cas’s
pajama pants (Sam’s touch, always the most gentle Cas has ever known). 
“C’mere.” Sam whispers, and pulls him onto his side for a kiss.  This time both
his hands find Cas’s ass, squeezing and kneading in a way that makes Cas
whimper in his mouth, pushing up tight against Sam. 
Sam hushes him, slowing the kiss, pulling off with a little sucking sound.  He
keeps hold of Cas with one arm (like he can’t take the chance of losing him)
and shuts the porn off, taking the earbuds and tossing the tablet away with his
free hand.  “Can I touch you, Cas?” Sam asks him, fingers playing lightly at
the waistband of his pants. 
Yes, please, anywhere, everywhere…is what he doesn’t say.  “All right,” he
tells him instead, and damn if he isn’t nervous:  his heart is wild in his
chest. 
Sam is kissing him again when his fingers dip into his pants, slipping over his
bare ass.  His hands rub lightly under the fabric before daring to cup first
one cheek then the other.  Cas keeps waiting for his fingers to dip between his
cheeks, feel the hole there, he wants him to do it, but despite the way his
thumbs slip maddeningly close, his hole is neglected.  He can’t help it then,
he’s reaching between them to touch his own painfully hard cock.  Except
they’re so close together on the bed that the back of his hand brushes against
Sam’s dick.  He can feel how hard he is, and it sends a jolt of excitement
straight to the tip of his dick.
Sam gasps in his mouth and they both freeze, mouths still touching, Sam’s hands
on his ass, Cas’s hand trapped between them.  Cas is sweating in his flannels,
wants desperately to be free of them, or at least his shirt again.  He swallows
and looks at Sam, feeling almost frightened, but at the same time, it’s like he
can’t stop himself.  This doesn’t count as touching first, does it?  It was an
accident, but…now he’s already there.  Tentatively, ever so softly, he brushes
his hand against Sam again.  Gets the sound a second time. 
“Cas.” Sam whispers a little desperately, fingers tightening on Cas’s bare
skin.
“Baby,” Cas whispers gently, reassuringly.  He looks down where his hand is
between them.  Turns his hand, runs his finger up Sam’s length (still through
the pants.)  Feels Sam shudder.  He uses his palm instead, stroking slowly,
tentatively against the bulge in his pants.
“Feels good,” Sam gasps out, pressing against Cas’s hand.  “Um, no, w-
wait…wait…I-I wanna…I wanna touch you first.  Can I?”
Cas nods, forcing himself to stop touching Sam.  Sam’s hands slip out of his
pants, and then he’s tugging Cas’s shirt back off, the cool air making Cas
shiver when it touches his sweaty skin.  “Should…” Sam swallows hard, looking
down at Cas’s body, stroking his chest, his stomach.  He tucks his fingers just
under the band of Cas’s pants.  “Could I take these off you, too?”
“Um, all right, yeah.”  Cas’s voice wobbles a little, and he realizes he’s
nervous (stupid; how Dean would laugh at him.)  He freezes in actual fear until
he realizes Sam is only removing the pants, not his boxers, or at least not
yet. 
Ridiculous.  He’s naked all the time with Dean, and if Sam decides he wants to
fuck him, it’s all gotta come off—and Cas definitely wants him to decide that. 
He guesses it is kind of laughable to feel like he’s not ready to be naked with
Sam. 
Except he’s thinking how skinny and small he is, his dick nothing impressive
(Sam’s smaller, delicate body is amazing to Cas, but he’s pretty sure his
reasons are based on his experience, the body parts invading his always so much
larger and stronger, all the pleasure he gets coming with a hefty price of
pain).  He’s thinking about bruises, that Sam could see more than the few on
his arms or shoulders.  He might see the ones at his hips, his thighs, the
places Dean marks him where he’s confident no one will see (something they both
should really have thought of before, he’s quickly realizing.)  Surely it’s
dark enough, but he can’t help it, the humiliation if Sam should see…
It doesn’t really matter, he tells himself, it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it
doesn’t.  If Sam wants it, it’s fine.  Then he’s ready, definitely.  But
maybe…Sam won’t mind?  He keeps his eyes lowered and asks shyly, “Could…could I
keep my boxers on?”
Sam looks at him for a moment, then smiles, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 
“Hey, of course,” he strokes Cas’s hair, his face, looking at him intently. 
His next words are careful.  “I only want to do what you want to do, Cas,
okay?  I only ever want that.”
Cas blinks at him, not really understanding.  He wants whatever Sam wants; more
than what Sam wants, probably.  “Okay, Sam.”
Sam rubs his bare back, his warm hands soothing away tension.  “And like…you’ll
tell me if you don’t want something…or if you want to stop.  Right?”
“I…,” Cas trails off, swallowing hard against the sudden emotions clogging his
throat.  A little fear, a little dread (goes against his training, you don’t
get a say, Cas, find the parts you like), a little sadness, but he lands on
gratitude for Sam.  Love for Sam, who doesn’t yet know that it’s okay to just
do things to Cas (if Dean approves), all the crazy things Cas likes, the rough
stuff he can take.  “Yeah, obviously,” he forces out unevenly, embarrassed. 
God, he’s blowing this, coming off as a freak who doesn’t know how to make out
like a normal boy.
“There he is, there’s my best friend the asshole.  Promise me, asshole? 
Promise you’ll say no, or stop, whenever you need to?” Sam insists, cupping
Cas’s chin so he can have eye contact for this.
“I promise!  I hate you, shut up!” Cas says urgently, pressing up against Sam
so he can hide his face in his neck, feeling Sam chuckle even as he accepts
him, holds him close.  But he doesn’t let Cas hide for long, tugging his face
up for kisses, starting chaste and then becoming hotter, wetter, tangling
tongues and spit-wet lips.  Cas’s hands slip under Sam’s shirt again, making
him gasp with the touch of his cold fingers that quickly make their way to his
nipples, circling, playing, scratching lightly. 
Sam’s hands are moving over Cas, too, only there’s a lot more skin available to
explore and he’s taking advantage.  He’s slow, pulling back from his kisses to
check on Cas (who whines, dragging him back), but his hand eventually slides
down his chest, a warm line down to the waistband of his boxers. 
Cas gasps a little, fingers twitching where they touch Sam. 
“Can’t wait to feel you, Cas,” Sam whispers, and Cas realizes he looks nervous,
too, nervous and excited, and it makes Cas feel better to see it.  He closes
his eyes, feeling Sam’s (small, soft, perfect) hand slipping down, first over
his boxers to lightly touch and squeeze.  Cas shudders, and Sam gently lowers
him to his back.  It’s while they’re kissing again that Sam’s hand slips inside
his shorts. 
Cas makes a small sound, letting go of Sam to hold onto the sheets under him
(habit, sorry Sam, habit).  His eyes are closed when Sam’s warm hand closes
over him.  His hand is dry but Cas’s cock is already slick with pre-come.  He
closes his fingers around Cas, obviously finding the angle a bit awkward at
first.  In fact, the handjob is awkward, Sam’s movements tentative and unsure,
almost too gentle, but Cas doesn’t care.  It's Sam, fucking Sam with his hand
on Cas’s dick, touching him the way he’s wanted, the way he’s dreamed for so
long.  Cas is so turned on he thinks it’ll be over as soon as it starts. 
 “Sam,” he whimpers (quietly, this boy knows how to be quiet in these moments)
and pulls him down with a hand around his neck.  He’s kissing him then.  He’s
not allowed to tell him he loves him, so he tells him with his lips, his
tongue, his eyes when he looks at him between kisses. Then he puts his hand
down Sam’s pajama pants and boxers, because he wants to feel him, too, he needs
to feel him.  He gasps in pleasure as if it’s his dick that he touches, the
head of his dick that he's thumbing over.  This is bliss to him, finally
putting his hand on Sam, feeling how hard he is, how wet he is (because of Cas,
Jesus, Cas did this to him.)  He slips lower to rub over his balls, feels satin
smooth skin and just the barest covering of downy hair.  Sam makes small
pleasure sounds and Cas eats them, hushes them.  He squeaks a little in Sam’s
mouth when he is accidentally squeezed bit too hard.
“Sorry,” Sam whispers.
“’s good,” Cas assures him and Sam starts stroking again, a little more sure
this time, and Cas smiles into his mouth when Sam’s thumb starts rubbing over
the head of his dick, gives Sam a tiny moan so he'll know it's good. 
Quick learner.
Cas treats his Sam well, stroking with a practiced hand, but gentler than he
treats Dean, not sure what Sam likes yet.  He can tell it’s good by how Sam’s
breathing gets so short, the way he ruts into his hand.  Sam’s hand has stilled
on his own cock, but he wants to come with his friend (his love), so he puts
his other hand around Sam’s and helps stroke himself off at the same time. 
They aren’t kissing anymore, but their faces are close and Cas opens his eyes,
finds Sam watching him, too.  “Sam,” he whimpers again, and bites his lip hard,
so he won’t say forbidden things. 
As if it was a command instead of a swallowed declaration, Sam releases and Cas
follows easily, spilling over both of Cas’s hands, their hips stuttering, Sam
letting out a small cry before he buries it in the mattress, Cas pressing his
mouth against Sam's t-shirt, gasping in his scent with every shuddering
breath. 
Cas kisses Sam while his neurons are still sparking with pleasure, with love,
with gratitude, small, tired kisses to his face, his neck.  He sees Sam’s eyes
are open again, glazed and happy.  Cas is happy, too, and he's realizing this
game isn’t bad, this is good. They could both feel good.  Nobody has to get
hurt.  So long as they don’t get caught, and so far that’s been a piece of
cake.
“We gotta clean up,” Sam says, sitting up, and Cas likes how his voice sounds,
all lazy and sated.  He notices Cas’s hands, both covered in their respective
come.  “Oh, hold on, I got you,” Sam starts to reach for tissues on his end
table.
“Sam,” Cas hisses at him, and he turns back to him.  Eyes locked on Sam, he
holds his hand up and licks, over his palm, to the tip of his fingers, a solid
stripe that coats his tongue.  Sam’s mouth is open, he’s watching Cas with
utter shock and fascination.  Cas holds his tongue out, pointed and pretty the
way Dean likes, letting some of it slip over his bottom lip before he swallows,
licking it away.
And Sam does taste sweeter (than Dean, than Jimmy), the way Cas always knew he
would.  He cleans his hand of Sam’s spunk (he wants to, but it’s also habit),
then holds up his other hand.  Sam grabs his wrist before he can bring it to
his mouth, and Cas freezes, shame washing over him (this is weird, this is
overboard, Sam said how gross it was, Sam thinks—)
“This one is yours?” Sam asks so softly, and Cas’s lips part, his eyes going
wide.  It never even crossed his mind that Sam might want to taste him.  Dean
does, but Dean’s…Dean.
“Yeah,” he breathes.  He sees how aggressively Sam is about to follow his
example and remembers how much he hated this stuff when he first tried it (he’s
pretty sure he’ll die if Sam throws up from the taste of his), and he stops
him, tugging his wrist out of Sam’s grip.  “Just a taste first,” Cas tells him,
offering up one coated finger.  Sam’s lips part but Cas doesn’t enter, just
rubs his finger over Sam’s sweet lips, glazing them prettily.  Sam licks at
them tentatively and Cas sees that blank look as he tries to hide his initial
reaction. It looks like he’s thinking ‘weird’, but Cas thinks that’s a lot
better than ‘gross’.  It makes him smile, actually.  It is weird, especially at
first.
Sam sees him smile and he returns it.  “More, you licked the whole thing, why
can’t I?”
“You taste sweeter than I do,” Cas lies (if only partly; he thinks Sam is
sweeter, that’s just not the reason he’s holding him back.)  He scoops one
finger full, and shoves it in Sam’s mouth this time, stopping him mid-protest,
shoving a little hard in an attempt to get him to gag (he’s a little sorry, but
it’s so sexy, too.) He laughs mischievously when Sam chokes (kind of weirdly
exciting, doing that to someone else for a change.)
Sam grabs Cas’s wrist and holds it away from his mouth.  “Asshole,” he whispers
and Cas is going to respond before Sam licks a wide swath over his palm, drying
up any words he would’ve had.  Holy. Shit.
Cas sees it, the flicker of his eyes as he thinks about what he’s tasting, and
it sends a whisper of anxiety to tighten his stomach.  Then Sam smiles.  “I
think you must be sweeter.  Let’s see.”
Sam puts his hands gently on either side of Cas’s face and he kisses him
(surprisingly romantic after eating each other’s come.)  Cas kisses back,
tasting the two of them together, and sighs in contentment when they finish. 
One day he’ll drink from the source, worship Sam the way he deserves.  For
tonight, this is enough.
A sound in the hallway makes them both still, and they realize that someone is
in the bathroom down the hall.  Trying to be soundless, they attempt to clean
up.  Sam has to change his pajamas, which gives Cas a chance to lose his
boxers, using them to clean the rest of the mess from his cock, balls, and
stomach.  At least his pajamas are clean, since he wasn’t wearing them.  He
puts them back on sans boxers this time, and blushes pink when he catches Sam
watching him dress, knowing he at least glimpsed him naked after all.  He likes
it though, he has to admit…the proprietary look in Sam’s eyes.  It will fuel
all sorts of (forbidden) fantasies of Sam growing up, stealing him away
somehow.
Sam wants to hold him now.  Cas protests half-heartedly but ends up in his
arms, tucked into his chest the way he likes best, Sam’s fingers up under his
shirt, tickling his back.  “If one of them opens the door, we’re so dead,” Cas
tries one last time.
“Shut up and sleep,” Sam mutters, eyes already closed. 
Without meaning to, just because for that one moment he feels so good, so
sated, so tired…he does.
 
                                      ~ 
 
Things stop being simple after that.
The days of make-out sessions ending with just kissing are almost non-
existent—which is nice.  It is nice.  Cas loves Sam, wants to be all over Sam,
wants Sam all over him.  Sam is gentle and eager, and there’s never any pain
(never any actual sex either; and Cas has mixed feelings on the subject.)  Even
if he’s already sore from Dean (Sam isn’t touching his hole or shoving anything
in his mouth that makes his jaw ache around it, but those aren’t the only
places he hurts), Sam is so tender, he practically soothes it away. 
And yeah, Cas tried to tell Dean that it’s probably bad if Sam sees bruises on
him in certain delicate areas…especially as often as Dean likes to leave them. 
But Dean got pretty pissed (the fuck you tryin’ to tell me, Cas?  Go ahead,
tell me I can’t mark you any way I fucking want), and said Cas should just make
sure to keep his clothes on with Sam unless it’s dark and he’s sure he won’t
see.  He does that and it’s okay—Sam thinks he’s being shy and cute.
The game makes Dean happy, too.  He seems to love hearing about Sam and Cas’s
“secret” hookups.  He’d been completely supportive with the whole closet fiasco
(he’d given Cas a hand spanking over the knee because he said it’s what Cas
needed to forgive himself—it hurt really bad, but Cas knew he was right.)  He
loves hearing about their jerkoff sessions (Cas got a lot of blowjobs from him
for those.)  But his favorite is the night between the sheets.  There are so
many different parts that he likes Cas to go over in so much detail, it might
take an entire session for Dean to finish hearing about one moment.
“Tell me again…what did Sam say about the boys in the porno?” Dean asks, slowly
fucking into Cas from behind, with one of Cas’s legs over his arm and Cas face
first against a wall in the garage.  Dean is dressed, Cas’s shirt is on, his
pants and boxers are hanging off one leg.  The fucking is so slow that Cas is
falling apart, his neglected dick straight and hard against his belly.
“Said...,” he gasps; Dean has his head pulled back by his hair, not enough to
hurt, but restraining, keeping his ear against Dean’s plump, wet lips.  “Said
they were o-older th-than y-you, Mas—“
“Use my name, like he did.  Like you did with him.”  Speeding up a little. 
Angle just right.
“Dean.  S-said they ah!  Were older than…Dean!”
“Mmm, yeah, and…what did my…baby say after…that?” Fucking hard now, making Cas
go up on his toes.
“Said. Not. As. Hot. As. D-Dean!” Cas’s eyes are shut tight, forcing words out
with every thrust inside him.  His reward is Dean’s growl in his ear, his big
calloused hand slipping  to grab hold of his needy cock. “Said you
ungh…hottest…guy…everyone…says…so…” 
“Fuck yeah, knew you want this shit,” Dean, biting his ear, tiny sharp pain
lost amid so many sensations in his small body.
Can he confide in you?  Sometimes it’s a lot.  He loves his Master…and he loves
Sam.  He gets horny a lot, so he's always ready for them, he's always on. Dean
takes care of his skin, his hole, always treating him with moisturizers and
ointments, trying to stave off chafing issues and whatever else. It's just
always so intense with Dean, mentally, emotionally, and physically.  And things
with Sam are a different kind of intense because he loves him.  Because every
single thing Sam does and says to him means the world.  And keeping it
separate...that's demanding, too.  God forbid the word Master leaves his lips
at the wrong time.  Worse, the word no, or stop.  But it's okay.
Dean is happy.  Sam is happy.  Everything’s okay.
 
                                       ~
 
One time Sam leaves a hickey on Cas’s neck.  Two, actually, if you want to be
technical.
It’s Cas’s fault, really.  He feels it happening, Sam sucking too hard on his
neck.  It just feels way too good to tell him stop.  It’d be different if he
knew for sure that Dean would object, but he doesn’t know that.  Dean’s made no
secret he likes Sam’s mouth on Cas’s body, anywhere he might want to put it.
It’s one of those after school times that Cas likes best, that feel super safe
because when has Dean ever come home early from work? (Say what you like about
him, the guy is a reliable worker.)  And seeing John Winchester on a weekday
afternoon would be less expected than Santa coming down the chimney.
They’re in Sam’s room, on his bed (which gives them more time to scramble if
the unthinkable does happen—sue him, Cas is paranoid.)  Cas is on his back with
Sam on top of him, and his hands are up the back of Sam’s t-shirt (he shed the
flannel he had on top of it), just sort of running up and down, making random
patterns with his fingers.  He loves how his hands meet so easily around Sam,
how one small hand of his easily spans Sam’s shoulder blade.  Forgive him, he
knows he repeats it—it’s just not something he can get over, how well matched
they are in size.   So nice.  Feels so good.
It’s the kind of unhurried making out that happens when Sam’s in control, the
kind that really took getting used to at first.  Sam has taught him about the
slow build, instead of the zero to sixty immediate assault of his nerve endings
until he can’t tell good and bad feelings apart.  With Sam, the excitement
comes from who he is with, this connection between them, the speeding up of his
heart whenever Sam smoothes a lock of his hair and the butterflies in his
stomach when he touches a single button of his clothes or the fabric at his
waistband.  Sam’s touches are not meant to soothe skin he bruised or broke;
they’re never mocking-gentle after a terrified flinch expecting pain, or
overlapped with cruel words meant to confuse him inside and out.    Sam is
excited to have access to Cas like this, all trembling fingers and uneven
breaths against Cas’s lips, his ear.  Like he found treasure.  Like Cas is
treasure. 
Like Dean, he realizes pretty quickly how much Cas squirms and sighs for a
mouth on his ear, his throat.  Sam teases him, too (“Wow, really love that,
don’t you”) when he’s sucking on his ear and getting all the shudders and
pants.  Cas gets upset the first few times (Sammy can see what a slut you are,
Cas), but Sam feels his tension, settles him each time.  So now he can do this:
  lie under Sam with his eyes shut and legs spread, hips lifting (nobody
stopping him) to press into Sam every time he feels that suction on his ear. 
So when Sam’s mouth slips lower and that suction gets sharp (the kind of thing
he wouldn’t even notice in the midst of Dean’s ministrations), it has Cas
arching, baring his neck for it.
It’s only after, when he’s putting his flannel back on that Sam tugs back the
collar of his shirt.  “Um.  Uh.  Don’t get mad.”  His eyes on Cas are wary,
slightly guilty, but he can tell he’s trying not to smile.
Cas knows what he’ll see even before he gets to Sam’s mirror.  He feels a lot
of things when he sees not one but two small purple-red marks at his throat,
just above where neck meets shoulder, but mostly he’s uneasy.  Surely Dean will
say he had to let Sam, right?  He’s never said nobody else can mark him…
Sam sees Cas’s expression and his own face falls.  “Sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean
to…nobody will see it, just…wear shirts like the one you have on.”
Or, tell Dean immediately because the consequences of letting Dean find out on
his own are too frightening to contemplate.  He manages a smile for Sam though,
a normal boy who should be able to give a hickey to whomever he wants.  “You
did that on purpose, you dick.”
“I did not!” he insists, but his smile comes back wide, dimples in sharp
relief.  Cas shivers when Sam runs his fingers lightly over the bruises. 
“Kinda like it though, Cas.”  They don’t have time for more making out, but
maybe there’s some kissing after that.  Some really good, distracting kissing.
Cas is going to tell Dean about it as soon as he gets a chance.  It just
doesn’t work out like that.  When Dean gets home, it’s to a kitchen disaster of
rice that is somehow both burnt and undercooked, chicken that looked fine until
you cut open to the raw center, and a tearful little brother who just doesn’t
know how it all went wrong. 
Dean is quick to throw on hamburgers and water for mac n’ cheese, and he leaves
Cas to oversee it while he comforts Sam in private (Cas knows they need privacy
so Sam doesn’t have to play tough for him, and so Dean can kiss and cuddle him
better.)  Cas is standing sort of uselessly near the stove, watching the
hamburgers anxiously and really, really hoping Dean comes back before they need
to be flipped (he will do it wrong—potentially devastating for Dean, the way he
is with burgers—and they are scary the way they’re spitting grease.)   
He does come back (probably knowing full well what will happen to his burgers
if he doesn’t).  He’s lightly touching at Cas’s leather collar (something he
does often) when his fingers suddenly dip into Cas’s shirt collar, pulling it
down to bare most of his shoulder.  Cas flinches away, spinning to look up at
him, stomach churning with fear and guilt.  Dean simply looks back, bottomless
green eyes unfathomable, even after all this time, even to Cas.  “Hey, Sam,” he
calls, without looking away from Cas.  “C’mere a sec.”  His voice is mild, but
there’s a warning in it, and Cas sees Sam stiffen in the corner of his eye. 
Bravely (Cas thinks) he squares his thin shoulders and makes his way over.
Dean tugs Cas’s collar down again and lifts his eyes to Sam.  “What’s this?”
Sam looks up at him.  Lifts a shoulder.  “Cas fooled around with somebody?”
Dean stares at him but Sam, to his credit, doesn’t look away.  If a Winchester
can do one thing well, it’s look somebody in the face and lie.  “You’re tellin’
me you didn’t do this?  Then who did?”
Sam actually crosses his arms over his chest.  “None of your business.”
Dean releases Cas’s shirt.  Looks at Sam, just looks.
Sam’s arms drop, as do his eyes.  “Sorry,” he mutters, not sounding very. 
“Just meant…’s Cas’s business.  He’s allowed to do stuff with someone if he
wants.  It’s a free country.”  The last is sullen; Cas is incredulous, frozen
in place.  He worries about how close he is to Dean right now, but doesn’t dare
step away.  Either Sam doesn’t feel it or he just doesn’t give a damn.
“Yeah,” Dean turns to flip his burgers, his voice filled with scorn, tension
obvious in his shoulders.  “That’s true, kiddo, that’s a good point.  An’I’m
supposed to believe it ain’t you, after what we talked about all those weeks
ago.  Never seen Cas with a date in his life, all the sudden he has a
hickey—two, actually—and it’s some mystery guy.  You’re a shitty liar, Sammy. 
Shoulda gone with curling iron injury--that I’d believe.”
Cas blinks at him, insulted, and Dean turns those malevolent green eyes to
his.  Blue eyes drop immediately and he turns, shaking hands pouring dry
noodles into a pot of boiling water, only remembering at the last second to
rescue the packet of powdered cheese before it goes in after them.
Sam, unbelievably, decides to go down with his sinking ship.  If Cas had room
for more than dread, he’d feel admiration for his valiant boy.  He even crosses
his arms again.  “You can spank us but it’s not fair.  You’re doing it without
proof.”  He hesitates.  “You’re the one who said Cas is different than me…just
because he’s not dating someone doesn’t mean that stuff can’t happen.”
Cas feels like Sam just punched him in the gut, though he immediately forgives,
excuses it.  He keeps his eyes on the bubbling noodles, stirring them
needlessly but trying to act completely engrossed.  Like maybe he didn’t hear
Sam say Casis a slut, not a good boy like me, remember—your words, Dean.
Dean flicks a cruelly amused glance at Cas, like he knows exactly what he's
thinking.  “That true, Cas?”
Cas shrugs and nods—what can he do, pretend to lie for Sam, when he’s going to
tell Dean the truth as soon as they’re alone?  But if he doesn’t lie, the game
is over and Dean will be equally pissed (he thinks).  “I—I’d rather not talk
about it.  Please,” he says finally, not knowing how else to respond.  His back
is to Sam, and he tries to send Dean a quick apologetic glance, tries to plead
with his eyes, that he can explain, that he had no intention of keeping this to
himself.  Surely Dean knows that.  Surely he realizes he didn’t get a chance.
Dean looks at him then Sam.  Smiles, and it isn’t a nice smile.  “All right. 
I’ll take your word.  Let’s pretend you haven’t lied to my face in the past,
right Sammy?  Let’s act like this isn’t suspicious, and I still trust you like
I used to…okay?  Just for shits and giggles, we’re gonna do that.”  Cas
winces.  Dean steps forward suddenly, putting himself in Sam’s space, right in
front of him, still with that unnerving smile.  “And when I do catch you—and we
both know I will—it’s gonna be real bad, Sam.  Because if you had owned up
today like a man—“
“Dean, wait, c’mon--,” Sam tries, eyes wide with fear.
“No, shut the fuck up, I got all the story I need from you,” Dean’s in his face
now and he isn’t smiling anymore.  “Time’s past for that now.  So you remember
that, Sammy.  We’ll do it different, too.  Let you watch Cas pay for your lyin’
mouth before you get your turn.  Let you count for him.”
“Dean—“ Sam starts, half angry, half begging, and Dean slaps him hard across
the face.  Both boys gasp, Cas gripping his spoon in terror, Sam’s eyes welling
up with tears.  He tries to fight them but they fall anyway.  He looks so small
when Dean is standing close like that.
“Enough.  Mouth.”  Dean stares his brother down.  “You’ll eat dinner.  Then
you’ll go to bed.  And it ain’t because of those marks on his neck, nah…it’s
because you can’t shut that disrespectful little flap.  Crossin’ your arms and
talkin’ to me like I ain’t shit.  I don’t think so.”  He turns back to the
stove then, adding cheese to his burgers like he didn’t just hit his little
brother in the face, or at least like it doesn’t bother him at all that he
did. 
Sam is wiping hard at his eyes, trying to get the tears to stop.  He looks
lost, and Cas’s heart goes out to him, but he can’t even acknowledge him now,
not with Dean like this. 
“Castiel.”
Cas looks quickly from Sam to Dean, eyes wide and afraid.
“Go move your stuff to my room; you're with me tonight.  Sam’s done talkin’
anyway—no sense you stayin’ in there with him.”
Cas glances at Sam, sees the open mouthed look of betrayal he shoots Dean.  His
eyes narrow, he’s obviously thinking of saying something.  And Cas gets
why—this is way more harsh than Dean normally is with him.  He doesn’t
understand. 
Dean turns around, looking first at Cas, then Sam.  “Cas, I coulda swore I told
you to do something.  I get it, though.  You’re waitin’ ‘cause it looks like
there might be another act to the Sam Show.  How ‘bout it, Sammy?  That mouth
gonna take this another round, see where we end up?”
Sam balls his hands into fists, eyes flashing with his own temper now, but
still fearful, taking a step back (trying to get out of range).  “St-stop! 
Stop bein’ like this, why are you so ma—“
Dean moves and all Sam’s scrambling can’t get him away fast enough before he’s
knocked to the floor.  Cas wishes his eyes would close so he wouldn’t see the
struggle.  Wouldn’t see Sam pinned and gasping, terrified apologies falling out
of his bleeding mouth.  And Dean, without looking up, taking off his belt,
growls very distinctly, “Castiel, this is my third time telling you.  Do it, or
get over here and bend over next to Sam.”
He flees the room, grateful to leave that stifling space, guilty because he
should be suffering with Sam.  He’s at the stairs when he hears the first crack
of leather against skin, the pleas that turn to shrill cries.  He’s slow enough
to hear five hits—he’s shaking too hard, flinching with his shoulders raised
against the sounds, it slows him down—and then he forces himself to hurry,
because no matter what Dean’s busy with, he’s noticing how long it takes Cas to
obey, he’s tallying minutes and turning them into punishments in his mind.  He
grabs his pajamas and backpack—pajamas, what a joke, now that Dean has hit Sam
he’ll drug him, too, and Cas isn’t sleeping much tonight—puts his things in
Dean’s room and moves quickly back downstairs.  The tiny relief he gets from
being away from raging Dean vanishes when he has to re-enter the kitchen. 
Whatever crime occurred is already over.  Crying Sam is at the table pressing a
sodden, crumpled napkin to his mouth and he doesn’t look up.  Cas winces,
knowing the murder of sitting in a chair so directly after being beaten—he can
see the pain in the tightness around Sam’s eyes and mouth.  Dean finishes
making dinner, movements jerky, and everything he puts on the table is slammed
down.  Cas takes his seat, eyes lowered.  Neither boy looks at each other or
Dean.  Neither boy moves, except hitching and sniffling from Sam, and flinching
from both with every loud crashing sound of a banged cupboard door or pots
thrown loudly into the sink.  When each boy has a plate full of food in front
of him and a glass of orange juice, Dean fills his own plate.  He doesn’t take
a drink, and both boys know that means they’ll hear the liquor cabinet opening
in the living room.  It makes Cas swallow hard.
Dean picks up his plate.  He's not eating with them, he’s so angry he’s barely
looking at them.  But he looks now.  “Eat every fucking thing on those plates. 
Clean up.  Then you, Sam, you go to bed and I’ll come give you a chance to
apologize for being such a little bitch to the one guy who takes care of your
sorry, sniveling ass.”  He says the last leaning threateningly over Sam, his
teeth clenched.  Sam shrivels in his chair, but nothing else happens.  And it
could have.  All three of them know it could have.  His brother leaves without
looking at Cas at all, and both boys breathe better as soon as he does.  They
don’t speak, but Cas reaches for Sam’s hand, squeezes it.  Sam pulls away
gently, without looking at him.  He eats as if he doesn’t feel the tears
slipping down his face.  Shame radiates from him, and it hurts Cas just to see
it.
Dinner ends and they clean in silence.  Cas’s fear is ramping up with each dish
they finish.  Sam’s punishment is almost over; he’ll sleep in peace whether he
means to or not.  Cas’s hasn’t begun.  Unlike Sam he doesn’t dwell on the fact
that he hasn’t done anything wrong, that he doesn’t deserve this.  He always
deserves it.  He lives to deserve it.
He’s just afraid.  He’s allowed to be so, so afraid.
When the kitchen is clean, they huddle in the doorway to the living room
together, fearfully waiting for Dean to acknowledge them.  He’s on the couch
with his boots on the battered coffee table, and there’s a bottle of whiskey in
his hand.  Cas bites his lip.  It’s a bad sign when Dean doesn’t use a glass. 
He wasn’t looking for more bad signs.
“Fuck you waitin’ for, Sam?  You’re done cleaning, go the fuck to bed,” Dean
says without looking at him.  He takes another swig and Cas watches Sam leave
with a sinking in the pit of his stomach.  Noticing Dean’s plate he goes to
clear it.
“Leave it,” Dean says and Cas startles, finding green eyes on him.  “Sit.”
Cas sits immediately, next to Dean but not close enough to touch.  He doesn’t
dare sit out of reach, either.  He’s so tense he barely makes an impression on
the seat.  Dean passes him the bottle, which he needs both hands to hold. 
“Take a sip.  You’ll need it.”
“Thank you, Master,” he whispers.  Tears prick his eyes and he blinks them
away, tipping the bottle obediently.  He wants to explain, but sometimes that
makes Dean madder, if he does that before he asks for it.  So he just waits. 
The TV is on in front of them, some old sitcom complete with canned laughter. 
It’s the only light in the room.  Dean’s eyes are on the television but Cas can
tell from the way he holds himself he’s really listening for Sam, tracking his
progress upstairs as he prepares for bed.  They stay that way, silent, with
Dean sometimes taking the bottle, sometimes handing it back.  Cas is grateful,
though.  If Dean was really, truly angry at him (or if he was gone, Empty-Eyed
Dean) there’d be no numbing alcohol for him.  He’d probably already be hurting
him in some way.
After a while Dean heads upstairs.  Cas is already feeling the effects of the
whiskey but he gulps more.  He has school tomorrow but that’s not even a
factor.  Getting through this is all his brain can manage.  When Dean comes
back downstairs he heads for Cas with intention and Cas freezes solid, locking
down any instinct to flee.  Dean takes the bottle from him and pushes him down
on the couch, lying almost completely on top of Cas, who can’t suppress a tiny
whimper of fear. 
“Hey, pretty girl.  Had fun today with your boyfriend, huh?”  Dean’s voice is
soft and slithering; gotta keep it down so Sam won’t hear (if he’s still
awake.  If the drugs haven’t already sucked him under.) He yanks down the shirt
again, shoving Cas’s head down into the couch cushion and holding it there with
his other hand.
Cas trembles under him, trying to keep his breathing slow, but it’s hard when
he’s this scared.  “I…I didn’t have a chance to tell you…I-I didn’t know y-
you’d be m-mad.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Dean murmurs consideringly, touching the marks lightly. 
“But here we are.”  Cas relaxes very slightly—Dean sounds so reasonable.  Then
Dean makes some movement and he feels cold metal pressed against his neck,
right where the marks are.  Ice cold chills sweep his body and his heart
stops.  He knows what it is, one of Dean’s knives—he’s betting the black one,
it’s Dean’s favorite.  Dean has never put it to his skin before, never, not
even the worst times, not even when he left him in the dark.
“M-m-mas—“
“Maybe I could cut them off you…do you think?” Dean says softly, almost
lovingly.  He’s moving the flat of the blade over Cas’s throat, still keeping
his face pinned to the couch.  Cas knows how sharp it is, has seen it
demonstrated.
“Master…please!” he croaks out, tears slipping out under his lashes.  He’s
shaking hard and wishes he wasn’t, wishes he could be still.
“I could flay the skin off…hafta use a fillet knife for that, but I’ve got a
few.  Or we could burn it.  Think we should burn it, Cas?”
“Ple-ease…d-don’t…” Cas is full on crying, as much as he can without moving.
“Why not,” Dean says sharply, but he pulls back, letting Cas take a sobbing
breath.  The knife is magically gone again and Dean is only half on him now,
letting him sit up at least.  But as soon as Cas looks at Dean he gets slapped
in the face.  It isn’t hard but he’s so terrified he sobs at the impact.  “Like
those marks so much, huh?  Bet you think it means somethin’, huh, sweet baby? 
Yeah, that’s it, isn’t it.  Think you’re Sam’s now, Sammy’s pretty little
girlfriend, just like that blond bitch.  ‘S that you?”  He hits him again
without waiting for an answer, and then, seemingly furious that he can’t slap
him as hard as he’d like, he hits him in the stomach. 
Cas doubles over in pain, losing his breath.  Another first from Dean.  And Cas
knows that wasn’t full strength, that wasn’t anything like full strength.  “Y-
yours,” he rasps as soon as he’s able, before he even gets his breath back. 
“y-yours.”
Dean looks at him, expressionless.  Backhands the side of his head and Cas hits
the floor.  That makes a sound, but all Sam will know is something fell.  Cas,
huddled in pain and silent tears on the floor, knows Dean will have a story for
him if he should remember to ask.
Then Dean is grabbing at him, shoving him back under him on the couch.  “Damn
right you’re mine,” he grits out, grabbing at Cas’s belt, shoving his pants,
his underwear down roughly, hurting him because he doesn’t bother to open more
than his belt.  He pins his wrists over his head (as if he would fight, as if
he’s ever fought.) “Fuckin’ show you right now…show you what you are,” he
mutters, backing off just to flip Cas, slam him over the arm of the couch
(knocking his breath out again.)  He shoves two fingers roughly in him and it
hurts, but Cas has no air to make a noise.  “Awfully fuckin’ tight back here,
Cas…that means you ain’t been good to me.  Ain’t been givin’ me this ass as
much as you should.  Too busy playin’ girlfriend to take care of your Master,”
his voice is low and angry, and he shoves his fingers in hard on the last word.
“S-sorry, p-please,” Cas whimpers tearfully.  “I-I-I’ll b-be g-good.”
Dean wraps a hand over his mouth.  “Shut up!” he hisses in Cas’s ear.  “You’re
lucky, though,” he continues, and Cas sags in relief when he hears the familiar
sound of a tiny cap popping open.  “Can’t fuck you dry like you deserve.  Not
if I wanna use this ass all night.  Hmm?  Say thank you.” He moves his hand for
Cas to answer.
Cas sucks in a gasping, hitching breath.  “T-thank y-you, M-mas-ter.”
The prep isn’t long, and when Dean fucks him it’s not fast (or not at first),
just hard and deep, each thrust a slam home that jolts Cas’s spine.  His body
would force him to try and crawl forward for any relief, but Dean is gripping
him tight enough to bruise, holding him in place.  His hand is back over Cas’s
mouth, not taking any chances.  “Fuckin’ slut…should let your boyfriend…see you
like this.  Want you to think of this, Cas…next time you’re playin’ sweet
girl…this is you.  Wouldn’t want you if he knew.” 
Scared, hurt as he is, the fight goes out of Cas’s body when Dean says those
things.  It’s a relief, actually, the pain automatically lessening as muscle
memory takes over, his body used to this after all.  Dean fucks faster, harder
to make up for it and Cas just takes it and cries into his hand, trying best he
can to breathe through his running nose.  He sucks on Cas’s neck hard, the
exact spot where Sam left his mark.  When he comes, he bites there, too, hard
enough to make Cas squeal in pain into his palm. 
“Tell me you love me,” Dean gasps against his ear, finally letting his mouth
go, slowing strokes as he fills his sloppy hole with come.
“I love you,” Cas sobs hard, wishing Dean would believe him, that he didn’t
have to keep doing this.  “I love you,” he says again, shaking and weeping into
the arm of the couch, and it’s an accusation that Dean doesn’t notice.
The next morning he sees Sam in the bathroom when they brush their teeth. 
They’re both quiet and subdued, and Cas has dark circles under his eyes.  He’s
hung over, but at least he doesn’t smell like whiskey (Dean had taken care of
that before he’d finally let him sleep.  That was maybe 2 hours ago.)  His ass
is sore, hell, a lot of him is sore, but there aren’t bruises where Sam can see
right now, and that’s what matters.   
Sam finishes first but he lingers.  Cas can see the shame on him from the
beating, from walking around knowing Dean is disappointed in him and trying to
convince himself he can live with that.  Times like these, he thinks he gets
Sam better than Sam understands himself.  “I’m sorry ‘bout what I said.  ‘Bout
you bein’ different than me.  You know I don’t think that,” he says in a near
whisper.  Dean is awake and around, getting ready for work.  “And if you were,
I wouldn’t care about that either.  It’s just…I know how Dean thinks.”
Cas smiles brokenly (pretty to think so, Sam) but it only lasts a second. 
“That’s okay.  I understood.”  He rinses his mouth and looks at his friend,
leaving the water running to help cover their conversation.  “We should stop
this…shouldn’t we.”  His voice is a bare whisper, his heart hurting, but he’s
sure he’s right.  This is getting dangerous, the way he always thought it
might.
“No!” Sam says a bit too loudly and they both freeze for a moment.  “No,” he
repeats in a whisper.  “We’ll…we’ll be more careful.  It was a stupid mistake,
putting a hickey on you, leaving a mark like that.  But Dean’s being so crazy
about this, I can’t believe how he’s acting!  He’s being such an ass!” He looks
guilty even saying that, and Cas knows that’ll get worse the longer the
brothers stay at odds.  “I like you, Cas,” he puts his hands on Cas’s forearms,
pulls him closer.  “I only want to stop if you want to.”
Cas presses to his front, tucking his head against Sam’s chest and Sam’s arms
go around him.  He hurts, he hurts so goddamn much, and last night was so
fucking—so humiliating, so hard, so—but the game starting or stopping isn’t up
to him.  If Sam still wants him, Sam still gets him, those are the rules.  “I
want whatever you want, Sam.”
Sam smiles gently and pulls back, kissing him lightly, just a press of lips to
his.  Both boys jump apart when Dean’s fist slams against the door, and then he
shoves it open violently.  “Fuck is this door closed for if all you’re doin’ is
brushin’ your teeth?  Don’t do that again.  And hurry up.”
“Yes, Dean,” Sam answers, still looking cowed and frightened.  Cas says
nothing, eyes on the floor.  Dean leaves after another distrustful look. 
Sam leaves first.  He hadn’t asked to see the marks on Cas’s throat, probably
feeling too guilty about it.  But Cas looks and it’s a mess, darker and larger
with the clear red crescent marks of teeth .  Dean walks into the bathroom with
him while he’s looking.  He turns his fearful eyes to Dean, asking silently
what if Sam sees this?  What the fuck if Sam sees this?
His Master just touches the mark and smiles. 
 
