Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11797020.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Castiel/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Castiel, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Daddy_Kink, Abuse, Suicidal_Thoughts, Underage_Sex, Dark, Angst, Teacher-
      Student_Relationship, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Complicated_Relationships,
      Hurt/Comfort
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-08-14 Chapters: 1/? Words: 3768
****** With A Broken Wing ******
by babyboyplaid
Summary
     Dean is just an angel caught in a hurricane. His life is a wreck and
     he is on a collision course with disaster. With very few options, and
     a few of them grim, he turns to someone he can trust for help. That
     someone is his English teacher, Mr. Samuel Winchester.
Notes
     Hey everyone! Thanks for taking a look at my fic.
     For starters, I want you to know that this is a very dark fic. There
     is very explicit abuse. Dean contemplates both murder and suicide in
     this fic. His father has been molesting him for years and Dean has a
     slightly different personality than in cannon. The fighter is still
     there though.
See the end of the work for more notes
The weight of the night sinks in around Dean, holding him a prisoner in his
bed. Most of the time, night is the worst time to be Dean Winchester. For
whatever reason, he had received a harsh life sentence: one of having to live
with a father whose demons were worse than any of those locked up in Hell. He
blinked up at his ceiling and it was almost like he could feel the quiet before
the storm. It didn't happen on every night that his father drank, which was
every one. No, there was almost a darker feel to the nights when it was going
to happen and Dean could feel that oppressive darkness. And he was scared.

Rolling over, he looked at the clock on his bedside table and it read 11:00pm
sharp. He had school in the morning and really ought to be getting some sleep.
It was hard, though, sleeping when he had this threat looming over his head.
Dean wasn't exactly sure how this had all started but he knew he was in over
his head now. And if he ever dared to resist... that just made it worse. There
was a clinking down stairs and Dean just stilled himself. Swallowing thickly,
he heard the ever familiar thump of boots coming up the old wooden stairs and
Dean shivered; the sound had stopped at his door. Steeling himself, he blinked
a few times as he heard his door getting pushed open and his father came
walking into the room.

John didn't have a shirt on at that point and kicked his boots off at the edge
of Dean's bed. There was some kind of fucked up wiring in his brain because he
knew his father was handsome; knew that hairy chest and sharp jawline would
probably turn him on were this almost any other situation. Dean didn't even say
anything as he moved over in his bed, getting up against the wall to make room
for the man. John sank down into the bed and smirked over at Dean, the smell of
whiskey pouring off of him. Dean was only in his boxers and could feel the
rough denim against his legs.

Dean let out a soft breath and felt those dreaded fingers lace into his hair.
He just closed his eyes as John tried to push him down below the covers but
there was something in Dean that was resisting. Whimpering, he tried to defend
himself from his father.

“Dad... not tonight.”

He really should have known better because all it earned him was a sharp slap
to the face. Dean could taste the blood in his mouth already and he recoiled as
far as he could.
“You best get that little whore mouth to work.” John ordered.

Dean let himself get pushed down this time and he heard John open his jeans as
his half hard cock flopped out. Even if he didn't want to admit, he knew how to
play this game all too well. Dean let his lips part and felt his father pushing
his hips up to find the empty space between them. There was a deep moan from
the older man as the cock found it's way into the depths of Dean's mouth,
pushing back into his throat. At that point, Dean didn't have much of a gag
reflex left and he just gave an eager suck, just trying to please the monster
in his bed.

More overwhelming than the cock that was currently forcing it's way into the
reaches of Dean's throat was the smell of John. His classic, masculine musk
mixed with the smell of whiskey to create an explosive duo for Dean. He wanted
to curse every cell in his body and tell them not to light up at that smell; to
not respond in ways that would confuse the man he was forced to call his
father. But Dean was helpless against the simply biology and he felt his own
cock grow hard in his boxers, pressing hard into his own leg.