                                    * * * 
 
Dean really didn’t know he’d react like that to seeing someone else, to seeing
Sam mark Cas’s body like that.  He actually spends some time thinking about
it.  Would he care if a stranger did it?  And when he realizes his fists are
clenched, his breathing kind of hard, the conclusion is, he’d have been worse. 
That person would have to suffer at his hands to make it right (like Sam did,
you might be saying, but no, that’s not Sam suffering, that’s Sam learning.) 
He guesses he should probably tell Cas that at some point.  He showed him, he
sure fucking did—but he should sit and explain it, too.  Turns out he’s
possessive, even over his little placeholder. 
Doesn’t change much.  He still wants the game to go on (and wasn't Cas cute,
tearstained little face and tiny voice, all, "maybe we should stop, Master,
it's gettin' you so upset.) Nah.  He still wants the boys together in all their
dirty-innocent glory.  He just doesn’t want Cas thinking it means more than it
does.  After that night, he’s pretty sure he’ll remember which part is pretend
(everything with Sam) and which is real (Dean’s, he is Dean’s, he exists to be
Dean’s.)
Once he calms down, he does feel a little bad that he hurt Sam over it.   Lost
his cool, in fact (poor little mouth, Dean never drew blood on Sam before.) 
Yeah, the kid was being a mouthy little bitch, and really he’d given him every
opportunity to back down, to shut up before it got bad.  It’s not Dean’s fault
he wasn’t reading the room.  Sam is smart enough to know when to talk back and
when to let it fucking go.  And also, is Sam fucking kidding?  Marking Cas’s
neck is the same as getting caught making out on the couch, as far as Dean’s
concerned.  Dean really thought he’d be better at this game.  He’d started out
so well, but that was only because he’s such an innocent little girl.  Dean
wanted him to do well because he’s smart, clever, more than a match for his big
brother.  So maybe this all will make for a good lesson.
Still, once Sam comes crawling (inevitable), Dean takes him for a brother
bonding weekend at a rundown cabin of Uncle Bobby’s (it really was hard, seeing
his mouth cut like that--he's supposed to be careful with Sam.)  They fish and
hike together and Dean gets to soak in all the little brother love that Sam
shines at him.  Sam’s so grateful, he apologizes more than once over their
fight, and that feels pretty good, too.
Dean doesn’t allow Cas to go with them.  They need their time alone, and hey,
the kid should be happy he gets a break from the Winchesters always pawing at
him, right?  And he has his key.  If he needs to get away from his fucked up
home, Dean makes it clear he’s free to stay at the Winchester house even when
they’re not there.  Asks that if he does, he sleeps naked in Dean’s bed (if
John isn’t around.)  He’ll appreciate the scent of him in his sheets when he
gets back.
At the cabin, he gets Sam to share his bed (Why should you sleep on the couch,
Sammy?  Don’t be a bitch about it, just get in here.)  He lets him have two
beers each night, buzzing him enough that when Dean tugs him into his lap, he
barely protests and Dean just tickles him into forgetting he didn’t put himself
there.  He doesn’t drug him, though he’s tempted (God is he tempted.)  This is
making up time, and he takes it as seriously as he can, in general.  He lets it
be enough that Sam clings to him like a monkey once he’s asleep.  The boy
doesn’t take it personal if he wakes with Dean’s morning wood between his
legs.  That’s—hey, nature can’t be helped.
It’s probably good, Dean acknowledges, that they only stay from Friday to
Sunday.  And when they come back, little Cas is there desperate for them. 
All and all, this game is working out.
He loves making Cas tell him every detail, each step of Sam’s sexual
exploration mapped out for him in his mind.  It got good as soon as he got them
to whip their dicks out (porn: the solution to all problems.)  But damn when
they finally touched each other in bed. He likes hearing about how Sam took
almost all Cas’s clothes off while leaving on his own.  Sam is just like him,
the way he likes to strip Cas down while he stays dressed.  And he can't tell
you how many times he's gotten off to the image of the two boys licking away at
each other's come (a skill little virgin Sammy wouldn't have, if Dean hadn't
trained Cas to do it first--don't tell him this game isn't a good thing.)  He
loves it, his boys the way he's always imagined them,  panting and squirming on
Sam's bed in the dark.
With fucking John Winchester home.  Sam is such a brazen little shit when he
wants to be.
He was right, too; Dean took his side when John tried to approach him about all
that back talk.  Gave him a hand spanking after—just ‘cause—but Sam was happy
to take it, promising to stop mouthing off to John once Dean asked. 
(“Don’t know what I’ll do if he touches you, Sammy,” Dean had told him with all
sincerity, rubbing his palm over heated skin.  “an’ if you keep testin’ him, he
will.  Please, I’m askin’.  Don’t make me.”  He has always known that he will
come against John over Sam if necessary…he wants to put that day off for as
long as he can.)
He makes Cas talk about Sam’s dick, the size, the shape, how it feels in his
hand, what his balls are like and how very little hair he has yet.  He realizes
that Cas is reluctant for whatever reason (seemingly uneasy) and he’ll try to
distract Dean with his hands, mouth, and tight little body to get out of it. 
No matter, Dean doesn’t have to beat it out of him (he can, for fun, but he
doesn't have to).  They play the Sam game and Cas will give it all up once he
has that blindfold on (Victoria’s Secret, if you’re wondering.  He stole it
from a girl after she let him use it on her because it’s so perfect for Cas,
too big for his small face but sexy hot pink satin with black ruffled edges and
the words ‘Tease Me’ written across it in black script…Cas hates it, but he
sure loves what goes on when he’s wearing it.)
Yes, by the way, he still fucks other people.  Aw, cute, you thought he was
faithful to his little Castiel?  It’s slave, not boyfriend.  Though if it makes
you feel any better, he only goes raw for baby Cas.  That’s something, isn’t
it?  Romantic-like.  And it’s good that he fucks around, because as the game
wears on, Dean increasingly needs to see the boys together, not just hear about
it.  He’s not going to cheat—he’ll catch Sam naturally or not at all, those are
the rules.  But he thinks he knows how he can at least get a little show.  He
needs a chick to help, and he has just the perfect one.
While the boys were still stuck at first base, Dean found a distraction, and in
keeping with the theme, it’s secret.  He’s fucking his father’s girlfriend’s
virgin (well she was) teenage daughter, Jo.  It’s been so entertaining.  Bitch
is so in love, and he’s corrupting her beautifully, little by little.  The
funny part is he’d already done prep work on her before he knew what he was
going to do to her. 
He met her because he’s—and don’t make fun of him here, it’s gonna sound real
Daddy’s Boy, he knows—but he’s been kind of hanging out with his Dad and Uncle
Bobby here and there over the last year or so.  He likes them because they’re
not exactly normal, just two older drunks with dead wives at the fringes of
society, always three sheets to the wind and most likely up to no good.  When
Dean’s with them, he never gets stopped from getting a drink at the bar (even
with his pretty baby face), although that’s at least partly because every place
they go is some rundown shithole where nobody cares anyway.  From them, he
learns to hustle pool, and that’s about when they start liking having him
around, too.  With his showy good looks and young age, he’s perfect bait.  Just
another life skill he picks up from John Winchester.
John’s girlfriend Ellen has her own bar, Harvelle’s Roadhouse, and she lives
there with her hot as fuck jailbait daughter.  Jo works afternoons and weekends
during the day (the place serves grease trap food and she’s a little
waitress).  Dean wouldn’t have met her, except when he likes a thing (for a
rundown place, they make a mean bacon cheeseburger), he shares it with Sam and
it’s not like he’s taking the kid there at night (Sam sneers at the burger but
likes the grilled cheese just fine.)  He doesn’t even really notice her little
crush until his smirking little brother tries to tease him about it.  Nothing
new, he turns heads everywhere, always.  It's not even flattering when you
consider most Roadhouse clientele tend to look like scruffy amalgamations of
Bobby and John (whether male or female.) 
No surprise that the little tough girl attitude that works so well on dirty old
drunks falters in front of his smile, his charm. Jo is sweet sixteen with a
shiny blond ponytail that needs his fist wrapped around it.  Like him, she
stands out in there, this bright bit of innocence, a rose among thorns.  He
still would’ve ignored her, but she wouldn’t let him (and what have we
learned?  If you want Dean Winchester’s attention, you will getit.)  Tossing
her hair and talking to him with a hand on her hip, like she’s some kind of
grown woman.  Yet she can’t hide the way her eyes light up every time he comes
around, the way she tracks him every time he moves, shows up (to her mother’s
obvious annoyance) every time the Impala is parked in the lot. By the time his
boys are boring him with Sam’s inability to stick his hand down Cas’s pants,
she’s already ripe for the plucking without his doing a damn thing. 
So he plucks the shit out of her.
Do you need details?  The half kindness, half big brother condescension in his
attitude every time he speaks to her?  One knocked out handsy drunk (that he
paid $25 to pinch her ass) and he gives her a number to text (if you or your
mom ever need help…you’re too good for this place, Jo, I worry about you
here.)  Ellen helps by forbidding Jo from coming around the bar when she isn’t
working anymore.  Per usual for Dean, it all falls into place.
Jo’s bedroom is on the first floor with a window that Dean (6’1” now, ladies
and gentlemen) can easily reach.  The first night (after a text from her with
instructions to find her, and Come talk to me, I’m bored), he convinces her to
climb out into his arms.  Already, he gets his hand into some plain cotton
panties (pink, at least—and that’s how it’s done, Sammy.)  Within a week, she’s
letting him climb into her room (a text from him this time, something like
“can’t do that anymore, somebody could see me"--in other words, let me in or
fuck off.) He makes her touch herself, nearly in tears with humiliation.  Took
time wearing her down because she didn’t believe girls masturbated (not
kidding, she said that’s not a thing) and when he sees she has no idea what
she’s doing, he is merciful and shows her what a clit is.  Maybe two nights
later he’s showing her with his mouth.
She didn’t know about the rule where once somebody goes down on you, it’s only
fair to reciprocate, but Dean is convincing and she gets on her knees.  He can
see that she hates it, so he makes her do it often, tells her how good she is. 
Tells her she’s made for it.  Convinces her to take some kind of pride in it. 
Cockslut, just like that.
The first time he tries to fuck her and she says no, he makes sure she’s
serious and then breaks up with her (he’s her boyfriend, didn’t you know? 
Just…a boyfriend that she can’t tell anyone about.)  He does it in that mean/
sweet way that he’s a master of, at turns patronizing and heartbroken, and
she’s in tears.  “You know I’m right, though,” he tells her, the picture of
loving regret.  “Bad enough I can’t take you out on dates the way I want,
babydoll.  Bad enough I’m falling for someone and we can’t even tell anyone
about it.  I'm just...I'm not some high school boy, baby, I can't pretend to
be.  Maybe in a few years, let you grow up a little, hmm?  Shh, I’m only
thinking of you, my sweet girl, little doll girl.  You’re not ready to be a
woman, and that’s good, love you just the way you are, pretty princess.”
"You're being such an asshole, Dean, come on!  Why can't you just wait?!"  She
spits fire at him, wanting to be so tough and strong, but he sees where his
every word gets under her skin.  He leaves before her wailing can be heard
(though of course her mother’s at the bar; how else is he getting all this
nighttime access to her little girl?).  Over the next few days the little
burner phone he got just for her is blowing up with texts.  He ignores them all
until he sees the one he wants. 
I’ll let you.
He shows up that very night (really he’s giving her all the clues she needs to
figure out what he’s after, what he’s doing).  He is gentle and slow, because
he knows whatever he does is going to hurt like a son of a bitch regardless…no
need to put extra effort into it.  He warns her, and it’s the excuse (gotta be
quiet, baby, let me help you) to put a hand over her mouth, muffle the pretty
pain sounds.  He fucks her into her jellybean purple sheets, but smoothly,
murmuring praise and encouragements.  By the time he brings her clit into the
mix, she’s so open for him, and she comes sweetly when he whispers, “I love
you, babydoll.”
When he’s done he ties off the condom and gives it to her.  Swift kiss on the
lips and he leaves.
It’s all downhill for her from there.  She’ll do anything to get him to say
those three little words again, and he knows it.  Uses it.  Gets her to sneak
out, lie to her mother, lie to her friends.  But they have their “date” (back
of the movie theater, please, baby, you’re so good at it, no one will see.) 
Dresses her like a whore and takes her to a seedy motel (scared and clinging to
him, just like baby Cas—not as comforted as him when he shows her his gun,
either.)  Stalks her (for fun) at her high school and sees her talking to some
geek. 
Hits her for the first time.  She loves it.  Poor girl never had a Daddy, never
had a chance. 
She’s so blond and beautiful that guys are bound to come onto her, and he makes
her feel like shit for it, makes her take the blame.  He likes it when she
starts wearing baggy clothes to school, layers to cover that slutty, narrow
body (and whatever marks he makes—bitch is mouthy, but he’s showing her
different.)  Except when she’s with him (“Dean, please, it’s too short, my
legs”…”Put it on for me though…stop acting like you don’t want them lookin’
neither.”)  Takes her to a nasty strip club, makes her get a lap dance that she
clearly hates (draws attention, too, of course she does—the shitbags in that
kind of place have a nose for underage no matter how much makeup he makes her
put on.)  Makes her blow him in the alley after, tells her what every passerby
thinks she is.  Laughing, gives her a $20 when she’s done, and she stops
speaking to him for a while after that. 
But he is Dean Fucking Winchester, and she doesn’t hold out long.
Babydoll is easy fun, but it all comes back to Sam and Cas.  So after he’s nice
to her long enough for her first-love blind stupidity to firmly take the reins
again, he asks her if she wants to see his home.  She's perfect to help him
with this experiment.  A “Meg” type might be more willing, but Sam hates those
kinds of girls.  No, Dean needs a nice girl, the wholesome next door type. 
Despite everything Dean’s making her believe about herself, that’s what Jo
still is.
“It’s…it ain’t much, I’ll tell you that now,” he’s looking away when he invites
her, beautiful mouth pulled in a frown.  Sure, there were times she would have
been wary, but he’s been on his best behavior, and in the corner of his eye she
is melting. “But uh, you could get to know my little brother maybe.  He’s…he’s
everything to me, really, all I got…besides you, now.  Family’s…so important,
you know?”
She flings herself into his arms, kissing, reassuring him.  This time he fucks
her slow and sweet like the first time, except he stays to hold her after. 
“He’s just gonna love you, Babydoll.  Kid never had a mother or sister or
anything, you know?  So important that you get along.”
Blue eyes shine ridiculous love at him, visions of playing house dancing in
them.  “I know I’ll love him, Dean.  He’ll be amazing, like you are.”
Amazing.  Dean is that.
Stupid to call Saturday Sleepover Night anymore, though they sometimes do out
of habit.  Kid’s there more often than not, now.  Most of his clothes live
stuffed in Sam’s dresser and closet.  He does his homework on Sam’s laptop
(huge, Sam letting anyone touch that thing—Dean kind of ruined it once watching
porn on it, so now Dean has the ruined one, and Sam has the one he’d had to buy
to get the kid to start speaking to him again.)
Oh well.  Either way, Dean brings Jo on a Saturday (after swearing Sam and Cas
to secrecy—he doesn’t think John would actually intervene with him seducing
Ellen’s only kid, but he’d bitch and moan about it ‘til kingdom come.)
He has to pick her up because she doesn’t have a car and would’ve had to borrow
Ellen’s—and they aren’t on great terms right now.  No worries, he loves to
drive, knows that getting to ride shotgun with him is part of the appeal for
her, part of the package that comes with belonging to him.  She’s wearing a
knee-length cream colored lace dress under a denim jacket and cowboy boots, a
giant concession for a girl more comfortable in jeans. 
She goes overboard with compliments on the house, although Dean does think
she’s impressed with how clean it is (Cas’s handiwork—kid loves to clean and
Dean isn’t about to stop him.)
“Sam!  Cas!  Get your asses down here, got company!” Dean calls and they
thunder down the stairs, both looking pretty flushed (oh, his babies, what were
they doing?) 
“Sam, hey, good to see you,” Jo smiles prettily, though Dean can see how
nervous she is.
Sam looks at her curiously, but he’s a nice boy.  “Hey!  Dean said you’re gonna
eat with us.  You know you’re way out of his league, right?”  He smiles huge
and ducks out of Dean’s reach, laughing.  “Seriously, Dean, nice to see you
with a girl who’s fully dressed for a change.”
“Whatever.  Order us pizza, Sammy,” he tells him, but he’s looking at Cas. 
“Jo, this is Sammy’s…best friend, Castiel.  He’s pretty weird, but we like
him.”  Sam gives him a look at the hesitation and he just smirks back.
Cas gives the ground the insulted look that he won’t dare level at Dean. 
Crosses his arms.  Pissed little kitty.  “Nice to meet you,” he grits.
“Same,” Jo smiles gently at him. 
“Jo, what kind of pizza do you like?” Sam interrupts.  “Dean’s gonna probably
get like a hundred meat ones but I always get veggie.  Cas is boring, he just
likes plain.”
“Boring and weird, great,” Cas turns his look on Sam, who smiles fondly back.
“Um, veggie?” Jo asks, looking at Dean for his approval, and he smiles.  Nods.
“Just like me!  We’ll stick together,” Sam tells her, dimples flashing and Dean
rolls his eyes.  His little brother has his own brand of charm, though secretly
Dean’s pleased.
Sam orders six pizzas, which sounds like too much but it really isn’t.  Dean
makes Cas answer the door whey they arrive.  He falls head over heels for the
teenage pizza man, who gets the door slammed in his face by a grim-faced Sam. 
Cute.
They bring the pizza to the living room, along with paper plates and a fat roll
of paper towel.  Sam was just about to carry sodas, but Dean brings out a case
of beer. 
“Are you gonna drink all of those?” Jo asks weakly and he pins her with a look.
He’s not the first to introduce Jo to beer (she was popular before Dean started
slashing her free time and access to friends). It’s just that at 110 lbs. and
being a girl who was raised in a bar, she’s careful of her limits and wary of
anyone who drinks to excess.  She already knows the correlation to violence.
She drops her eyes and he chucks her under the chin a little roughly.  “Course
not, babydoll.  You’ll help…and the boys can have some, too.”
She blinks at him but doesn’t quite dare to speak up.
“He’ll be fine,” Cas tells her, tilting his head and looking at her strangely. 
“It’s just beer.”  Dean ruffles his hair and gives him a half hug, liking the
tiny smile that Cas can’t hide.  He lives to please his Master.
She is pretty appalled at the middle schoolers who drink like seasoned men (for
their size), but is mollified when he presses a sweet kiss to her temple,
whispers how they just need some kind of female figure in their lives, someone
to smooth out all their rough edges.  How she lights up for that.  How she
reaches and ruffles Sam’s pretty hair, as though she’s known him years instead
of an hour.  Lost in fantasy.
He puts on a movie and they all ignore it.  The boys have a third beer and he
pretends not to notice (doubtful it does much to Cas; kid’s developing a little
tolerance over there.)  He kicks them off the couch (literally, with Sam
blushing and complaining) so that he can stretch out, pulling Jo with him.  He
lights up a joint and feels her stiffen, two little heads from where the boys
sit on the floor swiveling in wide eyed disbelief at the smell.  “What?” he
smiles, taking his time with it, breathing in, holding, and then letting it out
like a seasoned pro.  In truth, he doesn’t take in much—this is about the three
of them getting high, not him.
“Dean…,” Sam looks somehow caught between scandalized and impressed.  “Since
when do you…?”
“Relax, Sammy, it’s no big deal, just a once in a while thing,” he answers
between tokes, his voice just slightly hoarse already.  What can they do when
he’s calling the shots?  Fuckin’ obey, that’s what.  A few minutes later, and
Jo thinks he’s pulling her in for a kiss when he shotguns the smoke into her
mouth.  She pulls back, sputtering, of course she does, but he hushes her,
murmurs so sweetly.  “Just try, baby, for me, okay?  Just this once, shh, just
breathe in, okay?”  So she does.  Knowing the boys are watching, he makes sure
his lips touch hers when he does it (technically it’s not necessary to touch,
but he’s sure he’s the only one in the room that knows it.)
Between the pot and the beer in her hand, she soon relaxes to the point where
he can put the joint in front of her lips and she’ll suck from there. 
Satisfied, he looks at the boys and holds it out.  “Either of you want a hit?”
Cas is resigned (wary, in fact, as he’s been since Dean brought this girl home,
because when does Dean do these things that it doesn’t end up involving him or
Sam or both in some way), but Sam is over the moon.  He’s shocked but so
eager.  It obviously never occurred to him that Dean, who babies him severely,
would let him try something illegal.  This is his chance to show off for all of
them, and he’s determined, knee-walking his way over to Dean (and how perfect
does he look, kneeling in front of his brother that way?) 
Dean lets him try it directly first, showing him how to pinch the joint between
his fingers, genuinely teaching him the correct way to smoke, “Short breath and
hold it as best as you can.”  Naturally he comes off coughing hard, tears
spilling, face flushed.  He’s embarrassed even with Cas (at his side
immediately) rubbing his back, and Jo leaning forward to smooth his hair.  “I
choked, too,” she tells him, coaxing him to smile. 
But it’s Dean’s hand on his face, Dean’s approving eyes on him that get his
spine to straighten again.  “Good job.  C’mon, man, that’s just how the first
time goes.  Your lungs ain’t used to it, that’s all.  Here, just…let me help
like I did for Jo.”
Sam blushes scarlet.  “Uh…Dean…you hadda put your mouth…”
“What, you think I’m puttin’ moves on you?  Come on, don’t be a bitch about
it,” Dean tells him gruffly.  “It’s called shotgunning, it’s a thing, just
makes it easier to breathe it in.”  He shrugs, takes another hit.  “Either that
or move, let Cas take his turn.  No sense you wasting it, just to cough it back
up.”
It’s a low blow but it works.  Sam looks uneasily from Jo to Cas, but when he
doesn’t find judgment he leans his face close to Dean.  Dean winks at him and
takes a pull off the joint.  He uses his fingers to tug Sam’s jaw, letting his
lips part slightly.  His lips touch Sam’s, for once not the fat baby press of a
closed, wet mouth or the slack opening when he's (drugged) asleep, but slipping
lightly against Sam when he’s open for him.  It's all he can do not to slip his
tongue inside.  Instead he behaves, fills the sweet little mouth with smoke
that he sucks down like a good boy.  Dean takes his time, gentle with the
stream of smoke, cupping his brother’s face like his small lover, and when he
pulls back, he lets their lips brush against each other.  He’s glad Jo is
blocking him on the couch because he’s rock hard in his jeans.
Sam holds out a bit before he coughs again (in Dean’s face, but who cares). 
“That’s it, Sam, you got more that time, right?”
Sam giggles and coughs a little more.  Dean can’t drag his eyes away from the
most perfect little person ever made.  His person.  His boy.  “Can I go again,
Dean?”
“Let’s give Cas a chance first, let you get used to what you got.”
And when it’s little Cas’s turn, his angel says, “Can we just do the shotgun
thingy?  I don’t want to choke.”
He agrees, and it's not as exciting as touching his lips to Sam's for the first
time, but it's almost more difficult not to turn it into more, licking into
that mouth the way he’s used to doing.  He wonders if Cas feels it, too.  One
more round for each and then he shoos the boys away, sharing the rest with his
doll.  He lets them be for a while (he isn’t finished with them, not yet). 
Enjoys them, three innocents high as kites. 
Jo gets what’s called “stoned stupid”, content to watch the room with a lazy
smile without uttering a single word.  Sam is a munchy boy, stuffing his face
with an inordinate amount of pizza (regardless of toppings) before leaving to
raid the fridge and cabinets for more snacks.  It’s Cas that’s the star (to
Dean, anyway) and nobody should be surprised.  He’s so in Dean’s face, so
confrontational and sarcastic (joking, bratty stuff, mind you, the stuff Dean
likes).  It’s cute and sexy and Dean wants to fuck the little attitude out of
him right there (and vows that they’ll smoke together when they’re alone, just
for this.)
He puts on Dumb and Dumber (“Another old movie from the old man,” Cas sneers,
perched lithe and lovely on the arm of the loveseat.  “Dumb and Dumber, is that
about you now and then you next year, Dean?”...Sam laughs hard and Cas grins
like a Cheshire cat.)  The movie is just right though, all low brow humor that
makes them laugh hysterically (though to be fair, Dean thinks it’s pretty funny
when he’s straight, too.)  While it’s on, he feeds Jo more beer, as much as
she'll allow. He starts kissing her toward the end of it (noticing Sam’s
curious glances at the little noises she makes).  At some point, he flips them
so she’s under him on the couch.  She struggles a little and he ignores it at
first.  “Wait, my—my dress!” 
It’s true, it’s ridden up almost to the tops of her thighs, although it’s not
like the boys can see much other than her long, tanned legs bent on either side
of him.  He helps her fix it, but then he kisses her brains out and the next
time it slips she doesn’t notice. 
She’s pretty out of it.  He has her dress unbuttoned almost to her waist before
she starts shoving at him.  “Dean come on…,” she murmurs, trying to close her
dress again but he keeps taking her hands away. “Dean, come on, stop,” she
cajoles, looking worriedly at the boys, and yeah, Dean noticed they were
watching.
Dean nods toward his brother.  “What, them?  Don’t worry about it.  Eyes on the
TV, kids.”
“Dean,” Jo hisses, trying unsuccessfully to get up (until he lets her.)  “I’m
not taking my clothes off with you with them here.”  He stares at her and her
eye twitches.  “Let’s…can’t we go to your room or something?  You haven’t even
shown me—“
“You know they like each other, right?” he says suddenly.  She blinks at the
subject change and he continues calmly.  “It’s true.  Sam and Cas are totally
gay for each other.  I didn’t tell you?”
“Like you’reso straight,” Cas smirks, laughs at his own joke.  Sam starts
laughing too, less because it’s funny than because it’s fun to laugh just
then. 
Jo looks uneasy.  “I…what does that have to do…”
“Maybe if they make out, too, you won’t be so worried.”
Sam’s jaw drops.  Cas sulks and crosses his arms, muttering God knows what.
“Come on, Sammy.  She thinks you’re just a little kid.  Gotta show her what you
can do.”
Sam is staring at him, blinking, and trying to understand.  He’s so hit, it’s
not even funny.  “No.  Not s’posed to…you said.”
“Just this once.  You’ll be so clever, Sammy, I bet I don’t even remember this
tomorrow.  Take your shot.  Look at Cas, look at those pretty lips,” he tells
him softly, and Sam’s eyes obey helplessly. 
“Cas has the cutest ass,” Sam comments randomly and Cas blinks, sits up. 
"Really?" he preens, twisting in his seat.  "The cutest?  Me?"
Jo and Dean laugh; they can’t help it.  “So go for it, Baby Boy.  Just this
once, I’ll allow it. 
Sam is staring sort of dreamily at Cas from his place on the loveseat.  “Cas,
c’mere.”
“Cas, c’mere, Cas, go there,” Cas mocks without looking at any of them. 
“Fucking Winchesters, ordering me around.  Why don’t you guys get a dog
already?”
“Castiel,” Dean says sharply.
“Sorry, Master,” Cas grumps and Sam and Jo laugh.  It takes Dean a few
heartbeats to remember to laugh, too. 
“If I was your Master, I’d hurt you for that,” he says casually, and Cas
blinks, frowning to himself.  Like there’s something important he forgot.
It doesn’t matter, because Sam has been watching him and now he moves to the
arm where Cas is perched.  “Pleeeeeease, Cas…wanna kiss you.  Won’t you let
me?”  Puppy dog eyes work, even when reddened and stoned.  He lets Sam tug him
and then falls, dead weight on top of the other boy.  Sam makes a punched out
sound at the impact and they both giggle. 
Suddenly they realize they have an audience and it sobers Sam a bit.  “Uh…look
away, Dean.”
Dean laughs.  “But we wanna see you kiss like a big boy.  You watched us, it’s
only fair.  Unless you don’t know how.”
Instead, Sam sits up a bit with Cas still in his lap.  His small face is
clouded, sort of anxious.  “I don’t…no, I…”
Dean slowly pushes Jo away so he can stand up.  He moves to where the boys are
and picks Cas up under his arms, making him squeak like a mouse who didn’t hear
the cat behind him.  He carries him back to the couch where Jo is, and sits
with him in his lap.  Cas is startled, and he blinks at Sam from Dean’s knee.
“Sammy…I took your pretty boyfriend away, come get him.”
Sam hesitates, looking at Cas, and Cas starts to get up.  Dean clamps a hand on
his skinny shoulder and he stills.  Sam looks uncertain but he gets up.  He
stops just out of reach.  “I…we can’t both fit in your lap anymore, Dean.”
“Hmm.  Here, Jo, hold this,” he easily passes Cas over, dropping him in Jo’s
lap.  Sam and Jo giggle and she cuddles him even though he’s looking grumpy and
whines in protest.  She doesn’t know him that well but he’s Cas, and you sort
of have to cuddle him—Sam and Dean both get it. 
Dean tugs his brother into his lap.  He’s looking more uncertain than ever, and
his face is flushed.  “Come on, where’s our show, Sammy?”
“Dean, he doesn’t have to—“ Jo starts and he puts his hand on her knee. 
Squeezes until she winces. 
He lets go and kisses her cheek, nuzzling into her neck—Cas is so close he can
smell his skin.  “Relax, babydoll, it’s nothin’ they don’t wanna do.”  He keeps
it up until she gives in, leaning her weight sweetly against him.  “That’s my
good girl.” He feels something and it’s Cas slipping his hand under Dean’s t-
shirt, looking up at him with a little fog in his blue eyes.  That’s right,
baby, you’re my good girl, too, Dean thinks, and pats his head, laughing a
little. 
Sam leans back against Dean’s chest, forgetting why he’s there.  Dean gives him
a gentle shake.  “Come on, buddy, look at pretty Cas.  He wants a kiss.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cas says and surges forward.  He grabs the back of Sam’s
head and kisses him on the lips.  It’s open mouthed but perfunctory, and Dean
loves the way he shoves Sam back into him to do it.  Just seeing their mouths
touch after all this time sends a pulse right to his dick, and he bets there’s
a wet spot on the front of his boxer briefs.
He’s fuck hard under his little brother and he refuses to worry about it. 
Instead he lightly touches his hands to his hips.  Whispers in his ear, “your
turn, Sammy.” 
Sam licks his lips and Dean practically growls, “that’s it, get ‘em nice and
wet.  He’ll like that.” 
With one last glance at Dean, Sam leans forward and helpful Cas meets him in
the middle.  The kiss is a little sloppy, but that’s okay, neither boy is
sober, and Dean fucking loves the little wet noises they make.  Up close like
this, Dean can see that Cas is pretty stoned, but poor Sammy is stoned and
drunk.  So, drunk but happy about it. 
“Slow, Sammy…don’t let him push you around,” he leans forward to whisper,
stroking Sam’s back.  Jo is staring at him but it barely registers, his eyes
locked on two pretty pink mouths trading baby spit right in front of his face,
his lap full of his brother’s slight weight.  He wants to touch so bad that he
does, a little, just rubbing over each boy’s back.  He lifts his hips slightly
to press up into Sam’s little ass, then leans back and reaches under Cas to
pull him almost on top of Sam.  His boys together are so sexy, the way he
always knew they’d be, and he thinks he could come in his pants just watching
them. 
“Dean,” Jo says softly. 
“Shh,” Dean answers without looking at her, unwilling to drag his eyes from his
boys for a second.  Sam’s kisses are so sweet, but Cas is his baby porn star,
sucking Sam’s tongue into his mouth, tugging his swollen lip between his little
white teeth.  Sam’s hands keep going lower on Cas’s back, and  Dean swallows
hard, wanting to see Sam grab Cas, touch him.
“Dean,” Jo says again, a plea in her voice this time.
Sam pulls off and looks at her, and so Dean does, too.  Except he’s thinking
about punching her in the face so she’ll finally learn to fucking shut it when
he says. 
“Jo, what’s…what’s wrong?” Sam asks, because suddenly she looks pale.
She shakes her head.  Whatever she’d been about to say is lost, but it's too
late.  She already ruined everything.
“It’s okay, Sammy, Jo’s just feelin’ a little left out,” he says lightly, but
his eyes haven’t left Jo.  “Aren’t you, babydoll?”
“Dean, I’m—“
“Shh,” he soothes, his eye contact lethal.  Cas is looking at him, too, or he
was, and now he’s looking at his lap.  He takes his hands off Sam, moving
slowly, like he’s trying not to draw attention to himself.
Confident she understands what’s about to take place, Dean finally looks at his
brother, his eyes softening instantly.  “It’s okay, Sammy,” he tells him and
gently moves him from his lap to the floor at his feet. He looks at Cas and the
boy slips down next to Sam without having to be told.  Dean reaches out and Cas
flinches, but Dean just strokes the curls at his forehead.  Cas is a good boy,
too.  “Sammy, hold onto Cas…sometimes pot makes you a little paranoid, I think
it might be messing with his anxiety.”
“Come here, Cas,” Sam tugs him close; happy drunks are always ready to cuddle,
and Cas snuggles into his arms, gratefully.  His eyes still flick nervously
between Jo and Dean. 
When Dean turns to her she’s made herself small on the couch.  “Aww, poor
little doll girl, did you get jealous?  They’re just kids, babydoll.  They’re
just learning.”  
“I’m sorry, Dean,” she whispers and he tugs her into his lap with her back
against his chest. 
“Well, you should be,” he tells her softly, kissing her cheek.  He rubs her
sides, lets his kisses slip down her neck.  She relaxes against him, probably
more from the alcohol and drugs in her system than any actual trust on her
part.  “But you can make it up to them.”  He puts his lips next to her ear. 
“Unbutton your dress,” he whispers and she stiffens in his lap.
For his part, Cas is whispering something urgently in Sam’s ear.  Sam is
laughing and pulling away because it tickles.  Rinse, repeat.  It’s a good
distraction.
“Dean, please,” she whimpers and he turns her chin, shutting her up with a
kiss.  He unbuttons the first button.
“Do it,” he breathes into her ear.  “You do it right now.  You show them your
tits, and Daddy will forgive you.  Or don’t…and you’ll have me all to
yourself.”
“Please,” she whispers but he doesn’t say anything.  The buttons are wide
spaced; there are only four to her waist.  Two more will bare her enough to
show her entire bra.  Trembling slender fingers slowly work the second button. 
“That’s my good girl,” Dean whispers, and takes her face for another kiss (last
thing he needs is his little brother noticing she’s not having fun.)  He feels
her shudder and she isn’t kissing back, but she isn’t fighting at all either,
and the top of her dress falls open.  Sam hasn’t noticed, but Cas has, and he
tips Sam’s face so he’ll look.  Dean is still kissing her but he sees Sam’s
pretty hazel eyes widen in shock, his mouth fall open.  He lets Jo go because
Sam isn’t going to notice her distressed face, the way his gaze is locked on
her light blue lace bra (the kind of underwear she buys herself and has to hide
from her mother now—all with Dean in mind, but probably not this).  She’s
breathing hard, making her B-cup tits heave.  “Go ahead,” he encourages.  “Show
‘em.”
She tugs the bra down so it cradles her bare breasts.  She isn’t even
pretending to kiss now, but she has her head tucked against Dean’s shoulder
with her eyes squeezed shut.  He can feel her trembling and he strokes her up
and down her sides.
“Whoa,” Sam looks mesmerized and he bites his pretty lower lip.  Cas is
looking, too, but it’s like he’s doing it because he thinks he’ll be tested
later, not because he wants to.  He’s clinging to Sam and looks like he wants
this to be over almost as much as Jo.
Speaking of.  “Show ‘em how a girl likes to be touched, babydoll,” Dean says
loud enough for the boys to hear this time.  “Pay attention, Sammy.  Some day
you might wanna try girls again.”
“Shut up, Jerk,” Sam mutters, but he’s still watching Jo.  After an encouraging
nudge, her hands come back up to cup her own tits and Sam lets out a little
gasp that Dean likes.  He squirms, and Dean can’t see it with Cas in the way,
but he knows his kid brother is hard. 
She’s barely trying, so Dean takes over, kneading and playing with her small,
hard nipples.  He pinches just enough for her to squirm and whimper.  “See? 
She loves it.  Probably soaking her panties.  Wanna try, Sammy?  She won’t
mind.” Jo immediately stiffens in his arms impossibly further and he moves his
hands back to her sides, digs his fingers in warningly. 
“No, that’s okay,” Sam blushes prettily.  Dean looks at Cas and his body
language is stiff and easy to read.  He doesn’t want to, but he’ll do it if
Dean asks.  Tempting, but this isn’t Cas’s punishment.  “I think she only wants
you touching her, Dean,” Sam adds.
“Hmm, is that so, babydoll?”  he coos at her and she lifts her head a little.
She nods and her blue eyes are so wet.  “Y-yeah, Dean.  Just…just you okay? 
Can I—“
“No.  You can’t.  One more thing a boy’s gotta learn, right?”  Without warning,
he flips her skirt up to her waist. She barely starts to struggle, but he
whispers in her ear, “Don’t”, and she freezes.  He picks up one leg and spreads
her wide.  “What’d I tell you, Sammy?  Wet down there, right?”
“Please,” Jo whispers. 
“Come on, Jo, remember when you did it for me?  Show them how you get off,
baby, show them what I taught you.  Come on, you can do it…”
Her shaking hands move to her waist.  Dean is watching Sam, who looks like he’s
barely breathing he’s so excited.  Without warning, Jo leaps forward, throwing
herself on the two boys before scrambling past them. 
“No!  Fuck you, Dean, no!  I’m not—please, I’m not,” she stumbles against the
loveseat, falling onto the cushion.  She’s shaking and holding her dress
closed, smoothing it down over her legs. 
Sam’s eyes go round and scared and he looks at his brother.  “Dean?”
Who rolls his eyes, not even bothering to get up (who is seething, fucking
seething with rage, but you won’t see it—you’d have to be one of two people in
that room to see it.)  “What?  God, calm down!  I’m sorry all right.  So I got
carried away.”  He shrugs. 
Jo is buttoning her dress and Sam is sneaking looks at her, obviously worried. 
“Jo, are you okay?” Sam asks, his voice sounding young and small.  
“What, yeah,” she answers (after a glance at Dean), and there’s only the
tiniest shake in her voice.  “I-I’m just…,” she looks at Sam and quickly away,
clearly ashamed.  “I shouldn’t be…doing that.  In front of you, okay?  It's
wrong," she tries to say it firmly, but it comes out more of a plea, directed
at the floor.  "I’m…I’m sorry, Sammy.”
“Only I call him that,” Dean says almost petulantly.  He isn’t looking at any
of them, but he has his knife out and he’s paring his nails with it. 
Sam steps towards her hesitantly.  “I’m sorry, too, okay?  I, I shouldn’t have
looked, I—“
“Okay, that’s enough,” Dean’s knife is away and he’s standing in one fluid
motion.  “Cas, take Sam and go to bed.  No more fooling around either, all
right?” he says, softening slightly.  “We’re all a little too fucked up, that’s
on me.  You don’t have to go to sleep, and I’ll be up in a while to talk to you
okay?  Say good night to Jo.”
Cas nods and reaches for Sam, but Sam shakes him off, steps toward Jo again. 
“Are you really okay?  You…you didn’t do anything bad, okay?  You’re nice, I
can tell.  Dean never picks nice girls like you, he—“
“Sam,” Dean’s voice cracks like a whip and Sam turns a huffy look on him.
“Shut up, Dean, you finally bring someone cool…you suck at this!”
Jo laughs a little, clearly surprising herself.  She shakes her head.  “I bet
you could teach him a thing or two, huh?  Even at twelve.”
Sam straightens and smiles at her, relieved.  “Yeah, I try, but he’s pretty
dumb.”
“It’s so sweet when girls bond,” Dean remarks and gets a bitchface for his
efforts.  It makes him smile.  “Go to bed, bitch.  Take your little
girlfriend.”
Sam frowns, then looks at Jo again.  “Night, Jo.  I hope you give him another
chance…I don’t know if he can do better.”
Jo hugs him.  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I need to hang in there for a few years,
wait for you.”  She plants a kiss on his forehead.  Sam turns scarlet and Cas
tugs him away.  “Nice meeting you, Castiel,” she says shyly.
“Yeah.  Also, you.  Nice meeting,” he replies awkwardly, not making eye
contact.  But he glances at Dean and his blue eyes are fearful.  Whatever he
sees, it makes him hustle Sam out of the room, and Dean hears them stumbling up
the stairs.
When they’re alone, Dean looks at Jo.  Doesn’t say anything. 
She’s looking at the floor.  “I’d…I’d like to go home…please.  I’m not…I don’t
feel very well.”
Dean just looks.  Flashes a dangerous smile.  “But you said you wanted to see
my room.”
She moves forward, hits her knees in front of him.  “Please, Dean, I’m sorry,
okay?  Please take me home!”  Tears spill over and she leans against him.  He
strokes her hair. 
“Okay,” he says reasonably and she clings tighter to his legs.  “It’s just I’m
kinda upset.  And I’m kinda horny.”
Her eyes close.  She nods, shakily. 
“Aw, my babydoll.  You wanted it to be just us grown-ups and now it will be. 
So if you want me to take you home, you’re gonna earn that ride.  Sound good?” 
he asks, tipping her chin up gently.
“What…what do I have to do?” she asks hoarsely.  There’s a thump from somewhere
upstairs; the sound of giggling.  The TV is still on, too, another low brow
classic going unappreciated. 
“Well, I’m gonna show you my room, just like you wanted.  Put on some music,
real romantic.  And you’ll take off all your fucking clothes,” he says, some of
the anger seeping back into his voice.  “An’ I know what you’re thinkin’…you’re
worried you’ll be noisy…an’ you made it clear, you’re too shy to let my boys
know what we do, right?”
“Dean,” she tries, and he grabs a fistful of blond hair. 
“Na-ah-ah,” he taunts.  “Shh.  All your clothes.  And Daddy’s gonna put
somethin’ in your mouth,” she whimpers and he laughs.  “No, no, not that…know
how much you love that.  But this’ll keep you quiet, huh?  Somethin’ you can
wear and then make all the pretty noises you want.  And when we’re finished—and
I know you’re my good girl again—then you can go home.  How’s that?  You like
it?  Because there’s a third option, if you don’t.”   
She nods, still crying but at least it’s silent.  He lets go of her hair, runs
his fingers through it.  “Go ahead then.  Say you like it.”
“I like it,” she says obediently, a bare whisper. 
He kisses her forehead and leads her to his room.  When she’s secured he checks
in on his boys (half thinking he’ll catch something, that the drugs and alcohol
will make them sloppy, but no such luck.)  It’s all okay, though.  Sam seems to
have already forgotten the incident (which could change once he’s sober, but
Dean’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it).  He can tell Cas has questions,
but they’ll keep until the next time Dean gets him alone. 
Four hours later, he takes her home.
***** A Rock and a Hard Place (Cas in the Middle) *****
Chapter Summary
     Cas struggles as the game progresses and Sam tries to make it better.
     Dean...is Dean.
     TRIGGER WARNING: Flashbacks. Well, one.
Chapter Notes
     Hello, Baby Angels. So, it's been almost two months that you've been
     waiting. Partly that's because at first I couldn't stop writing
     things that weren't for this chapter (two pieces are different parts
     of Dean's past, that'll probably be published in a series of Time
     Stamps, assuming I ever finish this one, and one a possible part for
     a maybe sequel.) Then I decided I wanted to finish the entire game
     together so I could make sure it turns out exactly as I want it. That
     took a long-ass time.
     So now I'm splitting what I wrote into 2 or 3 chapters, and here is
     the first. You will get the rest within the next couple of days--as
     soon as they're edited, I'm publishing. It might just be one, and if
     so, it's massive.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean doesn’t go home right away after he drops off Jo.  He’s still tense,
though the four hour session with her was soothing to his rage.  And he knows,
okay?  He knows he pushed her pretty far, given that he hasn’t had her under
him that long.  She’s no Cas, in that she’s not a neglected prepubescent (well
he was when it started), easily influenced and threatened with no one to turn
to.  She’s a teenager and she has resources, should she ever clear the cobwebs
of his influence from her brain.
And yet.
Jo is different from Cas in ways that benefit Dean, too.  Cas never wanted
sexual attention from Dean; it’s been brute force from day one.  Not so with
pretty little Joanna Beth, who followed him around with big moony eyes for
months before he got bored enough to look back.  This jealous, pining little
thing dressing up for him, only to get to the bar and see him with his arms
around something with actual curves.  Even in the daytime, she could barely get
him to look away from his own little brother to notice her (and hopefully she
doesn’t think too much about that after last night.)  He doesn’t know if it’s
the older man thing, but she wasn’t looking for safe and she wasn’t looking for
sweet. 
He hasn’t disappointed. 
Little by little he’s been tearing her down, and if he sometimes pushed the
limits too far, maybe it’s because she reacts so beautifully (tearful in his
front seat after he smacked her the first time, ‘why’d you do that?!’,but she
doesn’t get out of the car when he tells her to—that’s permission, friend,
that’s fucking acceptance right there.)  And if he’s a lot less careful with
her than he is with Cas, well, he admits he isn’t as invested.  And maybe it
was a mistake to mix them, but he can’t think that yet.  Not with the memory of
Sam’s little lips brushing his own.  Or the way his pink tongue looked slipping
into Cas’s mouth, his small but perfect little ass squirming on top of Dean’s
hard dick.  If it was wrong, it’s the kind Dean likes best.
So he’ll handle Jo, and then he doesn’t have to regret anything.  It’s not a
mistake, how many orgasms he gives her while he punishes her that night,
although he’s done that to Cas, too.  It's important, especially in the
beginning—mixing in pain with pleasure.  He knows from experience how confusing
it is, the shame of it.  Most of what he does, how he knows what to do to take
a person apart, inside and out, that’s just him being a good student.  That’s
just him turning the tables, now that he finally can.
The Jo he drops off is wordless, with a fine trembling under ice cold skin,
sober of any lingering influence of pot or alcohol, belonging (for the moment)
entirely to Dean.  The ride was silent but she doesn’t touch the door, even
though she’s vibrating with the need to get out.  She knows better. 
“If you would behave for me, we wouldn’t have nights like this, Jo.  We’d be
happy together, all the time,” he tells her calmly.
“I know...I'm sorry,” is all she has at the moment.  With time she’ll remember
that she had a point of view in this, the things she hadn’t wanted, things she
believes she should be allowed to deny him.  And he’ll cross that bridge when
he comes to it (dragging her by the hair if need be.) 
He watches her and she is hunched and listless in the passenger seat, though
her clothes still look relatively fresh.  She smells like a whorehouse, all
nervous sweat, spunk, and her own juices, because he hadn’t allowed her to
bathe.  He always uses a condom to fuck her but that’s not his only chance to
blow his load and she looks so pretty painted in sticky white.  “Give me a kiss
so I know you’re sorry.  Then you can go.”
Her shaking is harder and she nods jerkily before sliding awkwardly across the
seat.  Her kiss is feather light and he doesn’t deepen it, but holds her face
gently, making her freeze in place.  Her eyes squeeze shut and two tears slip
down.  He would have thought she’d be all out by now, but she’s endless like
his baby Cas.  “What do you have to say?” he asks her softly.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” her voice is a wrecked little whisper; the gag ate up all
her screams and left her hoarse. 
“I know,” he says softly, stroking her face.  He presses an affectionate kiss
to her forehead.
She pushes her face into the touch and cries harder, torn up by her own
conflicted responses.  “Can…can I go now?”
“I said so, didn’t I?” but when she moves he grabs her wrist hard, like he’s
trying to grind bone to dust under his grip; she flattens her lips into a
straight line, trying to take it, trying not to make any sounds. “Be a good
girl for me, babydoll.  I’ll be watchin’…and I better like what I see,” he
says, and takes another, longer kiss.  He has to open the door for her because
she’s shaking too hard to work the handle.
He does watch for a while, but there’s nothing to see.  She leaves for an hour
and comes back with wet hair and then apparently goes to bed without shutting
off the lights (she doesn’t shut her blinds—she knows he doesn’t like it.)
He gets home around 5 am dead tired, but fatigue temporarily vanishes when he
enters the kitchen and sees his little slave standing there.  The boy is
wearing one of Dean’s own Metallica t-shirts which balloons around him and
hangs to his knees (making the flannel pajama pants underneath redundant, in
Dean’s opinion.)  There are dark circles under his blue eyes and his skin is
even more pale than usual.  “What you doin’ awake?” Dean asks him, tossing his
keys and shrugging out of his coat.  He could advise his slave to tread lightly
but he’d rather just let the kid take his own risks, fucking with Dean when
he’s this tired.
But Cas just lifts one shoulder in a half shrug, and Dean can’t be mad when the
T-shirt slips, baring his shoulder, showing off a couple of bruises. 
Dean grabs some cold pizza and sits at the table, legs spread and leaning back.
 He really is fucking tired but if Cas wants, he can certainly play through the
pain.  Cas looks at the table in front of Dean but hops on the counter
instead.  There’s no plain pizza left so he opts for one of Sam’s veggie
pieces, peeling off each topping one at a time with small, delicate fingers. 
Dean watches him while he eats.  “’S on your mind, kid?”
“That girl,” he starts, his voice soft.  “She was…she’s like me for you?”
Dean blinks at him, and smiles, mouth full.  “Yeah, pretty much.  What can I
say…you and Sam weren’t doin’ much of anything.” He shrugs.  “Got bored.”
Dark little brows draw together, his fingers clenching on the sad looking pizza
slice.  “I’m sorry, Master,” he whispers, sounding genuinely distraught.
“Nothin’ to be sorry about, baby angel,” Dean tells him when he’s finished with
a particularly big bite.  Cas looks up hopefully and Dean smiles.  “You’re
still my good boy.  You were really good last night, sweet baby.  You did
everything just right.”
He sees Cas relax under the praise, but he still looks concerned.  He bites his
lower lip and seems to take a moment to work up his courage.  “She’s—she’s not
so good at it.”  He casts a quick glance at Dean, half worry, half defiance. 
“Unless…do…do you let her say no?”  His voice is softer, an odd mix of wistful
and worried. 
Dean pauses in the middle of folding his crust in half to stuff in his face. 
“No, sweetheart, I sure don’t like that word.  Pisses me off—don’t you remember
how mad I was?”  Cas is chewing his lip and Dean wipes at his mouth and hands
with a paper towel before standing.  “I could see you were scared,” he says
softly, moving toward the boy on the counter.  “But there was only one naughty
bitch in the room, and that wasn’t you.”
Cas nods, looking down at his lap.  “She got…she got punished?”
Dean stops in front of him and puts his hands on his knees, sliding them up his
thighs.  Cas’s legs spread to accommodate his Master.  “She sure did, baby.  I
hurt her for a long, long time.”  He leans in for a kiss and Cas stiffens,
yanks back.  Dean lifts his brows. 
“Can we,” Cas starts, still leaning back against the cabinets, trying to put
space between him and Dean.  He flicks his eyes to Dean’s and down, licking his
lips nervously.  “Can we take a shower first, Master?  I-I’ll wash you, wh-
whatever you want.”
Dean pulls back, seeing the tension in the boy’s body ease somewhat even with
that bit of room.  “What is it?”
Cas shifts, still not looking up.  “I…you...she had on perfume?”
Dean looks at him thoughtfully.  “Yeah.  Bothers you?  Me, smelling like her?”
Cas looks up shyly, but looks down again, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. 
“Usually you smell like just you…or us.”  His voice trails off softly. 
Dean doesn't think that's all it is--he's certainly fucked his boy before while
smelling like sex with someone else.  Kid hadn't said a word.  He decides he
likes it and smiles.  “Are you jealous, Castiel?  You don’t want your Master to
have another slave?”
Cas tenses again, looking away with his jaw tight, his eyes worried.  He
shrugs, the movement just the slightest jerk of his shoulders.  “My…my opinion
doesn’t matter.”
Dean lifts his hand to cup Cas’s face, sliding his thumb over his smooth
cheek.  “No, it doesn’t.  I do whatever I want…to you, to others.”  He looks at
him, admiring the small, pretty face, the gorgeous pale skin.  Perfect. 
“Sweet, though.  You not wanting her scent on me.  Needy, jealous little baby. 
Like you like that.”
Cas turns his face into Dean’s hand, closing his eyes and sighing.  “Yours.”
Dean slams his head into the cabinet.  Cas cries out in pain, swallowing the
sound at the last second.  His hands go to the back of his head, and tiny
whimpers escape him as he rocks himself, clearly hurting.  Dean watches
impassively.  “Now where’s my kiss?” he hisses, leaning forward exactly the
same as he’d done before. 
Straightening so Dean can see the start of tears on his face, Cas gives him the
open mouth kiss he’d wanted, feeding Dean little pained noises.  Dean loves
kissing him while he cries.  He figures he probably tastes like pepperoni
pizza, pot, and pussy, which should distract Cas nicely from all that perfume
scent.  Dean pulls him away from his lips by his hair, looking at him
regretfully.  “Looks like I’ve had all the ‘no’ I can take for a while.”
“I’m sorry, Master,” Cas whimpers, his voice strained but still soft. 
Dean lets his hair go and strokes through the softness, hearing Cas hiss in
pain.  “Good.  And yeah, let’s take that shower.  Usually it’s me washing your
hot little body, but there’s a first time for everything.”  He lifts Cas and
puts him on the floor, completely unnecessarily, but Cas is pliant.
“Thank you, Master,” he replies softly, looking at the floor.  An expert at
this, Cas’s tears have already dried and he isn’t bothering to rub what will
surely be a knot at the back of his head by tomorrow.  He breathes through the
pain and heads for the shower.  He washes his Master.  Sucks his dick when it
gets hard.  Gets fucked (shower sexis complicated, but it helps if one of you
is really small.)
“You are a good boy, Cas,” Dean whispers to him after.  His angel hasn’t said a
word; poor thing gets so upset when he gets in trouble.  But Dean gathers him
up and nuzzles his neck and it’s only a moment or two before Cas sags into the
touches.  “Such a perfect angel for me, baby.”
“Sorry I was bad, Master, I’ll be better,” Cas clings to him and he strokes
over his back over the towel he has wrapped around him. 
“Shh, I know.  Like you jealous and needy, baby.  But these lips are mine…you
can’t keep them from me,” he explains, kissing him deeply.  The rest of him is
clean, but he really should brush his teeth.  No matter.  His beautiful slave
(he really is perfect) kisses like love, like aching need. 
“Yes, Master,” Cas whispers, dropping his towel and clinging again to Dean,
small lithe body, all that damp, porcelain skin.  “All of me is yours.”
There is time, Dean decides, to fuck him against the bathroom sink.
 
                                      ~ 
 
As usual, Sam is a different story when he wakes.  He won’t come out of his
room.  Dean only realizes this when he sees Cas trying to sneak Sam up some
breakfast.  He sighs and follows Cas to Sam’s room.  The door is locked, but
they both know that’s symbolic at best.  Dean guesses there might be a
barricade, but maybe not since Dean has something Sam prizes on the other side
of the door.  He pats that something’s cute little bottom and leans against the
door.  “Sammy?  What’s all this now?”
“I’m not comin’ out just so you can spank us for what you made us do,” Sam gets
right to the point.  He’s directly against the door on the other side and it
makes Dean smile.
“Little brother, I’ve got Cas right here.  You’d leave him to take your half
and his?”
The lock is undone and the door swings partly open, a small panicked face in
the opening.  “You wouldn’t do that to him!  Would you?”
Dean sighs and rolls his eyes.  “No, dumbass, I wouldn’t.  And I wouldn’t
punish you for what happened last night when I’m the guy who suggested it now
would I?”
Sam frowns at him stubbornly.  “Sometimes you don’t remember things right.”
“What do you remember?” Dean asks him curiously. 
Sam blushes prettily, looking down so his bangs cover his eyes.  He gives a
half shrug.  “All I know is you wanted Jo to see me and Cas kiss, so we did
it.  But you started it!”
Dean flicks his forehead, making him snap his eyes up in annoyance, reaching
uselessly to try and retaliate.  “I just said that.  Did I just say that, Cas?”
“You said that,” comes carefully neutral behind him. 
“I said that,” he agrees, folding his arms over his chest.  “So now what?”
“You tell me,” Sam challenges, meeting his eyes this time.  “last time
you...you went crazy just because you saw those marks.  Now you’re telling us
to kiss on purpose in front of you.”  Sam swallows, and Dean straightens
because this is really unprecedented behavior.  Once a punishment is over, once
they make up after a fight, Sam never brings it up, and he doesn’t like Dean to
bring it up either.  “I just…I don’t get it.  Are you messing with me?”  His
voice, that had started out strong, sounded wispy and frightened by the end. 
And his jewel-bright eyes are pleading.  Because Dean wouldn’t do that to him,
would he?  He needs it not to be true.
Dean is glad Cas is behind him, and he doesn’t glance back to make sure he’s
keeping his shit together the way he needs to be.  “Nah, I’m not messin’ with
ya, Sammy.  I was drunk and high, and when I get high I…I do weird shit.  You
and Cas got pretty weird, too, it wasn’t just me.  At the time it seemed
funny.”  He shrugs and sighs.  “You upset with me, kiddo?  I don’t blame you, I
guess.  That wasn’t very “Big Brother” of me, huh?”
Sam’s watching him, but he seems to have relaxed a little.  “I don’t care about
that, you know that Dean.  I just…I don’t know.”
Dean reaches for him slowly and when he doesn’t protest, he tugs his stiff
little brother out of his room.  “I can see how it’s confusing.  I’m sorry
about last night…I won’t bring pot in the house anymore.”
“That doesn’t bother me either, Dean, even though I like you best when you’re
just you. I just,” Sam trails off, looking up at his big brother.  He shakes
his head and smiles finally.  “It’s nothing, Dean.  If you say it’s nothing,
then it is.”
Dean hugs him and presses a kiss to his forehead.  “It’s nothing.  Best to
forget about it and go back to the way things were before last night.”
Sam hugs back and gives him another smile, the megawatt kind with the pretty
dimples this time.  “Okay, Dean.”
Dean slings him over his shoulder like a squirming sack of potatoes and carries
him down to breakfast. 
See?  No big deal.
 
                                     * * *
 
Cas has to stay after school on Monday (he called a teacher a nosy cunt), so
he’s already missed some of his Sam time by the time he gets to the Winchester
house.  When he gets there, he doesn’t find Sam in any of his usual spots.  He
thinks the “In here!” is shouted down from Sam’s room (even though it doesn’t
sound quite right for that), and stops dead in Dean’s doorway. 
Sam is sprawled on Dean’s bed on his stomach, with Dean’slaptop open and
running.  Cas swallows hard.  “What…what are you doing?”
“Lookin’ for good porn,” Sam murmurs.  “This shit is password protected but if
I know Dean—yep.  His name, my birthday.  I’m surprised it isn’t just
‘Password’.”  Sam looks up at him for the first time and smiles mischievously. 
“Come sit,” he pats the bed beside him. 
Cas is just trying to breathe safely.  “What?  No, I…I’m not goin’ in there,
why…turn that off and you come out.”
Sam rolls his eyes and gives him a fond look.  “I know you’re still scared of
Dean,” he starts.
“With good reason!” Cas bursts out.  Times like these, he hates Sam’s apparent
amnesia for what a pissed off Dean means for the both of them.  “I’m not doing
this, no!  You…you want to hang out with me, I’ll be in your room.  Or maybe
I’ll go home!  I’m not…no!”  He’s shaking his head, and he turns to leave, but
lithe, agile little Sam is off the bed and tugging his elbow before he can take
two steps. 
“Cas, calm down, wait…you’re freaking out over nothing, just listen…how’s he
even gonna know?” Sam tugs him into his arms, and Cas melts into it because
Sam. 
He’ll know when I fucking tell him, Cas thinks, and presses his lips together. 
Sam really doesn’t like to talk about past punishments and Cas hates to piss
him off, especially during their precious alone time.  But, still.  “Sam, come
on you…you always say that if you don’t want Dean to know something, you can’t
tell me about it,” he tries for somewhat diplomatic, drawing his face back to
look at Sam’s expression, watching for storm clouds. 
Sam rolls his eyes, annoyed, but he doesn’t let go of Cas.  “Look, I don’t
really give a shit.  He’s at work, he’s not gonna catch us.  And I can’t take
this rule seriously anymore.”
Cas blinks and Sam tugs him towards Dean’s bed.  “He’s messing with me, Cas.  I
don’t know why, but he is.  Oh, it’s so important, we can’t be together and
still be best friends, we can’t touch each other here.  Until he brings a
friend over, right?  I mean, what the fuck was that anyway? Is he…what is he,
laughing at us or something?”
Cas looks at him, shocked.  He knows Dean will want him to handle this but he
can’t see how.  This time he’s actually stumped.  “You…you told Dean…”
“Yeah, I guess youcan bullshit a bullshitter, huh?  My…John always said
otherwise.”  A new thing Sam is trying, where he calls his father John as
though he really is just a neglectful landlord sharing their house.  Cas has
yet to see him try it to his face, but it’s on the horizon he’s sure.  “Look,
Dean could’ve been truthful with me but he wasn’t.  He thinks I’m still a baby,
he can…he can just treat me any way he wants.”  Sam stops mid-rant to notice
his friend’s pale face.
“Hey, Cas, I swear it’s not that serious.  If I asked him, he’d let me look at
his porn, he’d just…be annoying about it.  And he wouldn’t let me watch it with
you.  That’s all I want.  Don’t you wanna watch with me?”  He turns the puppy
dog eyes on, but undermines them with a sly smile that Cas finds unfairly
sexy. 
“This is suicidal,” he comments, but allows himself to be dragged to the bed. 
Sam sits against the headboard with his legs spread, tugging Cas between them. 
Cas pulls Sam’s arms around him, thinking that Dean will at least appreciate
the two boys in his bed like this.  Maybe he won’t be mad after all.  Maybe
he’ll want them doing things, leaving behind bodily fluids and scents for Dean
to revel in.  The more Cas thinks about it, the stronger the possibility
seems.  He relaxes and leans back, liking when Sam rests his chin on Cas’s
shoulder. 
“Dean has a ton of porn on here, that’s how he fucked this laptop six ways to
Sunday in the first place,” Sam tells him, hot breath tickling over his neck
and ear.  Cas turns and kisses his smooth cheek. 
The first video Sam finds has Cas tensing up in his arms, and he has to force
himself to relax.  Sam knows Cas was molested, but there’s no reason Sam can
imagine for Cas to get nervous just watching one guy tie a smaller guy up. 
Both men are in leather, though the smaller man’s coverings aren’t much more
than straps and loops for ropes to go through.  He has an intense looking gag
that looks like black rubber and is keeping the man’s mouth open wide.  The
smaller man is fairly immobilized, and he’s not trying at all to evade the
lashes of the whip.
“Wow, what the fuck, Dean,” Sam whispers, shaking his head, his lips parted
slightly.  It seems Cas isn’t doing a great job relaxing, because Sam strokes
over his arms, murmuring reassurances.  “It’s not real.  It’s pretend.  That
guy likes this stuff I guess.”  He sounds doubtful.
Cas shudders and turns halfway, pressing hard against Sam with only one eye on
the screen now.  “I know.”  He tugs Sam’s shirt, bunching it under his nose so
he can breathe in the simple scent of him mixed with detergent.  Because there
is too much Dean in this room, too many memories clamoring in his mind, in this
very bed, sounds like the ones from the screen, his own limbs twisted behind
him or spread away from his body, completely helpless, tasting rubber and
feeling Dean’s massive cock—
“You okay, Cas?  That’s…that’s pretty intense, let’s look at something else,”
he leans forward and clicks around the computer while Cas tries to count to
five on each inhale and exhale.
They watch a rape scene next, where two men pretend to be burglars who surprise
a woman in her home and handcuff her to her bed.  Sam skips the video quickly,
but the next few videos they find are variations on a theme.  Most of the
“victims” are women and they cry without tears and tend to have multiple
attackers.  It’s fake, it’s so obvious, the way the “No, stop, don’t!”s sound
more turned on than terrified.  But it still bothers him, and he’s plastered to
the front of Sam’s body.  “Doesn’t he have any regular stuff?," he tries to
joke, "The pizza man and the babysitter?”
Sam laughs and strokes over Cas again.  “I know; his stuff is out there.  Kinda
like how you’re so close to me though, Cas.  I’ll keep you safe.”
Cas turns the rest of the way to face Sam, tugs his face in for a kiss.  “You
don’t need your brother’s scary porn to make me go close to you, Sam.”  He
kisses him again and lets his hands drop to Sam’s pants, unbuttoning, unzipping
his jeans with a few practiced flicks of his fingers.   
“Hey, that girl has a collar like yours, Cas,” Sam says jokingly and Cas
swivels his head, insides going ice cold.  Sure enough, a girl on the screen is
kneeling at the feet of a woman in head to toe black vinyl, wearing a thong and
a black leather collar similar to Cas’s, except with the word Slut in
rhinestones across the front.  The woman standing over her is prodding her with
a black crop.  “Down on all fours.  Now, slut!”
“Yes, Mistress,” the girl answers.   Yes, Master, Cas thinks, and swallows
hard.  All these people playing pretend, but it’s not a game for Cas.  He
doesn’t understand it.  Why would anyone pretend to be what he has to be?  What
he is?  From what Dean has told him over the years, he believes the stuff that
he does with Dean makes him part of a secret society, with boys like him (and
Dean, once) who are slaves or just used, and men like Dean and his cop friend
who own them or use them.  Is that who this porn is for, men like Dean?  He’s
fascinated despite himself, though, watching someone else obey for once, the
way he must.  He watches the girl get put in different positions.  Implements
are used on her while she counts and thanks her mistress; toys are shoved
inside her and she takes it all without complaint.
Sam sucks a light kiss (carefully) into Cas’s neck, just above his collar,
letting his tongue slip underneath.  “Looks like you like this video…is that
why you wear this collar, Cas?  You like bein’ told what to do like that girl?”
Cas is still glued to the screen, processing.  “W-what?  I…”
“I can tell you what to do,” Sam says softly.  “Get on all fours.”
Cas turns slowly to look at his best friend (his love).  There is a frozen
moment where they search each other’s eyes (is this really happening?) and Sam
licks his lips.  “You heard me.  Do it.”
Cas swallows and lowers his eyes.  “A-all right.”  He moves to his hands and
knees in front of Sam, but slowly, differently than he does for Dean.  He
doesn’t know what he’s hoping for…if Sam wants to use him like this, it’s fine,
why wouldn’t it be?
“Now…now, uh…,” Sam is looking from the screen to his silent friend.  “Take
your pants down.  And underwear!”
Cas nods jerkily, keeping his head tucked down, hiding his face.  He sits back
on his knees so he can fumble at his own pants in a way he didn’t with Sam’s. 
He’s not shy as he used to be—Sam has seen all this plenty of times by now.  He
pushes his jeans and boxer briefs down to his knees, feeling a jolt when he
sees the way Sam’s eyes are glued to his lower half.  He moves back to all
fours and closes his eyes like he does for Dean.
“Shit,” Sam whispers, and Cas feels him scoot close to his side on the bed,
then small hands are smoothing over his cold skin, touching his lower back, his
bare ass.  Squeezing him, because Sam can never resist. 
“That girl was calling her Mistress, wonder what the guy one gets called?” Sam
mutters, and then his hand slips down between Cas’s legs, touching his balls
lightly.  Cas arches his back and lets out a little sound; Master always likes
to hear…fuck.  Cas opens his eyes wide.  He can’t do this.  In a flash he
turns, still bared, and presses against Sam, who eagerly puts his arms around
him, skimming his hands over his naked ass.
“What’s this?  I was telling you what to do,” Sam is smiling, though. 
“If you wanna get back at Dean, I know a way,” Cas says roughly, tugging on
Sam’s shirt with both hands.
“Yeah, not really thinkin’ about him right now, Cas,” Sam kisses Cas, and it’s
so easy, letting his tongue slip between Cas’s lips. 
Cas kisses back and tugs Sam up enough to push his jeans and underwear down to
his knees, too.  He slips his hand over Sam’s perfect prick, feeling precome
spurt out to cover his hand.  He smiles against Sam’s mouth and pulls back,
shoving Sam until he’s sitting his bare ass on Dean’s pillow.
Sam blushes, eyes wide on Cas, laughing a little.  “You’re crazy, this is
mean!”
“He won’t know!” He’ll love it.  “Look, you’ll like this,” Cas straddles Sam’s
lap and pushes his small dick against Sam’s slightly bigger one.  He licks over
his palm and takes both of their dicks in his hand; both boys let out moans as
he strokes them together.  The boys share slow, wet kisses as Cas expertly
twists his palm, works his fingers over them.  This is so much easier to do
with the two of them, and he loves the noises they make together, wet and
gasping, and especially when Sam’s hips buck, pushing into Cas’s hand.  This is
more like it, he thinks.  He loves touching Sam’s dick but he actually can’t
believe how much he wants to suck him.  He knows it won’t be gross; he’ll taste
Sam’s skin and make him come apart.  He imagines it so many ways and wishes
Dean would just let him make the first move.
Sam lasts only a bit longer these days and Cas has no problem bringing himself
off with him, catching most of the two small handfuls of come as he can in his
palms.  He makes sure Sam is watching when he slips his hand inside Dean’s
pillowcase and rubs their come over his pillow.  Sam’s mouth falls open and Cas
sees his soft dick twitch in response.  “You’re…that’s fucking crazy.  That’s
really dirty, Cas, if he finds out—“
“He won’t,” Cas insists with a smirk; but he’s looking at Sam’s dick and
wishing he could clean it with his fucking mouth.  “We’ll flip it and it’ll be
dry by the time he uses it tonight.”  He flips the pillow and smiles.
Sam narrows his eyes and pushes Cas down against it, kissing him hard.  When he
pulls back he stares at him from an inch away.  “You’re so fuckin’ hot, Cas.  I
don’t know how you got like this but you’re fucking awesome.”
Cas kisses back, blushing crimson, wanting to change the subject.  “You’re hot,
Sam.  Love all the stuff we do.”  Love you.
“Yeah, me too,” Sam lays next to him and they stare at each other.  “Pretty
crazy.  We’re lying in my brother’s bed with our junk hanging out.”
“And our come in his pillow,” Cas adds and they laugh, feeling like little
rebels, feeling grown and adult, doing these things together.  Cas reaches
nonchalantly into Dean’s end table and grabs some wet wipes, handing a couple
to Sam.  They clean up and zip themselves back up, though Sam is reluctant.
“We came too fast,” he complains, leaning back against Dean’s headboard again. 
Cas is still against what will now forever be known as the come pillow, but
he’s on the dry side.  “We can still mess around, Dean’s not home for a while
yet.”  He starts fiddling with the laptop again, looking for another video to
watch.  “Spanking videos,” he mutters and Cas blinks at him.
“Why would we want to watch that?  Spanking isn’t exactly—“
“Daddy, why do I have to?” the “boy” (a small man in his early twenties) whines
at a fit man with a beard, maybe 40 something.  Cas doesn’t finish his sentence
because he forgets how to make words with his mouth. 
“Because naughty boys get spanked, now take your pants down and get over my
knee!” the man replies sternly.
“Yes, Daddy,” the boy says, and they watch him bare his ass before he is tugged
over the other man’s lap, the man’s large hand coming down over and over,
turning the skin pink in no time.
“You think he likes that?” Sam asks, watching with wide eyes and somewhat
burning cheeks.
Cas doesn’t respond; he can’t.  He’s chewing his cheek hard enough to taste
copper.  His chest is suddenly a bit heavy and it feels like there’s ice moving
through his veins.  “Daddy, please, why do I have to?”…”Come on, Little Boy,
you know what Daddy needs…”
“Daddy, why are you touching me there?”  The boy is still over the man’s lap,
but his legs are spread and the man’s hand has slipped between them. 
“Feels…funny...ohhh…”
“Shh, let Daddy make you feel good.”
“You’re not supposed to touch there!”… “Shh, you’ll like it…only a Daddy can
touch you like this...Don’t you want a Daddy like all the other kids?” A hard
tremor goes through Cas, leaving a sick feeling in its wake.  He’s frozen; he
can’t even close his eyes, and they’re starting to burn. 
The man is pushing fingers in the boy’s wide open hole and the boy is moaning,
squirming on his lap.  “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?  You wanted your
Daddy to touch you…”
“Yes, Daddy, please touch me…” the boy says, and Cas pulls in a breath that
hurts, that wheezes; he hadn’t even realized he wasn’t breathing.  “Daddy, it
hurts can’t we just?”… “That’s enough, Little Boy…here’s your bear…show Daddy
what you do next…”
“Now you need to make Daddy feel good, too,” the man says, and he’s shoving the
boy down between his legs.  The boy immediately starts sucking and licking the
older man’s huge dick, smiling up at the older man like he loves what he’s
doing.  “Such a good boy for Daddy, that’s it…Daddy’s little cock slut.”
“If you were a good boy I wouldn’t have to do it like this, open your fucking
mouth…you’re a bad, bad boy, Castiel…”  Terror, clawing up his insides.  He
wants to say something, to cry out for help.  But he’s not supposed to. 
“Daddy it hurts!” The scene has moved; the man has the boy on all fours on a
bed and he’s pushing inside him.  If Castiel could think straight, he’d realize
that the boy is obviously pretending, as wide open as his hole already is, as
appropriate as the two men are in size.  But he’s barely in the room, the
sounds penetrating his mind, his eyes locked on the screen but really not
seeing anymore.  Seeing other shapes, other things. 
“It’s okay, relax, it’s gonna feel so good, Baby Boy,” the man is telling him. 
“God you’re so fucking tight.”
“That’s it, Little Boy, you just cry, Daddy’s…ah Daddy’s almost done…so fucking
tight for Daddy…”
 “Cas, Cas, breathe, it’s okay, breathe!” Someone is holding onto him but this
happens sometimes, after, his Daddy has to calm him down, even though the last
thing he wants is to be touched even more.
“No, no more, please, I’m sorry!” it should be a scream but it’s the barest
whimper, he knows he’ll get in trouble if he raises his voice.  “Please, it
hurts, please!”
“Okay, Cas, okay, can you hear me?  It’s Sam,” his friend’s voice breaks,
sounding terrified.  “Please, come back, nobody’s hurting you…nobody’s…nobody’s
h-here, you’re safe, remember?  You and me, remember?”
The words (the voice, mostly) penetrate enough that he pushes his trembling
hand onto Sam’s small chest and tries to feel him breathing.  When he has air
enough to speak he realizes Sam has him and he clings hard, sees his friend
wince at his fingers clawed into his shoulders.  “He’ll get us…he’ll get you,
too, he—“
“No, no, he won’t, he can’t get us here, it’s over, Cas, you’re safe.  You have
us now, right?  You're in Lawrence now, we go to Middle School together,
remember?”  It takes some doing, but Sam holds him and keeps talking, just
about different classes they share, different school friends they know—like he
knows Cas isn’t quite his current self yet.  And it’s working, Cas remembers
he’s much bigger now, the limbs stretched out in front of him much longer than
they were in those memories.  And Sam.  Sam doesn’t exist there either.  To his
utter humiliation, he starts to weep uncontrollably.
But this is Sam and he just holds him as best he can, rocking him a little. 
Hushes him and says the nonsense things Dean says to calm him down.  His own
eyes are suspiciously bright, and he rubs at them almost angrily once in a
while, probably not wanting Cas to notice, trying not to make this about his
own grief for his friend.  Eventually Cas quiets but he’s still wracked with
random tremors and his insides feel hollowed out.  A low current of fear is
still running through him, like he’s in the present but not.  Like he can’t
quite believe it. 
Sam puts away the offending laptop, barely able to extricate himself from Cas
in order to do it.  Cas allows Sam to lead him downstairs, where he tucks a
faded but still soft blanket around both of them and puts on mindless TV.  Cas
isn’t looking anyway, he’s tensed and watching the door.  When they hear the
Impala pull into the garage, Cas is flying to him, Sam close behind.  Dean is
barely out of the car and still wearing his coat when he picks Cas up, holding
him effortlessly, letting him cling like a burr.  Cas is crying again and Dean
carries him into the house, trailed by a tearful, worried Sam.
Dean tries to put him on the counter, get him to talk, but Cas can’t let go of
him yet.  They end up on the armchair with Sam perched worriedly on one of the
arms, Cas straddling Dean’s lap with his face buried in his neck.  “What
happened?” Dean asks Sam, and Cas is comforted by the rumble of his voice,
vibrating against him.
“We were watching porn—please don’t punish him, okay, I’ll take his half!  We
weren’t touching or doing anything, I swear!” Sam rushes out, and Cas stirs a
little when he says he’ll take both punishments.  Dean hushes him, keeps his
head down with gentle pressure from his hand.
“We’ll deal with that in a minute,” Dean tells him calmly.  “Why would porn
upset him?”
“It was…some guy was…,” Sam trails off, sounding a little far away, like maybe
he had to turn his face from Dean for this part.  “A guy was getting spanked
and he called the other guy Daddy.”  He pauses.  “Then they had sex and the guy
was still calling him that.”
“Jesus, Sam,” Dean shakes his head, running fingers through Cas’s hair,
stroking over his back.
“I know, I didn’t think!  I didn’t mean it!” and now Sam sounds like he’s in
tears himself.  “I didn’t even look over for so long and when I did,” Sam
hesitates, sounding haunted, traumatized himself.  “He was barely breathing,
Dean, he was just lying there so stiff and terrified…like he was screaming with
no sound coming out.”
Dean shifts Cas so he can pull Sam on top of both of them; it’s a tight fit
these days but right now none of them care.  “It’s okay, buddy.  He’s okay,
he’s gonna be fine.”
“I never saw him like that, Dean,” Sam sniffles.  “He was talking like it was
happening now.  He sounded like…like really young…like he thought he was little
again...”
Cas stirs a little; he knows he should try to surface, try to take part in this
conversation.  It’s just so hard to think.  “He could come back,” he tries and
it comes out as a hoarse whisper.  “He might come any time.  He’ll be mad,
he’ll—“
Dean tugs him away just enough to see his face.  “What’s that now?”
“What if he comes back?  You won’t let him, right?  If he wants…,” Cas asks
tearfully and Dean kisses his forehead, his cheeks.
“He’s not coming back, Cas.  He’s never gonna touch you again,” Dean says
darkly and it’s only because he knows that tone that it works, that it calms
him some.  If it was sappy sweet, Dean trying to convince him for his own sake,
Cas wouldn’t believe it.  But that was honest Dean, the part of him that only
cares that nobody touches Cas but him.  It’s a motivation he trusts.
He wipes at his face and looks at Dean, afraid of what he wants to ask but
needing to ask it.  “What if…what if he comes and it’s just me and Sam?  Or…or
just Sam?”
Cas watches Dean carefully and sees his eyes darken at just the thought.  But
he’s not mad at Cas, he strokes over his face.  “Sam, tell Cas what you’ll do
if that man you met the day Cas came running to us for help comes back here?”
Sam is up off the chair, moving to the end table between the armchair and the
loveseat.    He produces a small key (Cas doesn’t see where it came from) and
opens a drawer, tugging out a small revolver with a black handle.  He does
something with it, opens the cylinder, checks that it’s loaded, spins the
cylinder until it clicks closed again.  “Shoot first, ask questions later,” Sam
says flatly, and there isn’t a shadow of a doubt in his voice.  And that’s what
Cas sees in his blue-hazel eyes.  That anyone who wants to get to Cas would
have to go through him.  
“That’s my boy, Sammy,” Dean speaks up, startling Cas, who’d been mesmerized by
Sam.  But he looks at Dean now as Sam replaces the gun in the drawer.  Dean
touches his face, stroking lightly.  “I told him that a long time ago, Cas. 
Sammy’s the best shot in the family, and he knows what Jimmy did.  Time ever
comes, he’s not gonna hesitate and he sure as shit won’t miss.  You believe
us?”
Cas looks from Dean to Sam and back and nods.  Dean smiles and strokes over his
hair again, tugging him back down against his chest.  “Sammy, do me a favor, go
order us somethin’ to eat.  You know what we all like.”
“I’ll get us Chinese,” he says, stopping on his way to try and hug his brother
and friend all at once.  Then he heads for the kitchen, where they keep the
take-out menus. 
Dean tucks his arm under Cas’s legs, holding him like he likes, like he’s a
baby, and Cas feels a breath go out of him, relaxing into it.  “Never gonna let
him get you, baby angel.  He’ll never touch what’s mine.  You still mine?”
Cas sighs and nods.  “Yours, Dean.  Only wanna be yours and Sam’s.”  Dean’s
brows lift at that but he doesn’t say anything to correct it, and Cas’s eyes
slip shut.  He doesn’t realize he made the mistake, and the consequences are
long reaching.
Or maybe it would’ve always gone this way.
 
                                       ~
 
The game is getting…difficult.
Dean was lenient with the porn incident because of Cas's mental state.  So Sam
got a hairbrush spanking on his own (no, Dean didn't believe they didn't touch
while they watched, but he didn't flip out, he didn't even press them, just
made Sam get the brush and had at him for a while.)  Cas didn't get spanked at
all, not the kind Sam gets to know about anyway (and yeah, Dean appreciated the
come pillow...like a lot.  He's gross.)  And Cas is grateful.  He's trying to
be good for him.  He's trying to be good for both of them.  But Dean has been
odd of late (since the game started, really, but lately it's more so)...Cas
can't help but feel the pressure.
For Cas to get any kind of break these days he has to stay home (where he isn’t
exactly welcome—and God knows if he takes too many breaks, he’ll have to answer
to a really pissed off Master.)  And it isn’t Sam’s fault.  He isn’t seeing
anyone other than Cas, and he sure as hell doesn’t know about Cas’s
other…obligations.  He’s just a hormonally charged pre-teen crushing on his
gorgeous best friend, who happens to be amazing at that kind of stuff. 
Naturally he’s insatiable, but he’s always solicitous, making sure Cas wants
it, too, making sure Cas is okay, reminding him he can say stop, he can say no.
Pretty to think so.
Cas, despite his promise, is never going to say no—not anymore if he ever was. 
Just in case he would have on his own, as if he wasn't fucking struggling with
that very idea, he’s been forbidden.  Now that things are getting good, Dean
has decided Cas was forgetting his place, and he’s been taking special pleasure
in spelling it out for him.  That he’s just a little fuck slave, which is the
only reason it goes on.  The lessons on the subject are frequent and thorough,
leaving him aching and fraught on a regular basis.  So jerk him off, eat his
come, spread your legs any time Sam even hints that he might be in the mood. 
You’re not his boyfriend, baby, remember?  You’ll never be that.  You’re just
letting him use this sweet little body of mine until I want it again…make sure
you remember.
Yes, Master.  He remembers. 
It’s good, being with Sam is still so good, but…he’s with Sam as his slut,
whether Sam knows it or not.  Maybe that should be even easier; it's what he
knows, after all.  There still isn’t any physical pain (especially since they
haven’t fucked yet…though Cas is refusing to consider that sex with Sam will be
anything but effortless).  But once again, Cas doesn’t get a say, Dean forcing
him under Sam the same way he does his own body.  And he’s fine with it.  He’s
fine with it.  He loves his Master.  Whatever Master wants,
whatever…Sam…wants.  He’s lucky Dean allows this at all. 
That’s what he tells himself, but it takes a toll.  There starts to be a
pattern for him.  He decides not to overthink things, to simply behave the way
he should for the Winchesters.  It works, for a time—there is a freedom in
action without thought.  He throws himself at both of them, to the point where
he finds himself dragging Sam into the boys’ bathroom at school, or sneaking
next door even on the few nights where he was supposed to stay home to climb on
Dean’s lap and bounce on his cock—leaving after, without Sam ever realizing
he’d been there.  He can’t concentrate in class because all he thinks about is
kissing, licking, sucking, and fucking—the sheer number of hard-ons that he has
to will away is ridiculous.  He ignores soreness, he ignores injuries.  His
life is chasing orgasms—theirs and his own.
It can’t last.
The more he tries not to think about how disgusting he is, the more he’ll start
to feel it.  He finds himself showering constantly, even two or three times a
day, because he feels like all he ever smells is sex and sweat on his skin,
come on his breath.  He’s sure it’s all anyone smells around him.  He starts
feeling really self-conscious about it, afraid to let anyone stand too close to
him for fear of what they might sense.  It makes it very hard to be around
anyone…very hard to leave the house.
So he starts wanting to stay in his room again but when he’s there he can’t
avoid the thoughts any longer.  How much he hates himself—a liar, a freak, a
disgusting slut.  How Sam would hate him if he knew what he was really doing
behind his back.  How much he’d deserve every bit of that hate.  And how right
Dean is…how unworthy are his fingers, his lips to touch something as sacred as
Sam Fucking Winchester. 
Rinse, repeat.
Once again, Sam rescues him, without realizing what he’s doing (or at least not
the full extent of it.)  Yeah, Cas is sexy as hell, and Sam never tires of the
things he can do with his mouth and hands, but he’s too sensitive not to notice
when his friend is struggling.  He worries about his self-esteem, because he
knows the things he’s gone through with sex.  The last thing he wants is for
Cas to feel like he’s being used, or to feel anything negative about this
between them—he’d rather stop it all together than let that happen.  So when he
sees the pattern (Cas is many things, but he is not subtle), he comes to find
him at the bottom of whatever dark hole he’s disappearing inside. 
Cas can let him in or he can break into his house—he’s not picky, either way. 
He’ll put on some favorite old Spongebob eps (don’t tell, but he might have
illegally downloaded them on his tablet—what, Cas doesn’t have a TV in his
room!)  He’ll tuck his icy (always cold) best friend in under the blankets and
tug him close.  “Let’s watch cartoons like we used to,” he’ll tell him, and Cas
knows he means, Let’s not kiss or touch today…let’s just be best friends like
the old days.  And okay, it doesn’t change anything…Cas is still what he is,
doing what he’s doing.  But he’d like to see you not feel better when Sam is
working that hard to comfort you.
And then Sam changes things.  He tries, Cas thinks he’s trying to treat him the
way he would’ve treated Jess, or any official boyfriend or girlfriend (that he
had to keep secret from his older brother and Dad.)  He makes sure they go
other places, see other people, so that they can’t be making out even if they
want to be.  They go to the movies (their neighborhood still has a local
theater, and the movies might be about six months behind the rest of the world,
but they only cost $5 per ticket.)  They hit the arcade.  He drags Cas to more
friends’ houses, and they meet up with others at the mall to hang out at the
food court and irritate the security guards with their existence.  Cas could do
without the socializing, but the effort is made, and he appreciates it.
He gives him little gifts, too.  Nothing much:  a cool looking rock that he
found in the woods, his favorite baseball cap when he saw Cas squinting in the
sun, a sling shot that he made out of a y-shaped stick and a heavy rubber band
(he made one of those for himself, too, and Cas thinks the best part of that
particular gift was watching his talented friend shoot the fuck out of a bunch
of tin cans in the yard.)  He also gives him some some superhero magnets that
he may or may not have gotten by way of five finger discount (Sam is a good
boy, but he’s a boy raised by Dean Winchester—honestly shoplifting and pirating
videos aren’t much compared to what he could’ve become.)
It helps, all of it helps.  And then there is the grand romantic gesture
(well...from one 12 year old boy to another it seems that way, anyway.)
The day is oddly warm for January—60 degrees, in fact.  Sam has them tromping
through the woods, and Cas is behind him whining with every step.  “Come on, if
we go back now, I’ll let you borrow my ass!”  (Borrowing his ass is this thing
Sam does now where he’ll pull Cas’s pants and underwear down—if they aren’t
already—and grind his dick between his cheeks until he comes.  Secretly Cas
really likes it, although sometimes he makes a show of pretending to be really
absorbed in a TV show or comic book or whatever while it’s happening.  It’s the
closest Sam’s come to his hole—pun intended—and Cas can’t help dreaming of him
accidentally-on-purpose catching his rim that way.  The possibility that some
of Sam's come could maybe seep inside him has occurred to him as well, although
Dean assures him he's too tight without prep for that.)
“I’m going to do that anyway, now come on!” Sam grabs Cas by the elbow,
dragging him along.  Cas rolls his eyes and groans, pulling against Sam’s hold
just enough to make a statement.  He’s not really paying attention to where
they’re going, so he’s fairly shocked when they stumble into their clearing. 
Yeah, that one.
Cas (who’d been making a pretty loud fuss right up to that point) goes silent. 
Sam doesn’t say anything either, watching him, giving him space to process.
They haven’t been back since that day.
They’ve been camping tons of times, even sometimes with Dean.  But Cas was
adamant in keeping the memory intact, so he could always have that safe space
in his mind to revisit, pristine and pure the way he remembers. 
“You never wanted to come back here, but I do sometimes.  I really like it
here,” Sam says quietly, and he isn’t looking at Cas just then.  When Cas
doesn’t respond he looks up and adds hurriedly.  “We can leave in a minute, I
just…I wanted to show you something.”
Cas doesn’t mean to, but he’s sort of having a hard time moving or speaking. 
He just doesn’t know how to respond, and being here is bringing up a lot of
stuff.  So Sam reaches for him, gently taking his hand and leading him to the
edge of the clearing.  There on a tree--and yeah, it's the one in his memories,
plenty of branches, Cas had been speeding to the top like a little monkey,
swift and sure for once--Sam has carved their initials, carved together inside
a surprisingly perfect-looking heart, SW + CN.  Proclaimed for the world to
see, and yet also surprisingly private, set here in a world belonging only to
them.
Cas is speechless.  Sam laughs nervously after a minute, ducking his head.  “I
know it’s super corny.  Girl stuff.  Dean would be like—“
Cas tunes him out there; he’s not interested in what Dean would be like.  He
steps forward and traces each mark reverently, running his finger over each
careful groove in the wood, feeling how deeply each line is carved, as though
Sam had taken his time, wanted to make it recognizable and lasting.  Sam loves
him, so what, he’s said that a million times, they say that, as friends,
they’ve said it since they were ten.  He leans forward, pressing himself
against it and shutting his eyes.  There will be time later for disclaimers,
all the 'he wouldn’t if he’ and ‘that’s only because he’ type shit that Cas’s
poisonous brain is fond of using to ruin a moment like this.  For now his chest
feels funny and he finally opens his eyes to look at Sam--who has gone silent.
“You…you like it?”  Sam’s face is red—this is exactly the type of shit Dean
would ridicule him for days about, but Cas is not Dean, and his jewel-bright
eyes are so hopeful.  Like this matters to him. 
It’s ridiculous, the whole fucking thing.  Especially Cas’s stupid stinging
eyes.  He grabs Sam by his shirt and whirls him, slams him up against the
tree.  He just looks up at him (up?  Since when?) and he’s breathing kind of
hard, but it’s not a panic attack.  “Sam--,” he starts, and it’s almost a sob. 
Sam opens his mouth to reply and Cas kisses him desperately, urgently; suddenly
it’s important that Sam doesn’t speak.  “Baby,” he cries against his lips, and
they’re both breathing hard now, the kissing getting urgent the way it always
does.  “Sam, Sam, I….I…”
“Cas, it’s okay…you don’t have to say anything,” Sam murmurs and kisses him,
trying to calm it down the way he does when Cas gets really frenzied, but Cas
can feel that his dick likes the kissing just the way it is.
Cas presses as close to Sam as he can, leaning against his chest and burrowing
his face in his neck.  His hands are in Sam’s hair and he’s actually kind of
pulling it—like he wants to hurt Sam, tear him apart with his fingers and
swallow down all the pieces.  His feelings overwhelm him; it feels like that’s
all he is just then, like if he tries to think he’ll be lost.  Kissing Sam
helps, but more, there has to be more.  It’s too much, he needs to swallow him
down, swallow him all up, put this perfect fucking boy inside him at last.
“Cas, what are you..?”
He needs…(opening Sam’s pants)…he just has to tell him…(dropping to his
knees.)  He looks up at Sam who swallows hard and gets a million zillion points
for what he tries to say next.  “Cas…you…you don’t have to…”
“Shh...Baby...,” Cas whispers, rubbing his face against Sam’s dick, feeling it
hard against his skin.  “Say yes,” he whispers against the head, but his lips
aren’t touching, only his breath.  He looks up and lets his eyes beg for him. 
“Cas,” Sam says instead, but it means the same thing—he’s looking at Cas’s
mouth like he’s never wanted a single thing in his life until this moment. 
“Mmm,” the noise Cas makes against sensitive flesh is half purr, half growl,
and he could devour this boy whole (he will) but he didn’t wait all this time
to have it end quickly.  In fact…
“Don’t freak out,” he says softly, reaching in his jacket pocket and digging
around.  He comes up with one of Jess’s ponytail holders and hopes Sam at least
appreciates that it’s blue.  Carefully he wraps it around Sam’s cock and balls
the same way he’s seen Dean do to him tons of times (albeit with actual toys,
but he imagines the principle is the same.)  “Let me know if anything hurts, or
feels cold or numb or anything,” he barely spares Sam a glance (his face,
anyway).
“Cas, w-wait, did you just put a fuuuuuck shiiiiiiit oh my God,” Sam’s head
goes back, mouth dropping open when Cas gives a hard suck to the head just to
shut him up. 
“It’s,” Cas pulls off and laps at the head, kissing his dick the way he does
his mouth, all hot tongue and wet sucking lips, “to keep you from,” his kisses
move lower; there’s not as much skin to play with as Dean’s but Cas has never
felt this covetous of anything, “coming too soon,” he finally finishes his
sentence at the base of Sam’s dick where he’s running his tongue firmly up an
down.  He laps at Sam’s balls, applying much gentler pressure to first one,
then the other.  They’ve been walking and Sam’s been sweating, but the smell,
the taste of him, the salt-and-sweet of pure, dirty Sam, is so warm and amazing
that for the first time he gets what Dean talks about, how you could want to
taste every inch of someone.  He sucks one ball, then another, mouthing at
Sam’s sack until he acknowledges the begging going on above him.
“Baby, shh,” he chastises lightly, then lets saliva pool on his tongue for a
big fat lick from base to tip, sucking precome from him, lapping over his slit,
even daring to dip his tongue inside.  It’s like this has to be the best
blowjob ever performed, like he has to pull out every trick he knows.  He looks
up at Sam, flushed and squirming, his hands clenched at his sides—wait, that
isn’t right.  His hands slip up Sam’s hips and tug his hands down, letting go
when they touch his hair. Pull, baby.
“Cas, please, just…I can’t…I can’t…,” Sam babbles incoherently, leaning heavily
against the tree.  His fingers are just sort of twisted in Cas’s hair, too
overwhelmed with his own sensations to do much else but take it.  Cas looks up
at him and thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful, more perfect than
Sam Winchester all flushed and frantic.  “Sam,” he calls, and it takes two more
tries for Sam to open his eyes, to look down.  I love you, he thinks, and opens
up and takes him in. 
It’s so good, imagination didn't prepare him.  Cas’s eyes slip closed so he can
revel in Sam’s slim, perfect dick sliding over his tongue.  Ease, there is such
ease to this, Cas’s lips opening wider, tilting his head just so because he’s
not stopping ‘til his nose hits the bit of downy fuzz that passes for pubic
hair.  Tiny moans escape him as Sam’s cock sinks deeper, God, he can’t believe
how much he wanted this and it’s happening.  He wants to live on his knees for
Sam, he wants to wake every day choking on him, suck him off before he brushes
his teeth every night.  He’s painfully hard in his jeans, actually has to reach
down and unbutton them, try to shove at the zipper for a little relief without
ever taking his mouth off of Sam. 
He swallows around Sam, adjusting.  He could offer Sam to fuck his mouth, but
thinks he should handle things since it’s his first time.  He starts to move,
gripping Sam’s hips hard to steady himself as he shoves down on Sam.  He gags
once, but just grabs a breath and adjusts his angle; after that, Sam’s tip
disappears down his throat effortlessly, like he knew it would.  Sam doesn’t
have words left, just amazing noises that Cas didn’t know were missing from his
life.  When Sam starts thrusting instinctively, Cas stops barely long enough to
tug off the hair tie.  His lips are barely back around him in time for come to
explode down his throat, a surprising amount from his friend.  Lovingly he
milks him dry, mindful to keep some on his tongue to show Sam that a boy like
him really is worth something.
Sam drops gasping to his knees, almost falling on top of Cas, who stops him,
holds him there, Sam’s spit slick cock soft and bare against his own open
pants.  “Shh, I’ve got you, Sam, I’ve got you,” Cas whispers.  They stay that
way, Cas isn’t sure how long.  He's perfectly content even though he’s still
rock hard for Sam; he honestly doesn’t give a shit if he comes.  “Baby,” Cas
whispers; he loves this part where he holds his Sam.
“You’re so dead,” Sam whispers back.  Cas’s eyes fly open but that’s all he has
time for before he gets shoved to his back, “his Sam” riding him to the
ground.  “I don’t know what the fuck you just did to me,” Sam tells him,
pulling violently at his pants, his underwear.  “But I know I can do it, too. 
You’re mine now, Castiel Novak.”
Cas’s dick pulses at those words, a stream of precome slipping from him—he’s
honestly surprised that didn’t finish him.  But fuck if he hasn’t been waiting
to hear those words from Sam.  “Sam,” he whimpers.
“No, no, no, no sympathy for you, you fucking…tease…yeah, that’s it, you’re a-
a cocktease,” Sam tells him, the word slightly awkward and yet obviously
delicious on his 12 year old tongue.  He takes hold of Cas’s dick, then seems
to have a moment where he can’t decide, hands free like Cas did it or using his
hands for guidance.  Cas bites his lip and grips the icy grass under him (his
bare ass is instantly wet and freezing and he guesses that’ll matter when Sam
doesn’t have his hand around his dick.)
“I didn’t tease,” he whines, playing it up, then immediately cries out, as Sam
puts tentative kitten licks around the head of his cock.  “Fuck, Sam fuck!”
“Maybe that’s next time,” Sam says, his voice all dark and different the way it
gets sometimes, and Cas lets out another cry, the words sending a jolt right
through his dick, because is he serious, are they, will they??
Sam laughs evilly right against Cas’s cock, but after kissing and licking at
him he hesitates.  “Cas, seriously, I don’t wanna hurt you...am I….do I…?”
“I can help you,” Cas says softly.  He starts to sit up and Sam puts a hand on
his chest, making Cas’s heart pound.  “I’ll lay back down, I promise.  Just let
me…”
Sam hesitates, then lets him sit up, barely backing away.  Cas’s fingers aren’t
very long—Sam’s are longer—but it’ll have to do for this first lesson.  He
brings them to Sam’s mouth.  “Open up.”
Sam opens his mouth and Cas slips his middle finger in, instructing Sam to
close his lips around it.  "Just hold it there, don't try to suck or anything. 
Just let me move in your mouth," he tells him. "Oh, and don't let your teeth
touch--that shit hurts," he adds seriously and Sam blinks, nods solemnly in
understanding.  He starts with shallow thrusts first, then deeper until he gets
his first gag and pulls his finger away.  “Good.  See, you're not even trying
but your mouth just kinda does it automatically or something when you close
your lips around it.  Here, look, this is what it feels like,” Cas tells him
and grabs Sam’s hand, fucking his own mouth with Sam’s finger the same way
before letting Sam thrust.  He pulls off after a moment.  “See?  That’s without
trying to suck, it just happens just by my mouth going back and forth like
that, or if my mouth stays still but your finger moves.  Same difference.”
Sam frowns, ever the good student, looking like he wants to take notes.  “But
when you did it—“
Cas smiles slyly.  “Well, yeah.  You can help it along, too.”  He takes Sam’s
hand again, sucking his finger hard this time, letting his cheeks hollow out.
“Okay, got it, lay down,” Sam says, manhandling him. 
“I’m doing it!  Stop—ah!” Cas falls on his back and Sam swallows him down like
he’s been doing this forever.  He’s not fucking around like Cas did, just
sucking, almost brutally, gagging himself more than once, coughing,
sputtering,  but always determined to go right back.)
“Sam, fuck, yes, please,” Cas is whimpering and squirming, his hips want to
thrust but he’s trained (Cas only gets fucked, must never fuck without
permission.)  Only there’s no need to thrust when Sam’s trying to suck his
brains out of his dick.  When Cas comes down his throat, his back makes a full
arch, his head thrown back and he lets out a strangled cry.  Upside down, he
looks around all the sunlit green and loves, loves this place.  Their place. 
They should fuck here, too.
“Cas,” Sam calls him back and he straightens, pulls Sam on top of him.  “Cas,
listen—“
“Mmm…listenin’ baby...,” Cas tries to tug his face for a kiss. Sam lets him but
too soon he's pulling away.
“Cas, what I wrote.  It's the truth.  I.  I love you,” Sam says slowly.  “I-
I mean, I…I don’t wanna freak you out or anything.  I’ve just been
thinking…maybe we should just tell Dean.  So-so we could really be together. 
Go to dances and stuff, tell all our friends.  You know?”
Cas stares at him, blinking through his blissed out post-orgasmic haze to make
those words sound like English in his mind.  Because it sounded like Sam is…Sam
is saying... 
“You could think about it,” Sam adds nervously.  “We could talk about it…you
don’t have to—“
“Can you,” Cas tries and his voice is oddly hoarse.  He clears his throat. 
He’s not even looking at Sam, like he can’t bear it, like that’ll just be too
perfect for him.  He stares at the tops of the trees and lets the sun sting his
eyes.  “Can you say the first part again?”
But Sam’s fingers are light on his chin, tugging his face so he has to look
into all that blue-hazel sincerity.  “I love you, Cas.”
“Sam,” Cas whispers, curling his body towards his friend, bringing his face
close, looking at the one person on the planet worth condemning himself to
hell.  Inside himself, and with Sam's words buoying him up, he finds a bare bit
of courage.  “I...I love--“
“Shoulda known you’d be into pillow talk, Sammy,” Dean speaks up behind them,
and Cas wonders how he could’ve ever forgotten that they weren’t the only two
who knew about this place.  But somehow he isn’t surprised to see Dean—like
part of him expected this to happen.  “Blah, blah, blah…who wants to chat right
after they get their rocks off, am I right, Cas, or am I right?”
They scramble to their feet, fumbling at their jeans.
“Stop,” Dean says, and he’s crossing the clearing to grab each boy by an arm. 
“Don't get dressed on my account," he smiles cruelly.  "Nah, you guys wanted to
be outside with your little dicks out, so that’s how it’s gonna be.  Let all
the neighbors know what kinda kids I got.”  He starts dragging them, Cas
following with his head down, Sam struggling hard, trying to throw a kick at
the back of Dean’s knee, force him to stumble.  He manages to snap his wrist
free, but Dean grabs him again, having to let go of Cas so he can pin Sam’s
hands behind him.
“Dean what the FUCK?!” Sam screams, still struggling, and he’s even good at it,
but he’s held by the guy who taught him everything he knows.  “No, you’re not
doing this!”
Dean gut punches him hard  (harder than he’d hit Cas for sure) and Sam crumples
to the ground, but is immediately forced back to his feet, making him cry out. 
He tries to glare at Dean, but he just looks terrified.  “Oh, we’re doin’ it,
Sammy.  Knew I’d catch you someday and here we are.  And you got punishment
comin’…you both do,” he adds, sending a dark look at Cas.
“Dean, please let us fix our pants.  You’re…you’re scarin’ me,” Sam says in a
small voice, and Cas sees that he’s crying a little now. 
“Shoulda thought of that before,” Dean growls, unmoved, then his olive eyes
light with an idea.  “In fact maybe we should pull those pants down a little
more.  Seems to me you both wanted to give some kind of show.”
“Dean, don't make us do this,” Sam cries, and Cas can’t stand to see it, his
fear, his humiliation.
“You'd let neighbors see Sam?” Cas speaks up suddenly, and Dean rounds on him,
dragging Sam to where he stands.  He has about 2 seconds before he gets knocked
to the ground.  “They-they'll want him!”  He flinches, waiting for the blow
that doesn’t come.
When he looks, Sam is staring at him in misery and confusion, still held
captive in Dean’s merciless grip.  But Cas knew he’d be too possessive to want
others seeing Sam’s dick or anything else once he thought it through, and sure
enough, his full lips are pressed in a tight line.  “Fine.  Fix his pants and
yours; I can’t even trust this bitch to let him do his own.”
“Dean, please stop...don't be like this, I hate when you're like this,” Sam
whimpers, fresh tears spilling, and Cas wishes he could signal to him not to do
that, to at least stay quiet if nothing else.  This submissive, tearful Sam has
got to be pushing every button that Dean has…all the ones that should never,
ever be pushed. 
He steps forward and locks his eyes on Sam, trying to show him calm, trying to
tell him wordlessly that it’s going to be okay, they’ll get through it like
they do every time this happens.  He closes the other boy's pants deftly but
gently and risks squeezing his hip, a small reassuring touch.
“Back.  Up.” Dean’s low voice is the definition of threatening and Cas
scrambles back a few steps, dropping his eyes from both Winchesters.  “Let’s
go,” he starts dragging his brother, and Cas has no choice but to follow.
They are in such deep shit.
Chapter End Notes
     Come on. You always knew he'd catch them sometime.
***** Game Changer *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean gives Sam his promised punishment, and decides Cas is ready for
     "that hot thing he wanted to try", aka something he's been thinking
     about since before Halloween. Or, the time the Sam Game goes horribly
     wrong.
Chapter Notes
     So maybe you've noticed, but since last month I've been given a gift
     by another author. My first gift! :) :) <3 <3 Now, I realize that
     most of you are Destiel, and some of you are Wincest or Wincestiel,
     but if there's any Sastiel out there, I've recommended this author
     twice on my Bookmarks list--that's before I got the gift! ZoyciteM is
     the author's name, and she's amazing--she's gotta be if I can read a
     fic where Dean is a switch. Anyway I commented that I was imagining
     the villain from her one fic getting a hold of this soft little
     sweetheart brat from her other fic AND SO SHE WROTE IT. An AU one
     shot, and I love it to death. Her villain in Solnishko is my current
     villain crush, I'm so into him it's not even funny. Scary Russian
     mafia Castiel who deals in human trafficking and molds himself a
     slave Sam--I can't. I can't even. He's so evil and so fucking smooth.
     Anyway.
     Here's another chapter. One more to go.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean doesn’t know why his instincts are as well-honed as they are.  Maybe it’s
because he trusts them implicitly where others always follow logic first.  That
man doesn’t feel right…but he’s well-dressed, articulate, perhaps he has a
reputation for kindness and charity.  Most people second guess their own
misgivings and follow the well-dressed man to their own detriment.  Dean always
goes with his gut.
Also, if he hasn’t mentioned it before, he has a tendency to stalk his
brother.  Not often—he does work for a living—and hey, he has a life.  It’s
only when there’s a gap in the kid’s doings that Dean doesn’t know about.  For
instance if he makes a new friend, or supposedly joins some new “club” at
school (he’s in like 53 of those), or when he takes it upon himself to go
stomping around the woods—and Dean has to follow to make sure he isn’t meeting
some old pervert there.  That’s how he discovered how often Sam still goes to
that same spot in the woods, making a well-worn path between their home and the
clearing where he and Cas had their infamous beer tasting party.  And if Sam
goes there and masturbates with his best friend’s name on his lips, it’s his
secret.  He just doesn’t get to keep secrets from Dean (and also, how hot is it
that Sam likes doing stuff outside?  Kinky little son of a bitch.)
To his knowledge, Cas has never gone back to that spot with him. Dean guesses
he has good enough reasons, given the consequences last time around. 
That morning, Dean planned to leave early with his Dad and Bobby to check out a
rumored 1968 Ford Mustang GT hidden within a bunch of other rust buckets,
sitting forgotten on a farm in Ellsworth County.  It’s a new hobby of theirs
and Dean sort of invited himself into it, where they try to find classic cars
hidden around the countryside, buy them for peanuts (hopefully), and then
restore them to former glory to sell for profit.  It’s a long drive, about two
and a half hours each way, so Dean would’ve been gone all day. 
That’s what Sam expected, no doubt.
Except the kid was acting so squirrelly, fidgeting his way around Castiel like
he was hiding a ring behind his back (fucking girl).  Cas seemed oblivious,
actually a little annoyed with whatever Sam had planned.  Dean (pretending not
to listen) would hear things like “…can’t we just stay…” and “…if we stay, I’ll
let you…”, but whatever the plan, Sam was sticking to it.  It’s a mistake on
Sam’s part, careless to act that way when Dean’s around, no matter how
distracted by a potentially amazing find.  And honestly it’s been so long since
the game started.
His spankin’ hand is getting itchy.
He can’t follow them outright, because changing his plans will alert Sam.  He
actually leaves with his father, in his truck and all, and then it’s just a
matter of jumping out at the gas station with a half-hearted excuse, “I forgot
I need to blah blah blah.”  John’s surprised (and maybe a little disappointed),
but eager to get on his way—he doesn’t argue.  It means walking back (or it
would, if Mrs. DeAngelo from down the street hadn’t seen him walking and kindly
offered him a ride--that kind of thing is a given if you're Dean Winchester.) 
Still, the boys are gone when he gets back.
They could be anywhere, really.  There’s a long list of places that Sam takes
him where Cas doesn’t want to go, where he’ll bitch and moan as though it’s
ever gotten Sam to change his mind once it’s made up.  Still, if he thinks
about the clothes they were putting on, far too casual for meeting friends
(some would say a t-shirt and a flannel over jeans is pretty fucking casual,
too, but actually, there’s a difference between Winchester Outdoors and
Winchester Social Setting, just maybe it’s just too subtle for—you know what,
shut the fuck up.)  So.  Outdoors maybe.  And Sam with his promposal face on
suggests privacy, romance. 
Big.  Fucking.  Sigh.
As easy as it was to figure it out, he still almost misses it.  By the time he
gets to the edge of the ring of trees (using somewhat dense foliage as cover),
Cas is on his knees, and his brother…
Dean’s mouth falls open and the blood rushes to his dick.
His brother is standing with his back to a tree, though standing might be a
strong word—the tree seems to be all that’s holding him up.  He’s making these
little sounds.  They’re new, Dean’s never heard his brother make those
sounds…and yet there’s something of baby Sam in them, naked and unconscious
under Dean’s tongue, his hands, his fucking 17 year old dick. 
And he’s begging, too (wrong name on his lips, but oh, soo pretty, baby boy),
“Cas, please…p-please, I-I-I can’t…aah!  Please!”  His breathing is short, his
eyes are shut.  Dean wonders how he hasn’t come already, innocent baby that he
is, little pubescent boy should have spilled after the first two thrusts in
Cas’s hot little mouth.  He can’t hear what Cas is saying and all he can see is
the back of his head moving, his pale little hands clutching at Sam’s
thighs…but he does see the part where Cas puts Sam’s hands in his hair.
Good boy.
Dean has his hand in his pants without ever looking away, and he pulls his dick
out so he can come right here on the ground when he’s ready.  This is so much
what he’s wanted to see, this is the purpose of the game, his boys, his
children, slutting it up for him, Sam’s 12 year old dick being sucked down by
the baby angel who used to gag and choke and cry and plead with his eyes,
please don’t make me, I don’t want to,over there swallowing Sam down just the
way he’s been taught, like the fucking baby whore Dean forced him to be, and
how goddamn satisfying that investment has been.  And it’s stillnot enough.  He
wants this in his bed:  he wants them naked, Cas sucking Sam down because Dean
told him to do it, so he can watch them up close, touch their smooth skin,
devour and corrupt and fuck...and own. 
He hears his baby brother orgasm for the first time, and it’s enough to have
him spilling on the ground, his quiet gasps easily lost beneath Sam’s wordless,
high pitched cries.  Such a girl, always such a pretty little girl for Dean. 
Well.  For Cas, right now.  Dean frowns at the thought.  Cas doesn’t even own
himself, he sure as shit can’t have—what the fuck?!
Dean watches Sam push Cas to the ground (likes the aggression, it makes him
feel better—of course Cas doesn’t own Sam, and Sam would never submit to the
likes of baby Cas—that’s not who the fuck he raised.)  He watches the (quite
frankly adorable) blowjob lessons, and wishes he were at a better angle so he
could watch Cas suck on Sam’s fingers, too. 
Then Sam pushes him back down and tries to eat him, dick first.  Dean crouches,
trying to see better, wishing he could move closer, but the view is already
amazing.  Sam’s gorgeous mouth slurping loudly at Cas’s hard little boy cock. 
He likes Cas’s noises, too, though they’re not the revelation that Sam’s are. 
Still, he realizes they’re different with Sam…like maybe he’s different with
Sam.  He’s heard Cas desperate countless times.  He’s heard him beg, he’s heard
him come again and again, from before he could make actual spunk until now, but
he hasn't heard him like this.  It’s weird.  Like he should know everything
about Cas, especially sexually, and yet the boy has a secret.  From him.
Well, that just won’t work.
He lets them finish and then he waits a bit, in case this actually moves to the
next level, please Jesus.  According to his baby spy, this should be their
first blowjobs that he’s witnessing (Sam’s first ever, and while it’s not his
dick down Sam’s throat, at least he arranged this blowjob to some degree, and
now he got to watch it…that part helps.)  So he doubts they’d move straight to
sex, and true to form, Sam starts yapping Cas’s ear off with a starry eyed look
that Dean’d just as soon smack right off his pretty little face.  Because you
don’t look at someone else like that Sammy.  No fucking way.
He steps into the clearing.
 
                                       ~
                                        
Back at the house, he makes them sit together on the loveseat while he pours
himself a drink.  Funny enough, the same reason that Sam had for thinking Dean
would be gone all day is now Dean’s assurance that John will be similarly
absent—and that’s making the ludicrous assumption that the two men won’t stop
for a drink or twelve at some point. 
He could fuck them.  Here, today, he could cuff them together, and just rampage
all over them.  So tiny and frightened and sweet for him.  He’s notreally
thinking that, it’s just--oh, it did a number on pretty Sammy, having Dean
manhandle him with his baby dick swinging in the breeze (not that it’s really
big enough to swing—decent size though for his age, maybe even an inch bigger
than Dean had been back then--true to form, Winchester men always pack heat.) 
His confidence is shot, he can’t even look at his big brother.  He keeps trying
to reason with him while he can barely get the words out and Dean finds it so
goddamn gorgeous on him.  What’s the matter, Sammy?  Don’t like Big Brother
seeing you being a slut for Cas’s little prick?  Yeah.  It's a turning point
for them.
He really wishes he could’ve dragged them back with their pants open and little
spit-wet dicks out for all to see, but Cas is right.  That’s like coating Sam
in barbeque sauce and chucking him in a lion’s den.  Every freak in this
neighborhood would want a piece, he just knows it.  Doesn’t mean he appreciates
Cas spoiling his good time.  Little motherfucker already has it coming extra
special, just because he gave the first blowjob and Dean was real fucking
specific about making the first move.  Dean’s not mad, mind you—he’s grateful
Cas lost control, or doubtless Sam would’ve kept everything PG, and he would’ve
hung himself from one of those trees waiting for things to get good.  But rules
are rules, right?  Poor baby needs a time out.
Or something.
He sighs into his glass and swallows down half of it in one go, trying to calm
himself some.  Fuck if that scene wasn’t arousing though, and then what he’s
about to do now.  It’s just taking more effort than he’d like not to walk over
and jam his dick into something small, tight, and screaming.  He will hear some
screams and see tears, though.  That is his due, and he’s fucking taking
it—Sammy played the game and he lost this round.  He refills his glass and
walks to his boys.  Sits down across from them.
“So what are we lookin’ at here, boys?” he starts, and this time his voice is
calm.  He isn’t angry and he can’t fake it.  No, anger isn’t the right word at
all.   “Should we start with the agreement we had, that you broke?  Or the fact
that when I called you out a few weeks ago, one of you lied by omission and one
of you lied right to my face?”
“I…I’m sorry,” Sam whispers, staring down at his lap. 
“You’re sorry you got caught, I know.  You’re sorry that you and your fucking
boytoy here are about to be made into whining, whimpering little girls in front
of each other.  Bet you’re really sorry about that.”
Sam doesn’t argue, probably because they both know Dean’s right.  The time for
lying about it is long past.  But he lifts his eyes to Dean’s.  “He’s not a
boytoy.  He’s—“
Dean stands, cracks him across the face, and enjoys the red handprint and
shimmering tears.  He looks him in the eye.  “A, Cas knows what I think he is,
don’t fucking interrupt me with semantics.  And 2, I’d say you both got bigger
problems right now than a little name calling.”  He sits again.
Apparently someone’s courage is getting a second wind, because he tries again
(albeit in a somewhat breathier and more high pitched voice than normal). 
“Look, Dean, you’re right to be pissed…I-I get it!  But we were talking…we were
gonna talk to you anyway.  Cas and I—“
“Sam!” Cas interrupts, and puts his hand on Sam’s leg, squeezes (Dean’s eyes
are glued to where he touches him.)  When Sam frowns at him he shakes his head,
blue eyes intense and worried.  “Don’t.”
“Yeah, listen to boytoy,” Dean smirks, but then the expression fades and he
stares at them meaningfully.  “Don’t.” 
Slowly, Cas’s hand comes away and his eyes lower.  This time Sam doesn’t say
anything else.  Maybe because Dean is staring at him.  Staring in a way he
normally doesn’t allow himself, at least when Sam is conscious.  Fuck…what he
saw in the woods…sweet Sammy, the only first left for him is that tiny little
hole…
“Sam,” he starts, and his voice is low, almost gritty.  Take your clothes off,
is what he wants to say…wants to watch the fear fill his eyes, the disbelief
(the betrayal.)
“Are…are you still going to punish me first, Dean?” Cas interrupts and Dean’s
gaze snaps to him.  He can’t decide yet if he’s annoyed by the distraction, but
at least the voice is tiny and timid, blue eyes low and respectful. 
Submissive.  His sweet boy.
“Cas,” Sam hisses, not happy.
“You volunteering, kiddo?” Dean asks, interested.  It’s good for Sam to see his
easy, perfect slave—he doesn’t expect that from Sam, not really, not all the
time.  Still, he should know what it looks like.
“N-no, it’s just…you said…last time…,” Cas looks down at his folded hands in
his lap, probably (if Dean has to guess) upset that Sam will be pissed at him
for this.  After all, it’ll be Cas’s ass on the line, but the punishment was
created for Sam.
Because, yeah, he remembers now.
“Good boy, Cas, I almost forgot about that…you go first.  Sammy gets to watch
and count.  How excited are you guys for that?” he says teasingly, but he
doesn’t get a response.  Fine.  “Great.  Go up to my closet and get me the
wooden paddle you’ll see hanging on the door.”
Sam opens his mouth but no sound comes out, and after a moment he shuts it and
looks down again. 
Cas starts reluctantly for the stairs then stops.  “Can’t you…can’t you come
with me, Dean?”  Dean frowns at him and he makes his blue eyes wide.  “I…I
don’t…what if I can’t find it?  Please?”
Dean sighs.  Cas gets away with shit that he wouldn’t if Sam weren’t watching. 
If Dean goes with him at least he can crack him one in private.  “Fine.  Sam. 
Corner.  Cas, let’s go.”
As soon as Cas crosses the threshold of his bedroom, Dean spins him, shoves him
down on his bed and pins him down, kissing him hard, running his hands
everywhere, groping him, fondling him.  All Cas can do is whimper and try to
kiss back.  Then Dean sits up, unzips, takes out his straining dick and
straddles Cas’s face.  He doesn’t need to say anything, Cas knows to open up
and Dean lets out a soft groan at the relief he finds in his warm, wet mouth. 
He fucks fast and shallow, knowing by now what Cas can handle, until he’s ready
to come—honestly it doesn’t take long.  The image of his baby brother coming
apart is still so fresh and new, and he needs to be able to think straight. 
Because what comes next is going to be good, too.  He shoves in harder just to
feel Cas choke around his dick while he comes. 
“Good boy…that’s my good boy,” he soothes, wiping at his tears, and patting him
on the back when he releases him.  “I needed that.”  He kisses Cas
perfunctorily and then he’s up and moving for his closet.  He watches Cas’s
eyes go round like they always do, looking at Dean’s ever-growing collection of
implements and restraints.  Dean doesn’t hide it—both of the other Winchesters
know he’s pretty much a man-whore.  They operate under a ‘stay out of Dean’s
stuff if you don’t want to know’ policy (clearly from the porn-trauma incident
in his fucking bedroom, it doesn’t work that well on horny and curious 12 year
old boys). 
He grabs the paddle he wants—not wide (they’re such small butts after all), but
a good inch thick made of solid oak.  He has fun shopping for these things with
Cas in mind (and Jo…though her things tend to be small and heart-shaped, and he
makes her keep them in her room for him.)  But mostly he buys for Cas.  He saw
one paddle with a cut out in the center shaped like a cat, and how fucking cute
would he be with his ass all red except a white cat on each cheek? He didn’t
get it, though…makes him feel like he’s getting soft on his angel.
He heads back downstairs where pretty Sam waits in a corner.  Fuck, he
should’ve made him stand there with his pants down.  Except he would’ve argued
and pissed Dean off.  And he’s in a great mood, who wants that?  “Come on back,
Sammy, let’s get this started,” he tells his brother, and when the boys are
seated on the loveseat again he chooses the armchair.  He hefts the paddle,
liking the way Sam’s eyes track it.  Cas’s eyes are lowered; Dean can remember
a time when his eyes would fearfully follow whatever Dean was about to use on/
against/in him, but he’s mostly broken of the habit (unless it’s something pink
or frilly.)
“Castiel, come here,” he says, almost gently. 
“Dean, please,” Sam whispers, as Cas moves toward his Master.  “Don’t—“
Dean stares at Sam.  “Now, see, usually I just smack you across the mouth when
you can’t shut the fuck up.  But maybe today every time you open up without my
permission, I add five for Cas.  How about that?  You think you can just take
your punishment then?  Maybe we could get through this and move on?” 
Sam swallows, and Dean watches him struggle with it, wanting to argue but
afraid the new rule starts effective now (and of course it does—Dean would flip
Cas over his lap and have at it before Sam could finish bitching.)  Apparently
Sam knows that as well, because his shoulders drop and he lowers his eyes. 
“Yes, Dean.”
Dean nods his approval.  “Good boy.  Okay, Cas.  Pants and underwear need to
hit those ankles.”
Cas obeys without making eye contact, but his cheeks flush bright pink.  It’s
one thing to drop trou for Dean alone, or even just Sam (both of which already
took getting used to for shy little Cas), but Dean knows the humiliation of
stripping down for punishment in front of another boy, especially when that boy
has no direction other than to watch.  Believe him, he knows. It’s just
different.  It’s just that much worse.  And Dean has made sure he’ll be
completely exposed.
He doesn’t have to pull Cas over his lap, the boy practically dives for the
cover, keeping his head down as though that way he can pretend Sam isn’t in the
room.  Dean pats his bottom, looking directly at Sam.  “So…I told you this
would be bad if—when I caught you sneaking around—“
“How did you catch us?  You were spying—“ Sam starts, something he’s obviously
been dying to say. 
Five smacks to Cas’s ass with the paddle, no prep.  Because it makes Cas
scream, and Sam jumps at the sound (and more importantly his mouth shuts with a
snap.)  “Stop doing that to him,” Dean snaps and Sam flushes, probably with the
effort not to snap back.  “He has enough coming because of you—and watch your
fucking face, too, kid, yeah it is because of you.  Not that I owe you one
single explanation, but it’s a good idea for you to always assume I’m following
you.  You got that?  I’m in charge of you and you’re a fucking liar, so I gotta
do what I gotta do to keep you safe.”
Sam's mouth falls open again but Dean doesn't give him the chance.  “So, now
Cas here is gonna get 10 spanks from my hand and then he gets fifty with
the—Sam, I swear to God, don’t—“ he hefts the paddle menacingly and Cas helps
the cause by giving a small cringe, a tiny whimper.  Sam grips the couch
cushion beneath him and bites his lip hard, hazel eyes blazing.  “Fifty.  With
the paddle.  Then another ten with my hand.  All while you count for him,
Sammy.  And it is your fault, and I want you to think about that the entire
time.  I know you’re just dyin’ to argue with me, so let me prove it to you
real simple-like.”  He tugs Cas up to standing, and cuddles him close, rubbing
his back soothingly as though he’s oblivious that the boy he holds is half
naked.  “Cas, I admit this is fucked up, and it’s gonna hurt like hell.  You
can leave, you know.  You don’t have to do this.  I can punish him another way
and you’ll just have to stay away for a while.”
“I’m part,” Cas says feebly, and Dean kisses his forehead.  It’s all the scared
boy can manage.  Fifty is a lot, and he knows what this particular paddle feels
like. 
Sam’s lips part helplessly, looking at his frightened friend but Cas refuses to
look back. 
Dean rubs his back.  “Okay, then.  I’m gonna ask you a question…and you might
want to lie for Sammy here but don’t bother, okay?  I already know the answer.”
Cas nods without looking at Dean, looking like he’s wishing the floor would
swallow him up. 
“After the day I asked Sammy about those marks on his neck…the day I promised
that this is exactly what I’d do…,” Dean pauses, looks at his brother.  “Did
you try to get Sam to stop sneaking around with you?”
Shocked, Cas looks up at Dean, and even turns to Sam, who looks equally
horrified.  “I—I…”
Dean gives a light slap to his ass.  “C’mon, kid.  No point lyin’ remember?”
“Yes…but…”
Dean flips him back over carelessly.  Looks at his brother while he strokes
over Cas’s butt possessively.  “That’s right.  Knew you did because this shit
scares you.  But Sam didn’t want to stop, did he?  He just wanted to get his
rocks off.”
Sam shakes his head, and puts a hand over his mouth, like he has to physically
restrain himself from speaking, probably from trying to apologize to Cas, when
it would just cost him another five spanks.  He looks so beautifully tormented
and Dean can’t help but rub it in.  He looks at his little brother and shakes
his head.  “For fucks sake, Sam…he’s supposed to be your best friend.”
Sam lowers his eyes to the floor, his hands in fists at his sides. 
“No, Sammy.  Not today.  Eyes on Cas.  Gotta make sure you get the count right,
or we’ll be here forever.  I don’t think his little ass can take more than
fifty, do you?”
Little tears of guilt and frustration appear at the corners of the boy’s eyes,
and they fall easily when he reluctantly looks at his friend.  Everything about
him says that he’s sorry, that he’d take Cas’s place in a heartbeat if he
could.
That isn’t the way this works though.
Dean gives Cas his ten spanks and Sam counts them, voice all small and tearful
and adorable.  Funny enough, Cas doesn’t cry, maybe for the first time since
Dean started spanking him (including in private).  Like he’s trying to tough it
out so Sam won’t feel bad, or that’s what Dean assumes.  He’s not worried; no
way his baby withstands the paddle against his oh-so-delicate flesh.
When he starts with the paddle, he gives one shot, not too hard, not like the
first five, but Cas can’t help but cry out. 
“One,” Sam whimpers, and Dean shifts in his seat, rubbing against Cas’s  little
body.  He brings the paddle down on the other cheek.  It takes five each side
for Cas to start crying, and Sam cries, too, as if it’s him on the chopping
block.  By the twentieth, he’s a sobbing mess, squirming hard and helplessly
against Dean’s hold, like he can’t help but fight.  He never says stop,
though.  By thirty, Sam can’t get the words out anymore, and Dean puts the
paddle down, stroking over cherry red, burning hot skin.  “Sammy,” he says
gently, sounding disappointed.
“Dean, please, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry, please, can’t we…can’t you…you
could paddle me, however many times, I promise—“ Sam begs, slipping to his
knees in front of the loveseat, staring up at Dean like his little heart is
breaking. 
“Sammy,” Dean says again, and gestures to him to come over.  When Sam does,
Dean thumbs away his tears only to have fresh ones pour over his fingers as Sam
sobs, pressing into his touch.  “Baby brother,” he says softly, stroking his
hair back from his tear-stained little face.  “Sweetheart, I have to finish.  I
can’t have you lying—not to me,” he takes Sam’s small face in his large hand
and grips, not tightly but firm, suddenly sincere.  “You’re not allowed secrets
from me, Sam.  And I told you it would be bad.” 
Sam jerks out of his hold and moans like he’s really in pain.  Dean sucks his
teeth, shaking his head.  “Come on, Sammy, you’re still making this about
you.”  He takes Sam’s hand and puts it on Cas’s bare ass and Cas jumps, pulling
in a little gasp.  Sam looks reluctantly at the abused flesh and Dean moves his
hand.  “Make him feel better, like I do for you,” Dean suggests.  Cas whines at
the contact.  Sam tries to pull away and Dean grips tighter, just to show he
can, really.
“We’re just hurting him more, Dean!  He needs the numbing stuff, can he…can he
at least have that, please?”
“Of course,” Dean says, letting Sam go now.  “I’m not a monster.  But that’s
after, you know that.  Cas, how you doin, buddy, you hanging in there?”  Dean
strokes over the sore little bottom and feels the boy shudder over his lap. 
“Doin’ so good for me.”
“Mm—Dean,” Cas sniffles.  His little chest is heaving with hitching breaths as
he tries to calm himself.  “I-it burns…really bad!” he sobs and Dean rubs his
back, his bottom. 
He hushes him.  “I know, kiddo, we’ll fix it after.  You’re almost done now,
come on, we’ll finish up.  Go sit down, Sammy, it’s time to get counting
again.”
“But—“
“Sam.  Sit.”  Dean watches him meaningfully and he does, but Dean still feels
the need to add, “I let you get away with talking without permission that time,
but don’t take advantage.  Cas can’t afford it.”  Cas makes a little sound and
Dean strokes his hair again.  Then hefts the paddle.
Twenty more. 
Cas is a mess.  Dean’s supposed to give him 10 more hand spanks—and he does—but
they’re light because at this point a feather would break him.  There’s no way
this won’t bruise, he’ll be feeling it for at least a week.  Sam, whose bottom
is still lily white untouched, is almost as upset. 
They’re beautiful.
Cas’s pants probably hurt like a bitch, but the boy still tries to pull them
up, protecting his modesty.  Dean stops him.  “C’mon kid, we know it
hurts…everybody in this room’s been where you are or worse.  And it wants
cream, not pants.”  He hugs him and Cas takes the comfort, tucking his head
into Dean’s neck and soaking his shirt with tears.  “You’re okay, you’re such a
good boy, aren’t you, took that like a champ for Sammy.”
Sam is standing nearby looking dejected and uncertain.  His eyes are red and
swollen but he isn’t crying anymore.  “Can I help him, Dean?” he whispers.
The answer should be no, if it were for Cas’s sake…surely the last thing he
wants is his pretty boyfriend standing around to watch him sob like a baby with
his dick still hanging out, getting cream put on his ass.  But for Dean that
just makes it all the sweeter…and he wants both his boys with him now.  “Yeah,
let’s get him up to your room, I’ll put him on your bed.”  He picks Cas up
bridal style with his pants still down.  Cas clings to him and keeps his eyes
shut, trying to get a handle on his crying while Dean whispers soothing praises
and kisses his cheeks, his forehead. 
“This is new cream, Cas,” Dean tells him when he has him lying on his stomach
on the bed.  “It’ll feel really cold, but it’ll make the pain go away.  Just
gotta put it on a couple times a day, it’ll help with the bruising and
swelling,” he lifts his fingers when the red bottom is coated in white, without
any funny business either (Sam’s eyes never leaving him.)  He gets Cas some
water and makes him take some children's pain meds (out of date stuff that used
to be Sam's, but he's only giving it to him for Sam's benefit anyway.)  “Rest,
kiddo,” Dean kisses his forehead. 
Then he turns to Sam.  "Come on...it's your turn now."  He sees Sam look
surprised, so he clarifies.  "Cas isn't gonna watch and count; that was a
punishment for you.  Poor kid needs to rest.  This will be just you and me.”
Cas starts to lift up on his elbows, looking alarmed and Dean points at him. 
“Down.”  He obeys instantly, still looking worried, but Dean’s got better
things to think about.  “C’mon, Sammy…in my room.”
He gestures for Sam to go ahead of him, and then closes his door behind them,
startling the kid. 
Sam stands awkwardly.  Dean sits on his bed and looks at him expectantly. 
“C’mon, buddy, get ‘em down for me.”
Sam opens his pants, shoves them and his underwear to his ankles without Dean
having to specify.  He climbs over his older brother’s lap and Dean tugs him
until his ass is centered just right.  When he speaks, his voice is soft,
perfectly cowed the way Dean likes him best.  “Are you…is it ten, fifty, ten
for me, too?”
Dean strokes his back, lets his hand roam over his bottom, too.  “Why, you want
less?”
“More,” Sam says tearfully, and Dean tugs him up so he’s sitting in his lap,
loving his vulnerability, wishing so badly he could take his clothes off and
hold him just like this. 
“More, huh?  Why’s that?” he asks him, tucking his head against his shoulder
and tickling lightly over his arm (wanting to move it to his thigh, wondering
if he can pass that off as comforting.)  “Feelin’ guilty?”
Sam starts to cry full out again.  “You’re right Dean he…he wanted to stop and
I made him keep doing it.  I got him hurt, I-I—I didn't mean to...”
“Shh, Sammy—“
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I meant, it’s what I did,” Sam brushes off his
comforting touch and scrubs angrily at his eyes.  “He’s hurting because of me,
but…”
Dean strokes his hair, mesmerized, wanting to kiss him.  “But what?”
Sam turns desperate eyes to him, the blue and green so bright when he cries. 
“I…I really like him, Dean, okay?  And I don’t wanna just be his friend
anymore—he didn’t want me to tell you but I know I can.  And if you say he
can’t sleep over, if he can’t be here when you’re not, then okay.  I just…I
wanna be with him for real.”  Sam drops against Dean’s chest, exhausted from
his admission.  “I love him.  I…I love Cas, Dean.”
Dean closes his eyes and reaches for control.  Because this…sure, it can
happen, he decides.  But only the way he wants it to.  And maybe it’s the right
thing for the three of them.  Maybe it’s finally time to stop fighting it.  It
could all be so perfect… “You’re…” he tries, and then has to clear his throat,
because it’s gone dry.  “Look kid, that’s…let’s put a pin in that for now,
okay?  Get past this punishment first.  I need to think about it.”
Sam blinks at him.  “But you said—“
“Not now, Sam,” he says sharply, and flips him back over when he looks like he
wants to argue some more.  And his spanking starts out harder than he intended
because suddenly he’s even more worked up than he already was. 
Sam is weeping not long after they switch to the paddle, but he never asks him
to stop, or slow down, never complains about the pain.  He can’t keep quiet and
he can’t stop squirming; his small hands are even shaking, Dean thinks from the
effort not to try and cover himself.  And Dean loves it.  Finds himself
slamming the paddle down sometimes, just to hear him scream.  He gives him a
break and rubs his sore, apple-red cheeks, and maybe Dean’s fingers shake, too,
because of how much he wants to stroke and probe.  Sam’s skin is so warm, his
crying is so perfect.  There are so many ways Dean can make him cry…
After Sam’s spanking, Dean gives him a couple of pills to swallow. 
Sniffling, Sam frowns at them in his little palm.  “Dean, these are—“
“Don’t worry about it, it’s just another kind.  Swallow.  Now.  Don’t make me
check.”  He hands him a bottle of water and stares.
Sam is still frowning a little, but Dean thinks it’s more that he’s not used to
harsh treatment after his spanking.  He knocks back the pills though, really
too upset and hurting (Dean hadn’t even waited to treat his bottom before
making him take them) to argue. 
When Dean carries him into his own bedroom, Cas is either asleep or pretending
to be.  Dean treats his brother thoroughly but perfunctorily, because his mind
is on other things (there’s this hot thing he wants to try).  With a last kiss
to his little brother’s forehead, he leaves the boys alone and goes downstairs
for a drink.  He’s been waiting a long time to do this, since he first thought
of it, even before the Halloween party.  It’s finally time, Cas is finally
ready, he fucking has to be, after that blowjob, after being so close to Sam
all this time, and just nearly constant blue balls.  He waits twenty minutes
before going up to his room, getting out the things he needs.  It isn’t long
before Cas comes looking for him.
“What are we doing today, Master?”
“You’re drinking,” Dean hands him the whiskey and watches him take a few gulps
before holding out the pink satin blindfold.  “Up on the bed, baby angel. 
We’re gonna play the Sam game.”  He watches his boy move to the bed and then
starts to help him undress.  Cas lifts his arms and moves as needed but
otherwise lets Dean do all the work.  He’s looking at the items Dean has
already laid out on the bed:  black leather wrist and ankle cuffs, a length of
slender but sturdy silver chain, ear plugs, and something brand new—a silicone
prostate massager (nice and small for his little boy) that has a ring attached
to it (you’re damn right it’s pink).  He looks wide-eyed back at Dean, who
grins.  “The Sam Game with a twist.”
There is time to pour more liquor down his throat.  To kiss and touch him the
way he must, having had his gorgeous little body over his lap the way it was,
with how enticing he is with his round little ass so red and abused for Dean. 
But not a lot of time.
There are other things he needs to get ready.  And he’s already been waiting
long enough.
 
                                     * * *
It’s his first day of school.  He doesn’t know anybody and these kids keep
staring at him.  Not necessarily unfriendly, not all of them, anyway.  But of
course he’s wearing mustard yellow corduroy pants and a button down shirt with
way too many colors in it.  Under a vest.  He’s not exactly…he doesn’t really
know about clothes and styles and things (his mom sets things out, he puts them
on), but it doesn’t take a genius to see the other kids have on jeans and t-
shirts.  And sneakers that have words on the side, not these unmarked ones like
he has.  He bets theirs fit right, too.   At least they’re not rich kids, not
even close.  Just that much less poor than he is.
He’s in class and already seems to have made a horrible impression on the
teacher, and now he realizes he’s missing something from the checklist his
mother had been given.  He was supposed to bring a pack of markers, but he
doesn’t have them.  Surreptitiously he looks around, and he’s not the only one
to forget, but these kids have all known each other since kindergarten, they
just scoot their desks close and share.  He can’t do that because what if he
asks, and the person says no?  He’s weird…they might not want other kids to see
them share with him.  He lowers his eyes and pretends to be searching in his
desk, as though the markers might suddenly appear. 
“Hey!  Hey, new kid!”  The words are hissed from his left, and he looks up
reluctantly, flinchingly.  He knows the boy on his left is super popular (he’d
been watching him sort of bitterly earlier) and is probably about to make fun
of him, draw attention to the fact that he—
“Pull your desk over, we’ll share,” the kid says simply and smiles, flashing
two dimples.  Right away the tightness in his chest eases—maybe for the first
time in a while (and he feels a little bad for the uncharitable thoughts he’d
been having about the kid.)
“Thanks,” he says gratefully, smiling back.  He awkwardly moves his desk, and
the other boy spreads the markers out in the middle.  He doesn’t have a new
pack like most other kids, but instead a bunch of mismatched ones that he keeps
in a big plastic sandwich bag with a zip top.  And even though he’s dressed
like the other kids, it’s obvious his clothes are hand-me-downs.  It makes him
feel a little better—the boy is miles cooler, but maybe they could still be
friends.
“I’m Sam Winchester,” the boy says kindly. 
“Castiel,” he whispers, and Sam looks at him, blinking gorgeous blue-hazel
eyes, a color Cas has never seen in his life, and will likely never see on
anyone else. He clears his throat and tries again.  “I-I’m Castiel.  Novak.”
“Cool name,” Sam says, and they smile at each other again. 
 
                                       ~
 
Cas is squirming on the bed, and he’s going out of his fucking mind.  He thinks
he’s crying out—he feels like he might even be screaming—but the earplugs
muffle everything, prevent him from being certain.  He’s on his stomach with
his wrists and ankles connected behind his back.  He can see a little because
his writhing has moved the blindfold almost to his forehead.  It’s enough that
in his twisting and (screaming) moaning, he can see that he’s alone.  That Dean
has left him like this.
This is not the fucking Sam Game.
It started out similarly, but Dean already had a different energy, that same
new energy that’s been building since the clearing (and with Dean, new energy
is almost always bad.)  He stripped Cas down and rubbed some kind of sweet
smelling lotion into his skin.  He put the blindfold on and started talking
about Sam, except even that wasn’t normal.
“Tell me about his dick in your mouth, sweet angel…tell me about swallowing his
come…”
Dean was really excited.
Cas didn’t want to obey, not really, but he didn’t hesitate because you don’t
mess with Dean when he’s excited to try something.  And of course it worked,
like it does every time, his body knows this game, his brain loves it, the time
he gets to imagine being the worst kind of dirty slut for Sam, all the darkest
things he’s capable of doing, getting Sam to fuck him, his mouth, his ass, the
way he could fuck down Cas’s throat, how Cas could bounce on his dick…how they
could do it at school, in the treehouse, or in the backseat of the Impala while
Dean drives and pretends he doesn’t know…
“And where would you put your tongue on him, baby?”
Everywhere, and in that moment it felt like Gospel truth to say it, that it
would be pleasure to kneel between his legs while he does his homework and warm
his cock or his sack, that if Sam wanted he’d spread his cheeks and lick him
open, finger him and find the spot that feels best.
He was so turned on, so lost in this Sam-Game-headspace, that it shocked him,
made him whimper when Dean tugged the blindfold up (not off, just on his
forehead so he could see.)  He had the cuffs on his hands and ankles but until
then nothing had been connected.  Then Dean threaded the silver chain through
the cuffs at his wrists, binding them at the back of his neck.  He laid him
gently on his back and put his regular pink cock ring on him.  Then he showed
him a bottle of something that Cas assumed was lube. 
“Got you some new stuff, Cas, it’s pretty crazy.  Want you to try it.” 
“What does it do, Master?”
“You’ll see,” Dean said and smirked.  Cas’s dick was really hard from the Sam
Game, but he bit his lower lip, starting to feel nervous again.  Worse when
Dean snapped on a latex glove before he poured some of the stuff on his hand. 
He’d never done that before, and all the sudden Cas was afraid that this was
gonna turn into one of the nights where Dean does things that just hurt. 
“Master,” he whimpered, and Dean hushed him and stroked his thighs with his
other hand, soothing, but also pushing them back open wide where they’d started
to close up (against the rules, don’t you know.) 
“You’ll like it,” Dean said and then he touched each of Cas’s nipples with the
sticky stuff. 
Cas blinked at him and his fear dropped away some.  So far it just…tingled.  It
was kind of nice, really.  Made him want to be touched there sort of. 
Dean watched him, and Cas squirmed a little.  Because, okay, the tingling was
like…increasing.  It was making him really hard, really needy.  And it was
making him want to rub his nipples (which obviously he couldn’t do, but he
shifted his wrists as though maybe he could slip the cuffs just for a little
relief).  Like maybe it was more than a tingle, maybe almost a burning—
Dean swiped the glove liberally up and down Cas’s cock.  Coating it. 
“Master,” he whimpered, and Dean hushed him, leaned forward to kiss his lips. 
Cas kissed back at first but then surprised himself by actually yanking his
face away.  He didn’t mean to do it it’s just that the tingling (burning) was
really getting out of hand.  Like he was trying to twist so he can rub against
the bed (Dean stopped him, kept him on his back) and he groaned in frustration,
in need.  “Master--,” he starts to yell but just then Dean’s hand wrapped
around him, starting to stroke, and the feeling was instant relief, it was
amazing, the best handjob in a young but thorough lifetime of them.  He shoved
up hard into Dean’s hand, his mouth open, small, high-pitched sounds pouring
out. 
Dean licked and sucked at first one nipple, then the other and each one that
gets attention gets relief, although unlike his dick, the fire on his nipples
dies down after Dean’s been there.  Then Dean kissed him and his lips and
tongue tingled, too, and he kissed back desperately.  Every time Dean let him
go he begged him to touch him, begged him not to stop, promised him anything. 
“Anything, baby angel?” Dean bit his nipple hard and Cas squealed, but the pain
didn’t affect him; every sensation secondary to the blaze of need from his
weeping dick.  He wished Dean would let him fuck something, preferably his
lovely, talented mouth. 
The second Dean removed the cock ring, he came all over his hand, but he was
hard again by the time he finished lapping his come off of Dean’s fingers,
palm, and wrist.  He whined, uncomfortable and way oversensitive, his skin
crawling strangely.  But Dean had a washcloth in a bowl of water with actual
ice, and he used it to clean him.  It was agonizing and he tried hard enough to
get away that Dean bruised him holding him down, but when it was done he wasn’t
hard  and the stuff seemed to be off his skin. 
“Interesting stuff, huh?" Dean said, wiping the blessedly cool cloth over his
hard nipples, making him shiver and break out in goosebumps.  But Dean didn’t
cover him or let him dress (obviously—he hasn’t even gotten off yet).  Instead
he sat him up and gave him a few swallows of whiskey.  The effects of the lube,
of the game, kept him from noticing the warm haze from the alcohol, so just
then it felt like it all hit him at once, and it was nice.  That’s when Dean
started fingering him (regular lube, thank everything holy).  He was pliant and
tired; he opened up beautifully for his Master.  When it came time to put the
prostate massager inside him, it slid in like a dream.
Dean only put it on the lowest setting at first, but as soon as Cas was hard
again, he put the attached ring around his dick and balls.  Cas sighed inwardly
(here we go again.)  Then Dean used the silver chain to attach all the cuffs
behind his back.  He put him on his stomach, lowered the blindfold, and put in
his earplugs.  Then he raised the massager to a slightly higher but still low
setting.  And that’s where he’s been until now.  Like the lube, it started out
okay, but enough time has passed and there are tears of desperation slipping
down his cheeks.  “Master,” he keeps whimpering (or screaming—just can’t be
sure), “Please…”
He doesn’t hear or see Dean return (his eyes are shut tight), but he feels with
relief when his blindfold is adjusted back over his eyes and he’s lifted into
Dean’s strong arms.  It’s not unusual for Dean to change venues in the middle
of a session—sometimes he suddenly wants to see Cas over the kitchen table, or
maybe in the bathtub—or somewhere in Sam’s room if he isn’t home.  Dean is bare
against him and Cas tries to burrow against his warm skin, wanting all the
contact, wanting the next part, when Dean will fuck him and he’ll come and
maybe be allowed a rest. 
There is some shuffling, and then he is laid somewhere on top of Dean’s hot
flesh, though it feels weird.  His mind can’t quite figure out the positions of
them both with the feel of sharp, angular bones beneath him and he stills,
trying to allow his brain to make sense of it.  It’s weird, too, because of the
muffled sounds Dean’s making, and the way he’s like writhing or moving, almost
like he wants to keep Cas guessing.  Then Cas’s head is lifted and his mouth is
lowered over Dean’s cock and there’s an explosion of those tingles in his
mouth.  The stuff isn’t bad tasting, he thinks as he automatically starts to
suck, it might have a slightly chemical aftertaste but you—
This isn’t Dean’s dick.
It’s smaller and it’s Sam, he’s on top of Sam, he screams and tries to pull off
but Dean’s hand shoves him down, and he chokes when the tip hits the back of
his throat, his nose touching Sam’s balls.  He starts crying, and he’s shaking
all over, his stomach flipping like maybe he’ll throw up for the first time in
years.  But the fucking vibrator is still buzzing away at his prostate and the
cock ring holds his dick hostage, so that raping his best—no his love, the boy
he fucking loves, is exciting to his body, that his body begs him to rub
against him, find friction on his sweaty, unwilling skin.
Dean is tugging the earplugs out.  “Calm down right now, Cas.  You could hurt
him.”
He stills, trying to open his mouth wide enough that none of him is touching
the hot flesh stuffed in the small space, but it’s impossible and he whines,
wanting to scream again.  He can feel himself being unchained and immediately
he straightens his arms, his legs, though he doesn’t try to lift himself off,
knowing he’ll be stopped.  Mercifully, Dean pulls him off carefully and lifts
his body off of Sam, who is writhing on the bed, who is groaning and whimpering
at the loss of relief from his burning, needy cock. 
Dean takes off his blindfold so he can see the most horrifying thing he’s ever
seen, so the dread can become solidified in his being.  Sam is gorgeous and
helpless and blazing hot, completely naked on rumpled Avengers sheets, his
slender, lithe form exposed and vulnerable.  His gold-y skin is slick with a
light sheen of sweat.  His chestnut hair is messy, the bangs curling a little
because they’re wet, too.  His pretty lips are almost red, open and panting. 
He’s making these moaning sounds (like he’d be begging if he could find the
words), and each one is a pulse through the center of Cas’s dick.
He’s handcuffed to his bed. 
He keeps trying to touch himself, keeps trying to twist, to find friction for
his cock.  There’s already come dried on his skin but his dick is rock hard and
insistent, red and shiny with lube and Cas’s spit.
Cas is plastered with his back against Dean, trying to get as far from the bed
as he can go.  “Master,” he begs, wanting to use the forbidden word. 
“Please…”  I can’t, I can’t, don’t make me…
Dean kneels behind him and wraps his arms around him, kissing his face, his
neck.  “Calm down, baby angel, it’s all right.  I promise, okay?  It’s all
right.  This is a gift.  You’re my good boy, such a good boy for me, aren’t
you?  Yeah?”  He turns down the vibrator but not off, but at least it helps him
think.
“Y-yes, Master,” Cas almost sobs.  He wishes he could tear his eyes from Sam. 
He wishes he could rip them out of his head.  Along with his offending tongue,
his lips. 
“Do you remember the pill Meg gave you when we fucked her together?  You were
such a good boy that day, too, baby…do you remember how much you liked it?”
He nods, then finally is able to force the words, “Yes, Master.”
“Well, Sammy had a pill that’s kinda like that, but this one means he won’t
remember any of this.  Remember I let you guys watch that cop show, and the boy
used that to have fun with the girl without her remembering?”
“He went to jail,” Cas says quickly and Dean turns him, slaps him hard.  Cas
doesn’t mind.  With the massager buzzing inside him, whiskey in his
bloodstream, and Sam--he feels like he's going crazy.  He feels like he needs
to be slapped, so this will all be some kind of warped daydream of his, with
Dean slapping him back to reality like he does sometimes.
“All you need to say is you remember,” Dean growls.
“Sorry, Master,” Cas says softly.  He’s leaning almost all his weight on Dean. 
This is too much, this is too fucking much, he’s just a kid in middle school
and this is all way too fucking much.
Dean cuddles him, but then he’s kissing him, fondling him, then he’s forcing
him forward to look at Sam again while his big hand wraps around Cas’s dick and
strokes in those perfect ways he’s known since the first time he touched him. 
“Look at him baby…between the pill and the new lube he’s suffering.  You could
help him, and he’ll never know.  You’re not hurting him.  If he woke up in the
middle, if he remembered, he’d want you, wouldn’t he?  That’s why he let you
suck him before.  He wants this, wants you, Cas.  Come on, baby, let’s play the
Sam Game for real.  You know you want him.”
Not surprisingly the vibrator is turned up again, so that his own moans and
gasps mingle with Sam’s.  And he does want him, God help him, he wants him so
badly.  The naked body in front of him is the only one he’s ever wanted, in
this moment he can’t help but realize it.  Dean is telling him that if he just
guides Sam’s dick in his already stretched hole, it’ll be silk, just like he’s
always imagined.  And Sam will instinctively fuck him, maybe even hard, maybe
the fuck of his little life, and even though he won’t remember, in the moment
he’ll smell Cas, maybe even open his eyes and see him, and Cas will see how
much he wants it, how much he wants Cas. 
And Sam will need to come more than once, so will Cas.  They could fuck for
hours.  Dean won’t touch them, he promises.  He just wants to watch; Cas can
forget he’s even there.  And Sam will never know that he did this thing that he
would surely agree to if he’d been given a choice.
“Come on, baby angel, you know he’s never gonna fuck you for real,” Dean croons
right into his ear, just the way he does for the real Sam Game, and Cas’s body
responds that way, too, his cock straining inside the ring painfully.  “How
many years will you wait when you can have it now.  You’re not hurting him;
he’s hurting now because you’re nottouching him.  Look at him, he’s suffering.”
Cas is still pressed against Dean as close as he can get without actually going
through his body and coming out the other side, but Dean is starting to move
them closer to the bed.  To the beautiful boy there.  And he does look.
“Look at his dick, Cas, you know how that’ll feel in your sweet little ass
after all my teasing?” the vibrator is turned on high and Cas squeals at the
sensation, breathing hard, almost sobbing again.  “You see that cock, baby
angel?  He’s gonna fuck you so hard with it…don’t you want that?  Want Sam to
fuck you on the bed where you sleep together?”
At this point it’s obvious with the way Cas is pushing back that he’s fighting
not to go to the bed, not to do this.  But his strength is a joke to Dean, and
soon enough his thighs touch the mattress.  “Ah-a-are y-y-you,” he pants and
Dean lowers the vibrator again, wanting him to be able to think, to speak. 
“Are you…m-making me?” he whimpers, his breath hitching. 
Dean pauses, looks at him oddly, and Cas realizes Dean really expects him to be
happy about this, to go for it.  He doesn’t know if it’s that Dean doesn’t
consider this raping Sam (since Sam genuinely loves and wants Cas) or if he
can’t fathom anyone—being given the opportunity do this and get away with
it—would actually say no.  “No…no, this is a gift for my good boy.  I’m giving
you the real thing.  You’ve been whining about wanting this for months now and
I’m letting you have it.  Say thank you, by the way.”  A little annoyance there
and it sends a ripple of new fear up Cas’s spine, as though he isn’t already
terrified, horrified.  If this is Dean rewarding him, he doesn't want
punishment.  Not with Sam right there, so ready to be used against him.
“Th-thank you, M-master, but…but I don’t—“
Dean groans and rolls his eyes.  “Fucking shit, Cas, you’re thinking too much. 
Here, I’ll help you.”  Gently (if a little too fast) he tugs the vibrator out
of him and carefully removes the cock ring.  To Cas’s horror, he is lifted and
thrown directly on top of Sam.  He tries to scramble off him, but Dean stops
him with a warning hand on his back.  Their first time naked together, and it’s
this, with Dean.  He lifts his hips so his dick at least won't touch (knowing
how good it would feel if he did, how amazing, one rub against this boy and
he'll come--).
“Cas,” Sam whimpers, bucking up against him--he sensed him almost instantly. 
Dean uncuffs him and he wraps his arms around Cas, cracking open dreamy,
unfocused eyes.  He finds Cas’s lips, kissing him sloppily and desperately,
trying to fuck his tortured cock against Cas's bare thigh, dangerously close to
where Cas wants to feel him most right now--or maybe second most. 
“Sam, I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” Cas whimpers, tears slipping unnoticed down his
cheeks, and he puts a shaking hand against his sweating face.  Sam’s thigh rubs
inadvertently against his dick and he cries out at how good it is, freezes
completely so he won’t move into it.  But Sam’s eyes have slipped shut again
and he’s moaning, squirming without direction, like he’s forgotten that he’s
not alone.  Cas is able to untangle himself, moving back and off Sam’s body,
watching him helplessly.
“Seriously.  You’re doing this.” Dean stares at him in disbelief, obviously
aggravated.  “You’re really gonna leave him like that, knowing he’s—you know
what?  Fine, whatever.  I guess he’ll just stay like that until it wears off.”
Cas looks miserably at Sam’s dick, almost purple with need.  “Master, please…y-
you could clean the stuff—“ he tries.
“I ain’t doing shit,” Dean snarls and whips the wet washcloth at Cas’s face. 
“You do it.  Go ahead.  Clean him.”
“S-sam…sh-shh, okay, I’ll…I’ll fix it...,” he tries for soothing but his voice
is small and uncertain, and he sniffles, trying to fight back tears.  He tries
wiping at it but as soon as he touches him with the icy wet cloth, Sam hisses
in pain and curls away.  Cas draws back and looks desperately at Dean.  “It’s
hurting him!” 
Dean shrugs, his green eyes spiteful.  “Your little cocksucking mouth’d clean
him up real nice.”
Cas doesn’t dignify that with a response; he lowers his eyes back to Sam.  He
tries now to warm the washcloth, pressing it between his hands.  He thinks he
makes it a little better and tries wiping with the barest touches.  But it’s
still friction and he makes Sam come over his hands.  “No, oh no, Sam!!” he
cries, as it spurts over him, this indignity he forces on his love.  He’s
crying now, shaking as he cleans the last of the hateful cream and his come.
Dean laughs and Cas’s spine stiffens. 
“Look at that, baby, you did your job without even trying…if Sammy knew he had
such a slut to play with, he’d be ready to fuck real soon, what do you think?”
Cas concentrates on his breathing.  I hate you, he thinks, and fuck, he wants
to say it.  Wants to turn, look him in his fucking poison green eyes and say
it.  I hate you.  Because maybe he deserves everything Dean gives him, does to
him—Cas believes it—but he knows Sam deserves better than this.  From both of
them.
“Asked you a question, Castiel,” Dean’s voice is both mocking and threatening,
as though he knows exactly what he’s thinking. 
So Cas turns.  Stares him in the eyes with every bit of loathing he can muster,
every bit of rage he’s ever misdirected at another kid, he looks at this man,
this monster and hates.  “Punish me,” he manages through gritted (bared, like a
threat) teeth. 
Dean smirks and grabs him by the throat, but then Sam moans from the bed. 
Dean’s eyes go past Cas, and Cas can see how blown his pupils are, the way he
wets his perfect, full lips.  He pulls Cas off the bed by his throat and shoves
him to the side. 
Cas sees the look on his face, remembers that look.  Suddenly it's two years
ago, another beating, and Dean's on top of naked, helpless Sam.  Cas has to
save him, and he only has one thing to trade.
This time that won't be enough.
 
                                       ~
 
Cas is on the floor.  It feels like he's bleeding from everywhere at once; his
skin is roaring with competing points of pain.  He looks at Dean and his vision
is red, blood pouring down his face (dying, this is dying, Dean killed him for
being bad).  
But he wasn't bad!
"I'm supposed to help you!  You said so!" he sobs, feeling like there are
razors slicing him up all over.  And it's not fair.  "I wasn't bein' bad!  I
did what you said!"
He was a good boy, but he got punished anyway.
 
Chapter End Notes
     Yup, I cliffhangered you again. Cliffhung? Cliffhanged? I didn't have
     to, either. Deliberate and evil, taking cheap shots at you. I know.
     Now you see why I wanted to give you this all at once, so you don't
     find me and kill me. ;) Last part will be up soon.
     Also, the magic cream that takes away pain completely after getting
     murdered with a paddle, the drug that's rohypnol that makes your body
     wanna get fucked while you're barely conscious and then you don't
     remember any of it, and even the lube that makes skin feel like it's
     burning until it gets friction applied to it--all made up in my head.
     You know I be cheatin' to help my Dean. Yay, fanfiction!
***** It's All Over *****
Chapter Summary
     The Sam Game comes to a shattering end. When the smoke clears,
     everything has changed.
Chapter Notes
     There is a scene in this chapter that is inspired by violet-scythe. :
     ) I'll specify in the end notes, so as not to give anything away just
     yet.
     A couple people have asked if I have any other works--I really don't,
     but I'm dying to put some more down. I'm compiling a list of ideas,
     stuff I wanna write about. One thing this site needs is more
     Top!Dean. I'm going to fucking give it to you. He won't always be a
     bad guy, though. Most of my ideas do involve non-con, and by that I
     mean I can think of one that doesn't. But I guess if you guys are
     still reading this, you know you won't get sunshine and flowers from
     me. You probably won't want all the storylines or pairings--expect
     mostly Sam-centric stories, but sometimes Destiel can still work in
     that . Expect mostly Bottom!Sam. His scared face is so pretty, I
     can't forget it. Expect no Sabriel--I do not understand that ship. If
     I were to touch it, it would be extremely rapey. Guy gets along
     perfectly with Dean but he was extremely cruel to Sam, and in the end
     Sam didn't ever wanna mess with him again. Hmm. So maybe I will, but
     rapeySabriel. lol.
     Also, I want to come up with something so if someone wants to
     communicate with me privately, they can. I just can't decide how I'll
     do it. As simple as an email address, or I can make a whole FB page.
     I don't know, what do you think?
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It isn’t that he doesn’t get the same surge of rage against Cas when he’s
defiant, when he’s a sulky little bitch who doesn’t know when to be grateful or
how to behave when his Master gives him a gift.  He does, it’s just secondary. 
Just then, staring at the visual feast of his naked and needy brother on his
blue cartoon sheets, it’s just not as important as it usually seems.
And he could always show Cas exactly how to behave, exactly what one does with
such a gift.  “Look at my poor baby,” he murmurs, moving closer to the bed. 
“You left him suffering…that’s okay, baby boy, big brother’s here…”  He moves
to climb on the bed and feels his arm grabbed by light little hands.  Looks at
the boy warningly.  “Let go.  Kneel.”
Cas releases him and drops, looking up with pleading eyes.  “Master, I’ll take
care of you, I’ll—“
“No, no more talking.  Unless you want me to make you fuck Sam.”  He watches
him long enough to see the horror take root.  His suffering makes this sweeter,
and that shouldn’t be possible.  Not that he would make good on his threat. 
Fucking Sam—if he hasn’t been clear—is a gift.  Granted only on Dean’s say, or
that’s how it should be, he’s beginning to realize.
He turns back to his boy, his most perfect possession, like a piece of himself
that somehow exists outside his body.  He pushes Sam’s slender legs wide and
crawls between them on the bed, though not dropping his weight down--shouldn't
crush the little thing.  He still has his jeans on, but his chest is bare, so
that’s some warm skin for Sam to feel against his own.  Dean pushes back his
sweaty bangs to see the beautiful face, the fringe of lashes fluttering as he
squirms and lets out pretty moans.  His lips are parted so Dean kisses them,
and for the first time, his brother is kissing back. 
Dean lets out a moan that’s more possessive growl than anything else, feeling
that pretty little tongue, those moving sweet lips.  And yeah, it’s sloppy,
wet, disorganized…his little brother is high, barely conscious.  Dean kisses
over his face, his neck, wanting to eat every inch of him. 
“De…De’n?”  His brother sounds incredibly turned on, horribly confused...it
freezes Dean for a second, this caught feeling making his heart pound.  But his
brother’s eyes haven’t even opened.  His little brow is furrowed, like he’s
trying to make sense of what's happening.  Dean kisses him there chastely.
“Shh, baby boy, you’re dreaming…go back to sleep, Sammy…that’s it, that’s my
boy…,” he tells him soothingly, goes back to putting open mouthed kisses down
his delicate throat, across his collarbone.  Sam’s whimpers change, tiny puppy
sounds, just like when he was a baby.  It’s so hot, that he might on any level
realize his brother is on top of him, touching him, tasting him the way a big
brother never should—and if it scares him, that turns Dean on even more.  And
it’s all okay, because he’ll forget.  Fuck cough syrup, he could be doing this
every night, throw his entire paycheck at the drug that makes this possible.
He feels the bed dip next to him, and a tentative baby angel is crawling to
him—and yes, two naked boys are always better than one, especially when one is
so pretty when he’s terrified.  Dean backs off a little to make room,
interested.  He tries to lay him next to Sam, but the boy won’t lay, keeps
moving toward Dean.  So he backs up further, then picks Cas up and sets him
right on top of Sam once again, but facing Dean this time.  He freezes, terror
in his blue eyes, but then he blinks and tries to adjust so his full weight
isn’t on the other boy.  He looks like he’s trying hard to ignore the feeling
of Sam moving beneath him, Sam's hands finding him, sliding over him unfocused
and rough.  He kisses Dean and crawls forward beautifully, tiny ass high, back
arched.  It backs Dean further until he’s again standing at the end of the
bed.  He allows it because Cas gestures to his pants and looks up with wide
eyes, his way of asking if he can undress his Master. 
He unbuttons Dean’s pants and tugs his boxers down enough to free his dick,
letting it hit his face as it springs free.  He laps at it a few times, strong
licks over the vein underneath with his small tongue like a kid playing puppy. 
He tucks all his little fingers into Dean’s jeans, his boxers, and tugs
slightly, still running his face over the head of Dean’s dick, getting his face
shiny with precome.  Whatever defiance was so strong in him just moments ago
has vanished, leaving only lovely submission and pleading. 
“Can’t we pleeease go to your room, Master, just us?  I’ll be a good boy.  I’ll
do anything.  I’ll suck you after you’re in me, I’ll—we can use your toys, you
can spank me again.  Please, Master??  Please, can’t we leave Sam alone?”
Or not.
Dean hooks his hands under Cas’s skinny arms and lifts him so they’re eye to
eye.  “Kneel and wait.  Go to my room, cuff yourself to the bed and wait.  Stay
and play with me and Sam.  Those are your options.  Say thank you for giving me
options.”
Tears prick his blue eyes and he bites his lower lip, looking upset again. 
“Thank you, Master.”  But when Dean tries to put him down and he wraps his arms
around Dean’s neck, his legs around his waist, trying to cling there.  “Please,
Master, please don’t do this!  You don’t want to hurt him!”
Dean pries him off and shakes him hard.  “Stop it!  Fucking stop!”  He flings
him to the floor so he lands hard on his ass, his back.  Cas cries out when he
hits and Dean stares down at him, trying not to let his rage take over, ruin
this for him.  Whatever Cas sees in his face scares him to death.  He makes a
little sound and moves to his knees, staring down at the floor.  It helps keep
Dean where he is, keep his twitching hand at his side.  “That’s right.  You
listen to me.  All the time, that’s all you do, whatever I ask.  But we’ll
spend time re-learning it if that’s what you need.”
“Yes, Master,” Cas whispers fearfully.  “But—“
“I said…stop,” Dean cuts him off hard.  He sees tears slip down the boy’s face,
and he’s shaking again, and that’s good, that’s one of the ways he looks best.
Satisfied, he looks again at his brother.  Takes hold of his small thighs and
pulls him down to the end of the bed, spreading his legs as wide as they go, so
he fits between them.  “’Sides, I ain’t hurting him.  He needs this.  I’m gonna
make him feel good, and he won’t even remember.”  He tips his tiny hips up so
he can see the still-dark red of his paddled ass.  He spreads bruised cheeks to
look at the little pink star, still so small since he saw it last.  It’s
shining with lube and sweat that dripped down in all Sam’s squirming.  He could
do this.  He could do all of this.  “Sammy,” he whispers. 
"Master, you don't wanna do this, you don't!--"
"Shut up."  Eyes closed, hands running over the smoothest skin.
"You have me, you use me any way you want to, Sam doesn't get used, remember--"
"Shut.  The Fuck.--" Ignore the kneeling boy, fuck your brother, fuck your
baby...
"You're making Sam a whore--"
Like a switch is flipped, Dean blacks out with rage, grabbing Cas with a snarl
and throwing him toward the door with all of his strength.  He turns back to
Sam but there’s a loud shattering of glass and Cas screams.    When he looks
again, Cas is on the ground, covered in sparkling shards of glass.  Apparently
Dean’d thrown him into the cheap glass Sam was using as a full length mirror,
done his best, in fact, to throw him through it.  There’s already blood on his
face, his arm, his chest—naked as he is, it seems like there are cuts
everywhere.  He looks wide-eyed at Dean, blood pouring down his face like
something out of a horror movie, and holds up shaking, bleeding hands. 
Shocked, Dean’s moving without thought, squatting carefully in front of him,
barely feeling the sting of the cuts to his own bare feet.
“You said help you not hurt him!” Cas sobs, sounding so young, so hurt.  “I’m
supposed to!  You said!”
Dean stares at him, stunned.  He hushes him, but Cas keeps going, sobbing it
almost incoherently but still insistent, his face a mess of tears and blood. 
“You said you didn’t want to with him! An’ I could help!  I wasn’t bein’ bad!”
“Okay, baby, okay.  I hear you,” Dean carefully picks the larger shards of
glass off his skin, out of his hair, then tries brushing the smaller pieces off
but fine lines of blood appear when he does, like he’s cutting him worse.  This
is fucking bad.
He picks him up and carries him to the bathroom.  He tries to put him in the
empty tub but Cas starts screaming, clinging to Dean, so he has to sit and hold
him, calm him.  He wets a washcloth and carefully wipes at some of the blood
and tears.  Cas finally allows him to sit him on the sink.  He takes out their
first aid kit and pulls out some tweezers, gauze, and rubbing alcohol.  He
takes a thick pad of gauze and presses it over the cut on his forehead (since
it’s bleeding profusely—Dean has experience with wounds, and has a bad feeling
that one’s going to need actual medical attention), and then makes a still-
mumbling Cas put one of his shaking hands to it.  The kid must’ve hit pretty
hard, the side of his face is already swelling. 
He moves him around, inspecting the damage to the rest of him.  It looks like
he hit with his left side, and he must've thrown up his hand and forearm to try
and brace himself with it because it’s all slashed up--he's just lucky he
didn't slice a vein.  He takes out all the glass he can see, using tweezers
when he needs to, then wraps the arm in gauze, too.  There are cuts over his
side, his hip, his thigh, even his reddened ass.  Dean removes what glass he
can see and shakes his head.  He doesn’t have enough gauze for all this shit
and Batman band-aids aren't going to cut it either. 
Cas is still crying and Dean grabs tissue with his other hand to help him blow
his nose, sop up some of the blood and tears from his face.  He tries calming
him because at this rate, he’s gonna make himself sick, and that's all they
fucking need.  When he sees the gauze on his forehead turn red, Dean knows he
needs help.  He calls the Captain.  As usual, they put him right through—mainly
because when they don’t, his threats get really creative.
“Well, young Mr. Winchester, to what do I owe—“
“You still deal with the Doc?”
A pause.  “Whatever have you done to him, Dean?” The Captain's voice is
solemn.  Not surprised.
Dean looks over his shivering, whimpering charge.  “He’s cut up.  He might need
stitches.  And don’t fucking lecture me, I don’t wanna hear it.”
Instant irritation over the phone.  “You know, Dean, you can’t just expect me
to be at your beck and call.  As for Dr. Sinclair, there are protocols in place
for a reason, even I follow them.  The doctor is a busy man, he doesn’t just
drop everything—“
“What I know is you guys managed to get ahold of him no matter when or where
back when I was a kid.  Can’t imagine that’s changed.  And yeah, I damn well
can call whenever I want, that’s exactly how this works with us.  Statute of
limitations ain’t ran out quite yet, has it, Lenny?”
There’s silence.  “Stay by the phone.  I’ll text you a location, you bring him
there.”
“Aw, you’re making it sound like you’d let us go without you, Captain, and
that’s just crazy talk.  ‘Course you’re coming with us.  You know him, not me,
or not that he remembers.  And anyway, he’ll need to be paid.  Won’t he,” he
says, his voice absolutely cold.  He hushes Cas, strokes over his back without
touching any cuts.
The Captain sighs, irritated.  “Fine, I’ll just pull myself from work, surely
nobody minds if the Chief of Police leaves early, there's nothing I need to do
here.  Excellent, Dean.”
“Well, now, that’s funny, ‘cause I remember you managed to take off work
whenever you damn well pleased, and something tells me you haven’t changed at
all, even with your shiny new title.  Bullshit someone you didn’t fuck for five
years, I ain’t got time,” he snaps and hangs up. 
The address is texted to him not long after.  Not sure what else to do, he
dresses Cas in flannel pajamas.  His crying has died down to quiet whimpers and
hitching breaths and he looks wrecked.  Dean gives him another Children’s
Tylenol, afraid to do more on top of the whiskey he’s had.  He wraps him in a
few threadbare blankets and brings him down to the couch, telling him to wait. 
Then back up to to his room to grab his gun and holster--no way he goes among
these men unarmed, not since the Chief tried to point a gun at him two years
ago.  He adds a sheath for his knife--the Chief will recognize it should he
need to use it (he's pretty fucking familiar with Dean's gun, too, but that's a
story for another day.)  Last he goes into Sam’s room so he can clean and dress
his brother--he doesn't know how long he'll be gone, and though he doubts John
would be home before them, it seems like a bad idea to take the chance. 
His brother still looks desperate and Dean frowns; he hadn't done this to leave
him suffering.  There are tear tracks on his face and it looks like he came a
second time, if the wet spot on his bed is anything to go by.  The stuff Dean
gave him is like Rohypnol with a side of Ecstasy, and poor Sam’s gonna be its
bitch for at least another few hours (not to mention the hangover he’s in for
tomorrow).  As Dean wipes him down carefully, he finds himself thinking about
Cas’s words.  Trying to remember when he would’ve told him to help him stop
hurting Sam.
It’s when he’s dressing his little brother in boxers and a loose t-shirt that
he remembers.  The day he first went after Cas, the day he held him on a table
and called him a slut.  Everything he said that day was 95% bullshit.  He
would’ve said anything to get that little boy to let him touch him, kiss him.
So he could fuck him and the little boy wouldn’t tell.  Means to an end.
Except…
Except that isn’t the whole story.  Because really, why take a chance with the
boy next door, when he had this beautiful brother already in hand, that he
wanted?  Beautiful and perfect, alone with Dean for hours (sometimes days) on
end, entire nights spent in the same bed while the shivering boy clung to him
after a nightmare or during a storm.  Why take a chance on a stranger, a boy
who, by all accounts, ratted on the last man to touch his special place?  (The
thing is that Sammy LOVES Dean…) 
Sam makes a little sound, something between a sob and a moan, and Dean pulls
him against his chest.  “Shh, Sammy, you’re okay…it’s gonna wear off
soon…you’re okay…”
“De…feel…f’nny…,” Sam slurs loosely, his head falling back. 
“I know, kiddo, I know.  Just a bad dream.”  Dean kisses his forehead and lays
him gently against his pillow, making sure he’s far from the wet spot (turns
out the bigger bed is a good thing after all.)  Sam whimpers again, twisting in
the sheets.  The truth is, there’s nothing Dean can do for him now, not with
bleeding Cas waiting downstairs.  He’s just gotta ride it out.  “It’s okay,
baby boy.  When you wake up, everything’ll be better.”
Sam mumbles and turns into the pillow.  Dean's baby brother.  This little
innocent thing that his Dad had given him to watch over and teach, back when
Dean knew about changing diapers and prepping bottles better than his Dad, knew
what his different cries meant and how to make him smile after a fit like the
sun breaking through clouds.  Because he’s Dean’s, Sam doesn’t know what
happens to the weak and beautiful, like Dean, like Cas, and he should have
known.  Those same men that came for Dean wanted to teach him, too.  Dean had
shielded him, every time.  He’d protected him from the Pastor and again from
the Captain.  From others who looked at beautiful Dean and imagined a
counterpart even smaller, even more helpless...one rumored so sweet, so
polite.  Nobody gets saved from that, but Sam was, because of Dean.  
Even from himself, or that’s what he’d decided back then, refusing to kid
himself.  He always saw himself in Sam, still does.  Maybe he's a little softer
(kind of a girl sometimes), but still a fucking Winchester, strong, smart, and
capable.  Sam would hate it, lying under him, small and helpless and in pain
(the way Dean had hated it, the way Dean had fought and fought and hated). 
Even if--he wouldn't treat him like he does Cas, not totally, but Sam would
still hate it.  Sam would hate him.  And Cas isn’t supposed to be a
placeholder, he’s a barrier.  Somehow, with Sam growing up, going through
puberty, somehow with the possibility of someone else fucking the perfect
little body that Dean wants for himself, he’d forgotten that he’s supposed to
be trying not to take it (so Sammy will love him, that same trusting baby
smile, those worshipful eyes).  That's why he has Cas, owns him.
Because of Dean (and Cas), Sam is what he (they) never had a chance to be.  A
child.  Dean’s innocent child, perfect and untouched (what he'd done with Cas
doesn't count, because he's just a baby, Dean's baby--everything he'd done had
been with permission and guidance.)  Sam is still pure.
All this runs through his mind as he cleans up the glass and throws it away,
along with the broken frame from Sam’s mirror.  Sam’s rug is dark and
patterned, so any blood doesn’t show.  It’s as good as it’s going to get, with
another abrupt disappearance from Cas (and Dean…and Sam’s mirror, for that
matter) that will have to be explained somehow.  He decides he’s got enough
problems to worry about right now.  Satisfied that his crime scene is as good
as it’s getting, he goes back down to pick up his battered boy (cursing because
all his ruminating means the gauze has bled completely through again--this is
exactly why brooding self-examination is time wasting bullshit.)  He replaces
it, wraps Cas’s coat around him over the blankets, and carries him out to the
car, buckling him into the passenger seat. 
He’s taking him to someone he’d never meant to see again.  Who knew one day
he’d ruin a boy himself (and actually want to fix him up after?)
Live and learn, huh?
 
                                     * * *
                                        
Cas has a favorite gift from Sam.
Something he actually bought (though that isn't why it's valuable.)  He got it
while on a class trip to the Natural History Museum.  Cas never managed to see
it since the day Dean (raped his ass for the first time) made him back out on
Sam and Kevin.  It’s a place he never admitted again to wanting to go, to the
point where he can’t look Dean in the eye the entire week leading up to it
(please don’t, not again, please I've been good).  But it ends up being a great
time.  Once he’s on the bus with Sam, he finds himself relaxing, and the museum
itself is a revelation to him.  His reactions are huge and unrestrained, his
jaw dropping, his voice sometimes too loud.  It gives Sam a chance to go full
geek, answering all of Cas’s rapid-fire questions and ignoring the eye-rolls of
the college kid running the actual tour.    
At the end of the tour, the students all get to visit the gift shop if they
want.  They’re filling up the little store with their classmates, harried
teacher, and a few tired looking class parents.  Sam and Cas both have a little
bit of money, though Sam has more (Dean still acts as though he’s going to come
home wearing a dinosaur hat and holding a stuffed stegosaurus like he did when
he was five, and Sam has no problem taking his money.)  Most of the stuff is
way overpriced, but Sam and Cas are looking at some crystals, polished stones
in all kinds of colors.  There are more natural looking crystals, too, with
rougher textures and odd shapes. 
Cas has one that’s smooth and oval-shaped in his hand when Sam comes to look. 
Most of the ones in the box where he found it are bright blue, but this
one…this one is special.  “Wow, that one’s awesome.  Can I see?”  Cas hands it
over and they admire it together.  “What’s it called?”
“Labradorite,” Cas tells him softly.
 Sam looks at him, catching the funny tone in his voice, and he hands it back. 
“It’s really pretty Cas…really bright, with all those colors.”
Cas holds it cupped in his hands, smiling a little.  Then he looks at Sam. 
“Don’t you see it?  It’s just like your eyes.”
Sam blinks.  “What?”
Cas laughs a little and holds his hands out.  “See?  How light the green is and
the bright blue around the edges…all the gold inside the green. I didn’t know
that was anywhere except your eyes.”  Sam looks at him without saying anything,
and Cas blushes, shrugs a little. “Forget it, fuck off.”
“Let me get it for you,” Sam says, and the tone is pure tenderness. 
Cas glances around to make sure they weren’t overheard.  Rumors abound, but
nobody actually knows they’ve been messing around together.  He bites his lower
lip, wanting to refuse—it’s $10 for a tiny freaking rock, after all.  But he
really doesn’t want to put it back either.  “If I can get one for you, too,” he
answers finally, even though they both know $10 is all he has left, and he was
hard pressed to get that much from his mother for this.  He didn’t need it for
food, though—he and Sam both brought bagged lunch, just like every other kid
from their side of town.
“Okay,” Sam’s eyes light up, and Cas’s heart flips.  Ridiculous, the way he
feels for this boy, wound tighter in him now than ever.  It’s saving and
killing him all at once, he sometimes thinks, but what a way to go. 
“So many cool ones, how do I pick?” Sam murmurs, sifting through his choices,
and Cas’s face falls a little—he kind of wanted Sam to pick one that would
remind him of Cas.  But he throws Cas a wink and picks up a blue stone shot
with flecks and lines of gold.  The blue is somehow both deep and bright—it’s
beautiful, and suddenly Cas knows what Sam sees when he looks into his eyes. 
There isn’t anything else that Cas wants, but Sam looks some more.  Cas sees
him hesitate on peridot, on malachite, but Cas could tell him:  Dean’s eyes are
pure jade, nothing less.  In the end Sam picks just the blue, but he gets a
single stone on an adjustable black band and slips it immediately on his
wrist.  It’s more than $10 that way and Cas is a little embarrassed, but Sam
nudges him and says Dean is happy to pay the difference.  When Dean sees it,
he’ll run his thumb over the blue stone thoughtfully in a way that, had Cas
been there to witness it, would’ve made him nervous.  But he doesn’t say
anything, and Sam goes on to wear it every day. 
All the gifts Sam gives Cas go into a shoebox he keeps under his bed, but not
the smooth little stone.  That goes in his pocket, where he can touch it
whenever he wants.  It becomes a literal touchstone, something he can reach for
when he’s getting nervous or upset, something he can look at and see the warm,
loving gaze of his friend.  He rubs it between his fingers and is grounded in
the knowledge that a boy as good as Sam exists—and somehow, miracle of
miracles, he cares about Cas.
 
                                       ~
 
Shaking and bleeding in the passenger seat of the Impala, Castiel is terrified,
confused, exhausted.  He keeps thinking about the way the blood poured down his
face and wondering if he’s dying.  His face hurts, his skin is stinging in so
many places that it’s like being on fire, and when he pulls his small hand back
from the gauze at his forehead, his fingers are tinged red.  He’s in his
Master’s car and he’s…he’s in trouble again, he was bad (except he wasn't bad,
Master, he wasn't!)  Is he…is this it?  He knows he shouldn’t talk—if his
Master is angry, hearing Cas’s voice always makes it worse, brings instant
violence.  But he’s so confused and finally he can’t hold it in.
“Master…please don’t…don’t take me to the dark.  Please, I…”
Dean looks at him, a flash of green eyes before turning back to the road. 
“What?  No, Cas, you…you’re not in trouble.  You’re hurt, baby.  Let Master
take you to the doctor, okay?”  He reaches out and strokes Cas, who tries not
to wince.  He would never do anything to discourage Master’s gentle touches,
not even when they hurt.  “This guy’s an asshole but he’ll make you better. 
He’s a friend of the Captain—the Chief that you met.”
Cas stiffens, trying to stay alert, stay present.  He doesn’t want to be
punished, but he also does not want to see that man again.  “Do we have
to…can’t you just fix me like the other times…?”  His voice comes out a
frightened whine.
“No, baby, this time we need some help.  But that’s all he’s gonna do.  Don’t
worry, kid…he likes money, not boys,” Dean says grimly, and although Cas has
more questions he can always tell when his Master is done talking.  This is one
of those times.  He huddles into his blankets, wondering if Sam is okay.  He’s
all alone, and Cas remembers being sad once the pill wore off.  But Dean had
said Sam’s pill was different.
And Sam is better off without either of them anywhere near him.  Tears slip
down his face and he wipes at them because the salt hurts his cuts.  
The drive is an agonizing 30 minutes, but Cas still dreads for it to end.  He
doesn’t want to meet anybody associated with the Captain.  He’s had nightmares
about him since they met…nightmares where his wet mouth and soft, puffy hands
were all over Cas, where he did the things Dean does, Jimmy did.  He doesn’t
want to see him again, and he doesn’t want some strange doctor touching him
either.  God, he hurts, can’t he just…can’t they just go home, can’t he just
sleep?  “Please, Master, c-can’t we—I-I don’t want—“
“That’s enough,” Dean says, but quietly, and Cas looks out the window.    
Another street he’s never seen before, but there are businesses here, fancy
looking shops and cafes.  It feels to Cas like it should be late, like many
hours have passed since the clearing, but looking around it’s still late
afternoon.  He sees well-dressed families out enjoying the unusually mild
weather, kids his age and younger looking like they don’t have a care in the
world.  He doesn’t recognize anyone—this isn’t any part of Lawrence.  Finally
Dean pulls into a parking lot in front of a new looking buff stone building,
with giant glass windows covered in pictures of smiling kids and babies, and
bright blue lettering over the door for the Sinclair Pediatric Urgent Care
Clinic. 
Dean parks behind the building despite the sign that reads Staff Parking Only. 
He lifts Cas from the passenger seat and carries him to an iron door that says
Delivery Entrance.  He rings a loud buzzer, and after only a moment, a man with
brown hair and eyes and wearing an expensive-looking dark suit answers the
door.  Cas thinks he looks older than Dean (parent-old, like mid-thirties, not
grandpa-old like the Chief.)  He smirks when he sees Dean.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the boy psychopath I told them to put down years ago,”
the man says in a low, gruff voice, “here with a beat up little boy of his
own.  Hello, Dean.”  Cas looks at him with renewed interest; he’s never met
anyone with an English accent.  He sounds like the bad guy in one of Dean’s old
action films.
“Crowley,” Dean answers mildly, and even in his pain and fear, Cas blinks at
him.  He’s never seen Dean allow someone to speak to him that way unless that
person is a friend.  “I thought you’re the guy who delegates security now, why
they got you here?”
“Come, darling, don’t underestimate your reputation for violence,” Crowley
answers, but not as if it bothers him.  If anything he seems amused by Dean. 
“The doctor is a highly valued man.  Just because the Chief has a schoolgirl
crush on you doesn’t mean he takes chances.”
Dean grins.  “If you think you’re pattin’ me down, you’re in for a world of
disappointment.”
“Ah, and a world of hurt, is that it?” Crowley’s brows lift demurely.  “No
need; you can keep your shiny little gun.  I’ve heard all about the
Chief’s…indiscretion.  Honestly, it’s his own fault.  The man has plenty of
resources; if he truly wanted to rape you he could’ve at least been prepared.” 
He shakes his head, as though sloppy planning is the worst part of what the
Chief had wanted.
“All the prep in the world ain’t getting him another shot at me,” Dean says
grimly, his fingers tightening on Cas in a way that makes him wince.  “You
lettin’ us in, or what?”
“Oh, yes.  Seems you’ve broken your toy,” Crowley’s eyes sweep Cas with the
same mild interest he might show if Dean were holding a deer he’d shot.  “Let
me guess.  It was an accident.”
“No, he pissed me off and I put him through a mirror.  Guess who's pissin' me
off now?” Dean replies and shoves past him. 
“That’s what I like about you, Dean—you’re insane, but at least you’re honest,”
Crowley walks beside them, seemingly unperturbed that Dean muscled his way
inside.
“Aw, Crowley, you talk so tough, but you know you’re glad I’m still around.”
“True, I do hate being the only psychopath in company.” Crowley moves to take
the lead and Dean allows it.  “Besides, every time you turn on one of them, I
get to say I told you so.”  He stops outside a room, opens the door and steps
aside so they can enter, gesturing with a flourish that makes Dean roll his
eyes.  “It’s actually very satisfying.”
Dean carries Cas into the room and sits him on the examination table (painted
to look like a yellow school bus.  Because God knows, kids love school.  But
the top is leather, not metal, and Cas is reluctantly impressed.)  “Whatever. 
Where’s the Doc?  Kid’s been bleedin’ about an hour already.”
“He’s in with an actual patient.  As in, a child with a Mummy and Daddy who
might be disturbed should they find out their family doctor patches up baby
whores as needed,” Crowley looks at him pointedly, “In other words, try to
contain yourself.  Or at least have your psychotic outbursts quietly.”
“Tell him not to keep me waiting.  That’s my advice,” Dean answers with a
winning smile.
“I’ll pass it along.  The Chief’s here, too…I’m sure he’ll be in shortly.  He
never could stay away from you for long.”
That comment gets a stone cold flash of green eyes, but Crowley only smiles and
leaves. 
“Master,” Cas whimpers now that they’re alone, and grabs hold of Dean’s arm. 
He’s utterly terrified.
“It’s all right,” Dean says gently, kissing his cheek, his temple.  “Come on,
you gotta take those pajamas off,” Cas whimpers again and Dean tries to soothe
him, “Just for now, baby angel, he’s gotta see it all in case any other cuts
need stitches.”  Cas starts to cry, his only way of protesting as Dean strips
him of his shirt, his pants (he never did have underwear.)  There’s a green
hospital gown with cartoon tigers on the table and Dean unfolds it, helps Cas
put it on.  Then he wraps his blankets back around him. 
The Chief walks in and Cas tries to tuck himself behind Dean’s arm.  It doesn’t
stop those icy blue eyes from raking him from tousled hair to bare toes.  His
eyes are a mix of lust and pity, and Cas wishes he’d keep both to himself.
“Still clinging to him, lovely?  Even after this?” he says, and actually does
sound sad.
“Don’t fucking talk to him,” Dean growls, “Jesus, Captain—“
“It’s Chief—“
“—why do you have to piss me off right from the start?”
The Chief puts his hands up, a gesture of surrender.  “All right!  All right. 
Cuthbert—Dr. Sinclair—will be in soon, he’s just finishing up with his
patient.  I really hope you don’t plan on making this a habit, Dean.  You know
most of us have to wait for certain hours and days to make use of his
services.”
“His head’s bleeding; he can’t wait,” Dean gestures and the Chief steps as if
to move to the bed.  Dean moves between them and he stops. 
“I wouldn’t touch him, Dean, I know better.”
“Yeah, well, he and I feel better if you also don’t come any closer,” Dean
insists, glaring at him. 
The Chief stops, but looks annoyed.  “Oh, aren’t you protective of him now, and
yet there he sits bleeding.  Mr. Crowley says you put him through a mirror.  I
wish I could say I’m surprised.”
Dean looks away, face tight and angry.  “Mind your business.  You’re the last
one to worry about a hurt boy.”
“See, there you go again!  You say that, you say things like that each time I
see you, yet when did I ever leave you bleeding like that boy is now?“  He
gestures, then shakes his head.  “But you’ve always been cruel, Dean, cruel and
violent.  Does that boy love you the way Ariel did?  He’ll end up the same
way.”
Dean looks at him slowly, green eyes dark with rage.  “Careful.  Just because
you didn’t bleed me yourself doesn’t mean you never sold me to anyone who did. 
And I think you had a little something to do with what happened to Ariel,
too…don’t you?”
“Not on purpose, I tried to keep you safe—but you always had to run that
mouth,” The man straightens, looking defensive.  “And as for Ariel, if you mean
that I introduced you—“
“Yeah, introduced us, that’s rich,” Dean laughs, shaking his head.  “Let me
tell you how I remember it:  ‘Dean, this is Ariel, I’ve been raping him for
years and now I’m gonna video him fucking you before I fuck you both.’  That's
so sweet, Captain, reads just like a fairy tale--”
The Chief goes red in the face, obviously furious.  “Fine! I fucked him and
you, too, and I loved every minute of it, but how can you stand there so
accusing when you’re doing the same thing?!”
One second Dean is between him and the Chief and the next he’s slamming the
older man into a wall, knocking posters to the floor, sending pushpins
rolling.  “You made me what I am, you, Pastor Jim, all of….you MADE me--,” he
says through gritted teeth and slams him again for emphasis.  Just as quickly
he backs off, wiping his hand over his mouth.  He turns back to Cas, who lets
out an involuntary whimper, and that makes Dean smile.  He walks over and
strokes his hair possessively, pulling his head back as if for a kiss while Cas
stares wide-eyed and afraid.    “‘Sides, kid was already fucked.  Someone was
gonna hit it again, why not me?  You’re just pissed I found this sweet little
piece before any of you.”
The Chief stays where Dean left him, and he’s staring at Dean, too.  His face
shows a mix of emotions, like he’s still angry but finds Dean’s mercurial
change from rage to calm unsettling.  He doesn't look surprised, though.  Like
it’s a part of Dean that he recognizes.  Fears.
The door opens and Dean backs off.  Cas lets out a breath he didn’t realize he
was holding. 
“Dean,” Crowley admonishes mildly.  “I did say to be quiet.”
“Ah, you know me,” Dean says, and he sounds calm in a way that makes Cas's skin
crawl.  “I never do what I’m told.”
“Now that’sthe truth,” the Chief snaps, and Crowley steps in front of him. 
Dean rolls his eyes and turns his back, continuing to pet over Cas in a way
that should be soothing, but after that scene is anything but.
Another man comes in the room wearing a white coat, a stethoscope, and a
striped bow tie.  His black hair is shiny and brushed to the side with every
hair in place, and if he has any feelings about the posters still on his floor
or the tension in the room, it doesn’t show.  Instead his eyes find Cas. 
“Remove those blankets, please.  I don’t have a lot of time.”  
The last thing Cas wants, the very last thing Cas wants in this room, with
these men, is to take those blankets off.  But at a nod from Dean he does it. 
He stares at his lap with his cheeks flooding with color, trying really hard
not to cry.  He feels about five years old.  He never did like going to the
doctor; most of the time he’s glad that his mother sometimes forgets to take
him for check-ups.  
The doctor snaps on a pair of latex gloves and begins looking him over.  He
doesn't say anything to him, just twists and turns him as need be, shoving the
paper gown out of his way, ripping it in his haste to bare his torso, his left
hip, turning him over to check for injuries there, too.  ("Did the mirror make
his arse red, too, Dean?")  Cas burns with humiliation.  He doesn't look at any
of them, not even Dean, but at last he can't hold back and a few tears slip
from under his lashes.
The doctor doesn't seem to notice.  He asks Dean questions while shining a
penlight in his eyes, whether he lost consciousness and whether he’d seemed
dazed, and when Dean replies negatively, he declares that he doesn’t seem
concussed. 
“The one on his forehead needs stitching, and this long one here on his
forearm…the gash here on his palm…,” the doctor tells Dean, moving him as
needed to point out the worst injuries.   “I’ll use adhesive on the rest, once
I’ve cleaned them.  I’m not seeing much glass; I understand these injuries were
caused by a broken mirror?”
Dean steps closer.  “Yeah, but I cleaned as much as I could find before we
came.”
The Doctor flashes a professional looking smile that doesn’t touch his eyes at
Dean.  “It seems you were thorough,” he says, then pauses.  “Your eyes.  You
look familiar.”
“You sewed me up a few times when I was a kid.  But I’m surprised you recognize
me, Doc.  You sure as shit weren’t sewin’ anywhere near my eyes,” Dean says
flatly, staring at him. 
The Doctor blinks, but he doesn’t look rattled.  “Now I know why I remember
you.  You always had to be restrained.”
The Chief clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable.  “Yes, well, you did say
you needed to hurry, Cuthbert.”
“Indeed,” the doctor agrees, carrying on gathering his materials as though he
isn’t afraid of Dean in the least.  Cas guesses that’s what Crowley is there
for.  “Now, I know how protective you fellows can be about their faces,” Cas
blinks at the way he says it, like he and other kids like him are just a bunch
of dolls that need to be kept in a certain condition, “so I’m using stitches
that’ll cause less scarring.  However, that means you’ll have to bring him back
to me in about a week so I can remove them.  And I’m afraid I have to insist it
be during my usual hours of operation for this type of visit, at a location of
my choosing.  Not at my workplace.  If you find that difficult, please let me
know and I’ll use dissolvable stitches instead.”
Dean narrows his eyes, clearly hearing the reprimand, but he nods.  “It won’t
be a problem.  I don’t want him scarring if I can help it.”
“Excellent decision,” the doctor smiles again, that same plastic looking one
from before that leaves his eyes cold. 
After that nobody has much to say.  The doctor uses gel to numb the cuts, but
he doesn’t exactly wait for it to work before he starts shooting cold liquid in
them to clean them out.  It hurts, and Cas tries to keep his noises to a
minimum, knowing he's in a room full of men who eat them up.  At least by the
time he’s ready to thread his stitches, Cas doesn’t feel it.  He cries a little
because it’s scary and because the man doesn’t really seem to see him and he
certainly doesn’t talk to him.  Fleetingly he thinks of his Mom, who would
always stand close and say soft things when he was younger, and his doctor, a
woman who made little jokes with him and praised him for being brave—even
though he really wasn’t.  Dean doesn’t say anything (probably because Crowley
will tease him or the Chief will say something that makes him mad, Cas bets),
but he touches the back of his neck and strokes his hair a little and this time
it helps--Cas is so desperate for comfort. 
When the doctor is finished he puts some kind of cream on the stitches and then
puts bandages over them.  He lets Cas get dressed, which he does in record
time.  He gives instructions (when he can take the bandage off, how and when to
clean them, etc.) and tells Dean he has to come back in five to seven days for
the removal (and that he’ll have to arrange it once again through the Chief.) 
He gives him cream that he says usually requires a prescription and says if he
uses it twice a day, it’ll help prevent scarring, too.  All the instructions he
gives to Dean, but Cas listens because he’s the one that needs to follow them. 
And also fuck you, asshole doctor, because he’s twelve, and a person, not a
baby or some walking hole for Dean to fuck (though among these men, he suspects
that's exactly what he is.)  He thinks it but keeps his face lowered when he
does.  He is afraid.  He’s afraid of everyone in the room.
Once the doctor is finished, he leaves without a backward glance for Cas, and
the Chief is the only one to get a hand shake.  Dean wraps him in his blankets
and his coat before picking him up again, and he leans against him, thrilled to
be leaving this place.  They’re already at the car and Dean is putting him
inside when the Chief and Crowley follow them out.  It looks like Crowley is
reluctant, like he’s trying to pull the Chief back, but the man yanks out of
his grip. 
“Hey, Dean, before you leave, I just need to clear up one thing,” the Chief
calls and Dean straightens, leaning against his door in a deceptively casual
pose.  In truth, Cas can feel the tension nearly vibrating under his skin. 
“Something you said earlier that just doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Oh, yeah, and what’s that?” Dean smiles dangerously, and Crowley once again
puts himself between them, his hand inside his coat. 
“I couldn’t have made you what you are.  Are you forgetting how I found you,
Dean?  Covered in the blood of the man you killed?  That's what you were before
you were mine.”
Cas shudders.  It’s new information, technically speaking.  Dean’s been telling
him almost from the beginning that he might kill him—and Cas has always
believed him.  And with Jimmy, he saw the bloody jeans, he knew Dean had done
something not normal.  Not sane.  But it doesn’t feel good, that confirmation. 
That Dean could do it.  That he has done it.
Somehow, the Chief sees the realization on his face and nods.  “Castiel—that’s
your name, isn’t it, lovely?  Well, I’m sorry, Castiel, but I doubt you’re
getting out of this alive.”
“You son of a bitch,” Dean starts forward, but Crowley has his gun out at his
side and Dean stops. 
“Come now, boys, let’s not fight.  More importantly, let’s not fight in the
parking lot of a pediatric center when there are still ordinary citizens about,
yes?”
Dean puts his hands up and turns to shut Cas’s door, deliberately turning his
back on Crowley’s gun.  But when he gets to his door he stops and turns to
where the Chief is still watching him.  “Hey, Captain?  That sounded pretty
good, what you said.  But that’s not how we met, is it,” he asks, but it isn’t
a question and the Captain’s mouth turns into a grim line.  “No, you saw me
when my mom was still alive.  And after she died, you paid a big fat sum to the
good Pastor to fuck me behind my Dad’s—your friend’s—back.  Right?  More than
once, too.  Came enough I knew who you were.  Knew to get my Dad to call you
after I killed his ass.”
The Chief looks down, then back at him again.  “Dean—“
“And even if it was,” Dean says loudly to talk over him, and the Chief shuts
up.  “Even if it was, and the first time we met, I was covered in the blood of
the man who--,” he stops, shakes his head, laughs, “that fucking maniac.  You
still decided I was good to keep going.  To keep doing it.  Because that’s how
it goes, right?  That’s what happens to kids like him and me.”  He juts his
chin in Cas’s direction.  "Happens once, then they just keep comin' round,
sniffin' you out."
The Chief hesitates, and when he speaks all his anger is gone, and there’s a
kind of pleading.  “I was different, we were different!  I didn’t hurt you, I
never—“ 
Dean shakes his head and laughs again, gets in the car and slams the door.
“Dean!” the Chief cries out, but he turns the key in the ignition and his music
blasts to life, drowning out anything else he might say effectively.  He backs
out of his parking space and pulls out of the lot, rushing without peeling out
(which he tells Cas is something only a douchebag would do to his car.)
Cas is watching him without trying to be obvious.  His body is trembling with
sheer exhaustion, aching in the various places he's been hurt, but his mind is
still alert, worried.  He isn’t surprised when they’re at a red light and Dean
rummages in his glove compartment before tossing him a small bottle that he
recognizes.  “Prep yourself.  I need it.”
Cas nods and unbuckles his seatbelt, then pushes his pajama pants down to his
knees.  His treated wounds aren’t stinging anymore but his face hurts,
different parts of his side where bruises have started to form.  Making it even
better, he can feel the cream on his ass has started to wear off, and unless he
can get more soon it’s gonna become too painful to sit.  It’s awkward, but he
twists himself so he can get a finger inside his hole, then quickly makes it
two before starting to swirl and scissor.  “I’m still loose from before,” he
tells Dean, who glances at him, green eyes darkening.
“Good,” he replies.  At the next red light he takes his dick out and tugs Cas
(by his injured arm, but not painfully) over.  “Suck it, baby.  You can prep
yourself and suck me at the same time, can’t you?  Yeah, you can, my good boy. 
Need it, fucking need it.”
Cas believes him, and a sated Dean is a calmer Dean.  His Master is only semi-
hard, but a few well placed licks and lollipop sucks get him hard and dripping
down Cas’s chin.  After that he doesn’t bother with fancy, just wraps his lips
around Dean’s dick and closes his eyes.  It’s tough, and when he thinks he can
get away with it, he takes his fingers out of his ass so he can at least try to
balance.  He thinks it’s worth being a little disobedient, rather than lose his
balance and fall off the seat with his mouth still full of Dean.  Sometimes he
just has to pick which action pisses him off the least.
He doesn’t want to, but doing this makes him think of Sam.  He wonders if he’ll
ever do this again in his life without remembering how amazing it was to hold
Sam like this, taste him, swallow him down.  He'd done it with love, he'd done
it because he wanted to give him something, and he knew it was something he
could do well, something to make his (baby) friend feel good.  He hadn't been
afraid, he hadn't been in pain.  And Dean would kill him if he knew his
thoughts but by now he accepts this about himself.  He’ll never cleanse Sam
from his mind.  Never.  He lives comfortably there, the same way he lives in
his heart.
He groans around Dean’s dick, which at least his Master will appreciate. 
Because these are not good blowjob thoughts.  Not while he’s blowing Dean
anyway.
He feels the car pull over and then he’s being manhandled again while Dean
tries to get his pants at least mostly off.  It hurts, he’s all cut up, his ass
is feeling sorer by the minute.  He lets out each hiss of pain, each small cry,
because Dean likes to hear them.  No sense holding back.  And when Dean pulls
him down on his cock he starts to cry.  Not because it hurts, it doesn’t—or no
more than the normal stretch and burn, his ass’s mild protest of ‘hey, I don’t
think that fits in here.’  But Dean doesn’t mind, and it’s what he feels like
doing.  He'd gotten Dean off Sam once again.  But the price--! 
Dean just holds his hips and does the work, moving Cas up and down on his cock,
his hot breath over his ear and neck, occasionally saying things like, “Good
boy,” and, “Oh, fuck, baby angel.” 
After he’s finished, Dean helps him to climb off.  Dean starts the car again
while Cas grabs mismatched take-out napkins from the glove compartment and
cleans up with them.  “Can I lie down, Master?”
Dean glances at him.  “Yeah, sure.  We’ll be home, soon, though.”
Cas curls up on his side.  “Where am I sleeping?  What about Sam—“
Dean sighs.  “You'll sleep at your house--stay away for a day or two.  Tell Sam
you fell off your bike and your mom had to take you to get stitches.  Say you
rode it into a pole or something, that sounds like you—he'll think you were
daydreaming.  And just don’t let him see too much.  Not like he’ll check,
right?  Not like he’ll ask your mom,” Dean glances at him to make sure he’s
listening, then adds, “Anyway, he won’t be feeling too hot tomorrow.  It’ll be
a minute before he comes looking for you.  That’s enough time for you to have
hurt yourself, have to see a doctor.”
Cas nods into the leather of the seat against his cheek.  “Okay, Master,” he
says dully.  He wishes he could work up some outrage for more lies to feed Sam,
but after a while it just gets old.  He closes his eyes and his body leaps at
the chance to be unconscious. 
He doesn't wake until they're in the garage and Dean is shaking him gently.  He
sits up slowly like he's old, his body having stiffened in his sleep, and
moving pulls at his cuts painfully.  He looks at Dean, who is already watching
him.
“You can never touch Sam again,” he says mildly.  He stares at Cas, but it’s
more of a studying look.  Like he’s just curious how Cas will react, but not
terribly invested either way.
Cas stares back and after a moment he gets it.  This isn’t a rule, it’s a
warning.  If Cas touches Sam, Dean will, too.  And once he gets it, of course,
there is no question.  “All right,” he says, and his voice sounds steady, if
tired.  Maybe he even sounds relieved.  He starts to get out of the car.
“Castiel,” Dean stops him.
He turns and looks Dean in the eye, the way he’d done earlier, but without all
the emotion.  “I won’t touch him like that.  I’ll never touch Sam like that
again, Dean—Master.  Just you.”
Dean looks back for a moment.  Nods and strokes over Cas’s face.  “So we
understand each other.”
Cas lowers his eyes and doesn’t say anything more.  Lets Dean kiss him; kisses
back.  Waits to see if Dean will make it more, and when he doesn’t, he finally
gets out of the car.  He has to go inside to get his things. He's grateful when
Dean doesn't follow him upstairs.  Lets him say good bye on his own.
In Sam’s room, it eases something in him to see his friend dressed at least
somewhat.  He isn’t writhing, though he still seems restless.  He’s sweating a
little, and Cas wets a cloth in the bathroom (nervous to go in at first but
Dean's already been here, his blood is gone.)  He touches it lightly over his
face and neck.  Stares down at him. 
“I love you,” he tells him softly.  Dean has done everything to take the power
of the words from him, make them filthy like everything else, make him feel
like a boy like he is, living this lie he lives doesn’t deserve to utter them.
None of that takes away from how he feels, though, even when he really thought
it should.  But suddenly he realizes that’s because it isn’t about him (or
Dean), it’s about Sam—this incredible boy who loves him, who saveshim, even
when he begs not to be saved.  He had to love Sam—he’d have had to be brain
dead, heartless, not to love him.  So at long last, he says them anyway.  “I
love you so much, Sam Winchester.”
Sam snuffles a little in his sleep, makes some sounds, but his eyes don’t
open.  Cas tugs the sheet up to cover him to his shoulders.  “Sleep, baby,” he
whispers, and strokes his hair, kisses his forehead.  When he sees him next
he’ll break both of their hearts, and it’ll be as easy as breathing. 
He’ll be protecting him from Dean and himself. 
Both his rapists.
 
                                       ~
                                        
There’s this party that Dean gets invited to on the nice side of town.  Nobody
bats an eye when he brings the boys, whether it’s because people in this town
are used to him hauling his brother (plus one) around, or because he’s Dean and
they’ll take him on any terms he requires. 
It’s unclear (to Sam and Cas, who don’t care) who owns the house, but what is
clear is that out back there’s supposed to be this huge fire pit, and Sam is
sure there will be marshmallows (he’s excited to see if Cas’s toasting
abilities have improved with time, and Cas keeps hitting him and rolling his
eyes, because shut up.)  They step into a massive yard  and there is an
impressive sunken fire pit set in pretty stone, surrounded by a large half-
circle of perfectly matched, cushy outdoor seating.  Unfortunately nobody
brought marshmallows (Sam's right, a huge missed opportunity there), but there
is a guy with an acoustic guitar, and he’s good enough to have gathered a
crowd. 
Dean stops in his tracks, gives something like a full-body shudder of
revulsion, and that’s the last they see of him until it’s time to leave.  But
the other Winchester lights up instantly.  “Come on,” Sam says, heading to the
thick of it.  Cas doesn’t come on.  Instead he heads in the opposite direction
and finds a tree to lean against in the low-lit dark.  After a while a small
curly dog finds him and crawls into his lap.  This is the only friend he’s
looking to make. 
He’s just on the other side of the fire, and it’s a perfect view.  Obviously
anyone on the other side of the fire can see him, too, but nobody bothers him
and nobody else chooses to sit on the ground.  He laughs when he sees what he
expected, the fuss that gets made over young, pretty Sam.  He even sees him try
to introduce a Cas who is no longer standing behind him.  He looks wildly
around and when his fox eyes find him in the dark, Cas shrugs and laughs again,
only feeling a little guilty for giving him the slip.  ‘Come here!’ Sam
pantomimes, gesturing firmly, and Cas gives a huge shake of his head, waves. 
‘Have fun,’ is what he mouths, and gets the finger for his efforts. 
Sam is shy for about ten minutes, but as usual the crowd embraces him and soon
he’s swaying along at the center of at least five young women.  Cas is having
fun, too; the music is good (though when Sam asks he’ll make fun of it—folksy,
hippy bullshit music that has nothing to do with reality, he thinks he’ll say)
and he kind of maybe likes how nice these people are.  Sure, there are couples
making out sort of hard core nearby, and he’s seen a few people throwing up in
some gorgeously pruned shrubs, but for the most part they aren’t out of
control.  He realizes he hasn’t gone for a drink yet either—he’s too busy
watching Sam.
(Ho!) So show me family
(Hey!) All the blood that I would bleed
(Ho!) I don't know where I belong
(Hey!) I don't know where I went wrong
A particularly catchy song has most everybody singing along, and Cas finds he
likes the lyrics.  He sees that Sam knows it, he’s singing every word, and it
makes him like it even more.  Makes him want to know the song, too.  It takes
two times for him to realize that Sam is singing the chorus right at him. 
Looking at him across the fire.
I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweetheart
I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweet
Cas’s face gets hot and he hides it in the dog’s fur, but when he looks back
Sam just laughs.  The next time the chorus comes around, he points at Cas, and
when he sings ‘my sweetheart’, he touches his chest.  And Cas gets this
fluttering feeling inside, this buzzing warmth--for a second he's open,
vulnerable, showing how precious it would be to him, if he is really this.  Not
a slut or a slave, but a sweetheart, Sam's sweetheart.  And Sam is his baby
(even if he only has the courage to say it when Sam is distracted.)
People are cheering when the song ends, and he has to soothe the startled dog
in his lap.  When he looks up again Sam is missing.  He frowns, scanning the
yard for a short, skinny boy with tousled brown hair and jumps when Sam slips
in behind him, tickling his sides.  Then he has to meet the dog and become
instant best friends, although Cas is surprised when the warm little thing
leaves Sam and settles back on Cas’s chest (that instinct of some animals, to
find the one who needs them most.)  Sam sits with Cas between his legs, pulling
him back against his chest. 
Cas stiffens at first.  “If Dean sees—“
“Please…he’s not coming out until that,” he gestures to the guitar,” goes back
in its case.  And then he’ll still wait for the guy to go home first.”
Cas laughs.  He’s still not sure what to do.  He reaches back to put his hand
between Sam’s legs, but Sam takes it, kisses the back of his hand, and puts it
back in his own lap.  He kisses Cas’s cheek, his ear, letting him know it’s not
a rejection, but his new initiative:  date nights.  So Cas relaxes against him,
voicing one last worry.  “Are you sure you don’t want to sit over there with
the crowd?”
Sam puts his mouth against his ear.  “Weren’t you listening?  I belong with
you.”
 
                                       ~
                                        
Cas hasn’t seen Sam in a few days, though they’ve texted.  He told the bike
story; Sam told him how sick he was that Sunday, how he never even woke back up
for dinner after being punished.  Felt like I was drinking all night,Sam
texted.  Dean thinks I got so upset I made myself sick.
Sounds as good as anything else, Cas guesses.
He waits until Wednesday to go see him (staying home from school, and hadn’t
that been a scene when he came home injured…at least until Roscoe understood
that they weren’t gonna have to pay hospital bills.  Smooth sailing after
that.  Roughhousing with Sam and crashed into a mirror, if you were wondering
about his excuse this time.  Roughhousing with Sam.)
He's going to see him today, though.  He has on a black sweat jacket zipped all
the way up and he even puts the hood up before deciding that’s overkill.  Sam
will expect him to be fucked up, and at least the swelling in his face has gone
down.  This way all he can see are his face and hands, and it makes sense for
those to be cut up.  The jeans he's wearing are his own, but under the jacket
he’s wearing one of Sam’s shirts for courage.  And in his pocket is his
Samstone.  He clutches it until he thinks his hand will bruise as he nears the
Winchesters’ back door.  The door is open; Sam is expecting him.
He finds Sam in the garage of all places; that’s Dean’s territory.  But the
older Winchester is still at work, and Cas finds he’d rather do it here than
the rest of the house.  They never once made out in here.  “Hey,” he starts
cautiously and Sam smiles wanly.
“Hey.”  Sam looks better than when he saw him last, but still not himself.  His
skin is pale and there are dark circles under his eyes.  “Does your ass still
hurt, too?” he jokes lightly and Cas forces a smile.
“Yeah, but at least I gave it competition.” 
Sam’s face goes concerned, that caretaker look he gets so often with Cas. 
“Does it hurt bad?  Jeez, you really--,” he reaches to touch Cas’s face where
the bandage is but Cas yanks back, “r-really must’ve hit hard,” he finishes
lamely, pulling back.  It’s all so awkward.
“Yeah, you know me when I’m…daydreaming,” Cas trails off.  He doesn’t exactly
know how to do this.  As usual, Sam helps out.
“Cas, I’m so sorry about everything, about Dean.  Look, I asked him if we could
just date, and we won’t do sleepovers, we don’t even have to—“
“I don’t wanna do this anymore,” Cas cuts him off.  The words come out a little
sharper than he intended, but he has to stop Sam from going any further.  He
can’t hear that offer. 
Sam takes a breath and swallows, blinking fast.  “I…I kn-know it’s been hard on
you.  Even before this.  I’ve been trying to…to make it better—“
Cas turns his back, closes his eyes.  Reaches for the memory of himself on top
of Sam, of Dean touching Sam.  “It has been hard.  It’s been hard and I just
can’t do it anymore.  I don’t want to.  Okay?”
Sam nods a bunch of times.  “Maybe…maybe a break, then.”
“No,” Cas insists, and it comes out almost like a sob.  “I don’t…we can be
friends, okay?  But this part is done and you can’t ever kiss me or touch me
like that again.  And I’ll never do it to you.  Promise me, okay?  Promise
you’ll never do it again, no matter what.”  Now it’s his turn to blink.  He can
cry all he wants, once this is done (I will protect you, Sam, I will save you.)
Sam wipes hard at his eyes with his sleeve.  “Cas…please don’t say never—“
He turns, looks hard at Sam.  “You said I could say no whenever I want.  You
said I could stop it any time, any of it.  Was that a lie?”  It’s below the
belt, and Sam looks stunned, crushed.
 “No--w-what?!  No, I just…Cas, please, I—“
“Then, then I’m saying it.  I want it all to stop,” he says, and is surprised
when he looks Sam in the eyes, how intense he sounds.  Because that part, at
least, he means from the bottom of his heart.  He trembles and says again, his
voice shaking, “I just want it to stop.”
And there…the part of Sam that puts Cas first, that will always worry for him,
look after him, is there in his eyes, responding to the desperation in his
tone.  “Okay, Cas, whatever you need.  It can stop, of course we’ll stop.  I…,”
he steps closer then stops, uncertain in a way Cas isn’t used to seeing on
him.  “I’m sorry, I…I really, really didn’t mean—“
“You didn’t,” Cas is quick, putting a hand on his arm.  “You never hurt me, not
once.  Never.  I’m just…I can’t…,” he trails off helplessly, letting go when he
sees Sam’s eyes on his hand.  He shouldn’t be touching him, not now. "I can't,"
he repeats miserably.
“Are you saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?” Sam says after a pause, and gives a
tiny smile.  Trying to help Cas, still.  Always.
Cas blinks.  Finds himself smiling back, though his is small, too.  “I…I guess
I am.  At least with me you know it’s true.  Ask anyone,” he tries to joke,
too, but Sam frowns.  He hates when Cas talks like that.  As if he gives a shit
what anyone else thinks.
For a minute neither of them say anything.
“Is this because of Dean?” Sam says suddenly.  It takes Cas by surprise, and
Sam catches his reaction, sees something of the truth in his eyes before he can
help it.  “It is!  It’s because he's been getting so pissed, so over the top. 
I can—“
“No!  Jesus, Sam, just leave it—“
“All you have to do is say he can’t spank you anymore, he’ll never do it
again—“ Sam starts.
Cas can’t help the twinge of anger.  “No!  No, I agreed, we agreed, so I…so  I
could be—“
“All I wanted when I agreed to that was for Dean to look out for you like he
does me!  I wanted you to be ours!  Instead, he’s like going overboard,” Sam
paces, starting to get pissed.  “He’s coming between us—it’s not even his
business—“
“Sam, stop!” Cas pushes in front of him, forcing him to literally stop in his
tracks.  “Don’t even go there, all right?  He’s all the family you have—“
“You’re my family, too!” Sam insists.
“Great, then I’ll suck your dick again right after he does,” Cas says bitterly
without thinking. 
Sam’s face floods with color, and for a second he looks like he wants to hit
Cas (who will stand there and take it.)  Instead he turns away.  “That’s fucked
up,” he says quietly.  “You’re so fucked up sometimes, Cas.”
Cas laughs incredulously.  “I’m fucked up allthe time, Sam,” he grits out,
almost relishing the admission.  But he’s not mad at Sam, and none of this, not
one iota of this is Sam’s fault.  He deflates at the thought, shaking his
head.  “I’m sorry.  I just meant it’s different.  You shouldn't act like you
don't need Dean.”  (And you don’t want to know the measures Dean will take if
he thinks he could lose you.)
They’re quiet for a while.
“What happens now?” Sam asks softly.  He’s looking down, his bangs covering his
eyes.
But Cas thought about this, too.  “I…you’re still my best friend, always…but
I’ll probably…back off for a while.”  Because the truth is, he doesn’t need to
sleep over at Sam’s all the time to serve Dean.  Nobody in his house gives a
fuck where and when he comes and goes--they don't like him home, but he knows
how to stay in his room, stay invisible.  He’ll wait until Sam’s asleep or
something—or Dean can take him somewhere.  He likes to do that sometimes,
usually some scary nightmare place that no one would want to go, but it gets
them away from Sam.  Off of Sam. 
“Shit,” Sam whispers, and then he is crying.  But he wipes hard at his eyes
again, stops himself. He sniffs and looks at Cas.  “Not…not too long, okay? 
Don’t back off too long, I…I kinda need you.”
Cas looks at him then and trembles with all the emotions he’s keeping on lock. 
He wants to kiss him good bye, but no, he said never, so he’ll stick to it. 
“I, uh.  Need you.  A lot.”  (But I won’t, okay?  I’ll be fine and you’ll be
safe.)
“Can I at least,” Sam starts and his voice breaks in a way that would normally
have them laughing, have Cas teasing him.  Instead it’s agonizing.  He clears
his throat.  “A-a hug.  Can—“
Cas slams into his arms before he finishes.  It’s not the last time, he tells
himself.  They’re still best friends, and best friends hug, don’t they?  But he
hugs him the way he did as his secret (his love, his sweetheart, his baby),
putting his arms up over the back of his neck and pulling him down so there’s
no space between them.
Sam holds him so tight it hurts, his injuries lighting up, and he honestly
could not give a shit.  “I love you Cas, and I’m always gonna, you got me?  I
don’t care if we never kiss again, if you…you make all the rules you want,
okay?  I’m still gonna love you.  My whole life, I know it.  I know it.”
“Sam…Sam, I…,” Cas tries, digging his fingers into Sam’s shirt, squeezing his
eyes tight.  But this time his inner demons and the laughing, smirking Dean
that lives in his head shout him down.  He can’t do it.  There’s just too much
about him that Sam doesn’t know.  It’s no fair if Sam doesn’t have all the
information, so he could stomp it into the ground like he should.  I love you,
he thinks, because it’s still true.  “I gotta go.  H-homework and stuff.”
“Yeah,” Sam agrees softly and lets him loose without trying to hold him. 
Always so different from his brother.  Always so kind.
Cas leaves, texting Dean that it’s over (hoping as far as Dean’s concerned that
he’s right.)  He waits for the pain to hit, but the relief is overwhelming
instead.   This was always dangerous.  He should’ve known from the start that
it would only put Sam in more danger than he is every day.  It’s never been
what he wanted for Sam.  And being in love with someone isn’t about getting to
be with them…it means you want them to be happy.  You want them to be safe.
Baby angel, Dean calls him.  Now he's watching over Sam the way he should.
 
                                     * * *
 
When Dean comes home from work that day, Sam is waiting for him.  There's no
fucked attempt at dinner on the table either.  Just a pale boy with bloodshot
eyes who looks pretty pissed.  He probably doesn't love it when Dean smiles at
the sight of him.  "Somethin' buggin' you, Sweetheart?"
Sam flushes with rage.  "You--," he chokes, unable to call Dean the kind of
four letter words he probably wants to--not with his ass still hurting.  Too
angry not to confront him at all, though.  "This is all your fault.  Because
you're so goddamn crazy," he spits it at Dean with the relish of someone who's
been thinking it a while, saving it up, or maybe trying not to use it.  
"Watch yourself, Sam," Dean warns, but he isn't mad, not really.
"You scared Cas away from me!" Sam cries, his eyes welling up with tears.  "I
should've never agreed to that shit with you, letting you--"
"Hey!" Dean cuts him off, annoyed.  "It was Cas who suggested that, and you did
agree, so what are you bitchin' about now?"
"I just wanted you to look after him!  I wanted you to love him, I wanted him
to have a fucking family, like I have," Sam yells back, then shakes his head
bitterly.  "I thought you would help, but I should've known you're too crazy
for that."
Dean grabs him by his upper arm.  "Knock it off, right now.  You wanna bitch at
me, fine, do it, but calm the fuck down."  Dean glares at him until he gets a
nod, then he releases him.  "What are you gettin' at, anyway?  Crazy, what the
fuck is that, what are you talkin' about?"
Sam watches him...seems to come to a decision.  Looks like heis trying to be
calm, but misses the mark by a mile.  "I love you, Dean, but...but you're out
of control.  You've been acting nuts with all this--you get so mad!  You used
to say you'd never punish me angry, but you do--," his voice wavers, his eyes
swimming with sudden tears...but he blinks and tries again.  "You do it all the
time now.  And Cas, too.  And...and now you're following me?  You wanted me to,
to walk home...with my pants...," he falters again, and flushes pink, and when
he lowers his eyes tears slip down.  "Why-why would you want...," he shakes his
head, like he can't finish that part.  "And the way you were with that
girl...with Jo.  It's like sometimes you forget that I'm your brother, you
forget that you even love--," he breaks off again.  But then he straightens to
his full little height, and the way he's standing, the determination in his
swollen, red eyes, Dean is forcibly reminded of that night he caught Dean and
Meg teaching Cas about girls.  "I'm stopping this.  You're not doing this to us
anymore.  I'll talk to John--Dad.  He'll help you see--"
"Oh, is it back to Dad now?" Dean laughs and Sam looks flustered.  
"Dean," he tries.
"No, you're done--I got the gist.  And now it's my turn to lay some truth on
you, Sammy.  And you ain't gonna like it.  This is something you've known for a
while--we just never talk about it.  But now you're making me.  Remember that. 
You made me.  So.  Sam.  Of the two of us, who is Dad's favorite son?"
Sam blinks, shocked, a little confused.  Then hurt and pissed.  The answer is
quick because it's obvious, a cheap shot.  "You, yeah so what?  That doesn't
mean--"
"That's right, me.  The one his wife raised," he says the words slowly,
carefully, giving them a chance to sink in.  "His favorite son, and he barely
has time for me.  Maybe a little more now that I'm old enough to be
interesting, someone he can drink with...right?  Right.  But you...," he looks
at Sam and shakes his head, a mocking sort of sympathy.  But his words have the
definitive ring of truth--this time he doesn't need a lie to tear his brother
apart.  "God, kiddo, if he fed you one bottle a week it was a lot.  Never told
you that, did I?  Or how I had to be the one to get you when you cried, because
he couldn't be trusted--he'd be drunk, unsteady.  I thought he'd drop you. 
Sometimes he'd just scream at you.  Kinda got scared he'd hit you or something,
even though you were just a fucking baby.  And these days he can barely stand
to be in the same room as you and that fucking mouth.  You know he doesn't have
a second job anymore, right?  Quit.  He just doesn't stay home anyway.  Nothin'
here for him, I guess."
Sam is frozen silent now, listening like he's fascinated despite himself--he
never can get Dean to talk about their lives when he was a baby, their mother,
anything.  And he's too proud to ask John.  He jerks a shrug of one shoulder. 
He can't look at Dean, but his voice comes out steady, if soft.  "Like I said,
so what?"
Dean shakes his head.  Leans forward and tips Sam's chin, looks his younger
brother in the eyes.  "Why do you think that is?  I mean...he has to love you,
you're his kid," he tugs Sam gently to him, takes both his hands.  "But how
much could he really love the baby that survived the accident?  Mom went down
in flames, she died in agony.  Because she made them get you out first.  Shit. 
When I think about it...it's kind of amazing that I could love you," he says
with a smile, stroking Sam's cheek.  "But I do, Sammy.  I love you.  You and
me, always.  That's all I remember, even before Mom died, soon as you were
born.  You and me."
And there, the wide-eyed distress he was looking for.  "It is you and me, Dean,
I just--"
"My whole life taking care of you, raisin' you, because he doesn't want to look
at you too much...but soon as you don't get your way, you wanna sic him on me. 
Tell me, Sam, you ever think about the fact that I'm over 18 and workin' full
time, but I still live here with you and Dad?  How often you think I get asked
when I'm gonna get out on my own?"
Sam's face drains of color, his lips trembling.  "You...you wanna leave me?"
"'S'not what I'm sayin, baby boy," he loses his smile, lets go of his hands. 
And when he speaks again his voice is ice, green eyes flat and empty.  "I'm
sayin' if I don't need to look out for you then I don't need to be here. 
There's other shit I could be doin' instead of being your fucking Dad when you
don't appreciate it.  And you can stay here with a man who probably doesn't
wish you were dead instead of Mom every day.  I mean.  Right?  Some days he
must feel guilty about it at least.  But just think...bet he lets you do
whatever you want with Cas, long as he don't see it.  He won't care where you
go, what lies you tell.  So long as you don't bitch at him, I bet he won't give
one rat's ass what you do."
Sam's face crumples, and he crosses an arm over his stomach like he's in pain. 
"S-stop...," he begs.
"No, I'm not gonna stop.  You don't get to threaten me like that.  Not after
everything we've been through, not us.  So you tell me now.  You wanna act like
John's your Dad, you want me to step back from you, we can do that.  I'll do
that.  But all the way back.  And it won't take me long to get outta here,
Sam.  I travel real light."
He swipes at his eyes with the back of one hand.  "Please don't...don't say
that, okay, I don't...I never wanted you to leave, I just...I didn't mean it,
okay?  Please don't say that again."
"Then you don't say that to me anymore, not ever again," Dean says, then grabs
him hard by his shoulders, getting right in his face.  "You're mine, not his,
I'm the one that loves you!  I'm the only one that loves you!  He can't keep
you safe, he never could!"
"Yeah," Sam looks frightened, but sincere.  "Yeah, I know, Dean.  I'm sorry,
okay?  I won't...I won't do it again."
Dean stares at him, making sure he means it before letting him go.  Sam slips
into a kitchen chair.  After a moment, he puts his head in his hands.  Dean
pulls a chair out, sits next to him.  Rubs his back.  "I told you this wouldn't
work out, you guys are too young.  Maybe someday--"
"Never," Sam mumbles.  Sniffles.  Doesn't lift his head.  "He said never."
Dean blinks.  Shrugs inwardly; time will tell if Cas can keep that up.  This is
something they're all just trying out.  "Twelve year olds don't know shit about
never," he tells Sam.  "But maybe give him some time.  Some space, even.  It's
like I told you before, you're too young for this boyfriend shit, Sam.  Just
back off it for a while.  Be a kid.  Focus on school, that's what I want for
you."
Sam lifts his head and looks at Dean with steady, wet eyes.  For a moment Dean
thinks he'll start yelling, bitching at him again.  Instead he pushes himself
against Dean's chest, his face pressed to his shoulder.  Dean tugs him in like
he did when he was smaller (he's still pretty small, to Dean anyway.)  Holds
him like a little boy, his little boy.  "You wouldn't really leave me, Dean,
would you?  Not really.  Right?"
Dean tightens his hold, breathes his scent in deep.  "I'll never leave you,
Sam  What do I always tell you?  Ain't no me without you."
Sam tightens his hold, too.  "Promise, okay?  Don't leave.  You can't ever. 
I'd just find you if you did."
"Not ever...gotta be here to watch out for you," Dean tells him, rocking him
slowly, and he means it.  Over his dead body will he ever leave Sam--he just
needed him to stop thinking there was some higher authority he could go through
other than Dean.  When Dean is it for him, has always been it for him.  Mother,
father, brother--he's all there is.    "Shh, I gotcha.  You'll be fine.  Gonna
take care of you, okay?  You and me, like always."
"You and me, Dean," Sam says, his voice muffled in his shoulder.  "Always you
and me."
 
Chapter End Notes
     There you have it, the end of the game, and the end of Sastiel. Not
     their love, but they can't be together. They just can't, not without
     disastrous results. I was tempted to apologize in this section for
     all the Sastiel fluff, but I won't--they deserved it. And I know some
     of you aren't here for them, but I am, and it hurts to do this. The
     song I used, if you don't already know, is Ho Hey by the Lumineers.
     Another song I've been listening to that makes me think very
     painfully of them is Hush by Avril Lavigne (not exactly a fan, but
     the piano background and her small voice make the song so innocent
     and perfect for them.) These lyrics feel like they could be from Cas
     to Sam:
     I didn't mean to kiss you
     You didn't mean to fall in love
     I never meant to hurt you
     We never meant for it to mean this much
     Hush hush, now
     I wanted to keep you
     Forever next to me
     You know that I still do
     And all I wanted was to believe
     Hush hush, now
     So go on, live your life
     So go on, say goodbye
     So many questions
     But I don't ask why
     So this time I won't even try
     Hush hush, now
     The mirror scene was inspired by none other than violet-scythe. Dean
     was always gonna try this with Cas, since the time jump when he first
     mentioned it. But in telling me her favorite chapters and why, violet
     reminded me that even a brainwashed Cas would try to save Sam from
     this. And if I needed reminding, Dean did, too. Both of us took it
     for granted that Cas was too broken to intervene anymore, but he got
     into this mess to save Sam from what he'd gone through...and he
     thought that's what Dean wanted, too. For Dean, he now accepts that
     if the boys touch each other, he's touching Sam--he won't be able to
     resist. He'll try one last tactic to keep their relationship as-is.
     Sam might find it a bit stifling but without Cas, he'll need Dean
     more than ever.
     Sorry about the super long end notes, but this section was blood,
     sweat, and tears for me. And I should also let you know that this
     story...well, think of the Little Engine that Could--the version
     where he makes it to the top only to go too fast going down and then
     crash into a million pieces (where the fuck did I see that, I just
     googled it and I can't even find it)...what we've had so far was us
     chugging our tortured asses up a mountain, and playing the Sam Game,
     we were at the top.
     That's my long-winded way of saying it's all downhill from here.
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