John gave a few thrusts into Dean's mouth and that elicited a few gags from the
young boy. Then came an immediate, harsh saltiness in his mouth and Dean knew
exactly what was coming next. He braced himself for impact and when his father
let out his grunts that always gave him away, Dean knew it was too late. The
cum flooded into his mouth and throat, overwhelming all of his senses and
bringing him down onto that taste in his mouth. He swallowed obediently and
gave the man's cock a few licks after he was allowed off it. John simply threw
his arms up above his head and Dean sighed. The nightmare was over and now he
could get some sleep.

When the morning light streamed in on his face, Dean blinked harshly and
realized he was all but plastered against John. He groans a bit to himself and
climbs out of the bed and stumbles down the hall way. He hears his father groan
in his absence but he just keeps walking down to the bathroom. He takes care of
his morning business before looking up into the mirror and wincing. There was a
large cut on his lip from when he had gotten slapped the night before. He let
out a low breath and brushed a hand through his hair before fixing it with a
comb and finished up by brushing his teeth, scrubbing a little hard this time
to clean his father out of his mouth.

Once he was dressed, he bounded down the stairs off the porch and set off for
school. It was just a mile to get to school and there was even a field he could
cut across if he felt like taking a short cut. There was still a dew on the
flowers so he stuck to the road as he wound his way down to the school. It was
his Sophomore year in high school. The feeling of fall was settling in around
him as he crunched over leaves making his way up the front steps of the school.
He tugged his jacket a little closer though as a breeze swept over him.

Dean was so keenly aware of the eyes of the other students that followed him.
He was sure that the rumors flew around the small school. Most everyone was
aware that he liked boys in the way that he was supposed to like girls which
didn't help his case at all. Then there was the fact that everyone knew his
father was a raging alcoholic. Add onto that fact that he sometimes had
bruises, or a busted lip like that morning, and he knew the rumor mill was
churning out all the juicy gossip about him.

He kept his head down though and avoided all of their eyes. A long time ago he
had just convinced himself it would make things easier if he just stuck to
himself. It was hard though. One pair of eyes caught his from across the yard
and he looked up to lock gazes with one Castiel. He was reminded that he wasn't
so utterly alone but Cas wasn't much of a friend. The other boy only texted him
when the witching hour struck and he had an itch that needed to be scratched.
They had started out as lab partners once upon a time but soon Cas discovered a
much better use for Dean.

The only use there ever seemed to be for Dean.

Dean clutched his books to his chest as he made his way into the school halls
and his classes began for the day. There was no way that Dean would call
himself the smartest kid in school but he always stayed focused on his books
and work. He knew that they would be his ticket to freedom. He was going to
sneak out from under John's nose if it killed him. For the most part, Dean
didn't even mind his classes. There was even one he looked forward to.
Sophomore year English with Mr. Samuel Winchester. It wasn't lost on him that
they shared the last name, though as far as he could tell, there was no
relation at all. He could try to convince himself that he was mainly interested
in the fiction they got to read but there was a reassuring quality to Mr.
Winchester's smile. Dean always got good grades in that class and he felt like
Mr. Winchester might have a small soft spot for Dean.

Or maybe that was just fiction he was making up in his head.

None of the students had to technically be in class before the bell rang and on
Mondays, hardly anybody did. But Dean was a special case and once he got things
settled in his locker, he got what he needed and made a quick trip down to his
first class for the day. It wasn't at all unusual for him to be the first
student through the door and he gave a small grin to Mr. Winchester. It was
returned by the middle aged man quickly and Dean took his seat. It went without
saying that it was in the first row.

Slowly, people began to file in and when the bell rang, there was a panicked
rush to get into class rooms. Mr. Winchester simply reminded the class that the
beginning of class was at the bell and they needed to be there on time. With
his obligatory chastising out of the way, he set into his lecture for the day
and Dean did his best to take notes. Currently, they were working their way
through To Kill A Mockingbird. Dean was utterly obsessed with the book and had
already finished it by the time everyone was only required to be on chapter
four.

Dean watched with a guilty pleasure as Mr. Winchester strutted about the room
and Dean found his mind filling up with thoughts of the older man. Dean wanted
those broad hands to swallow his shoulders, holding the boy close. Except there
were hands on his shoulders and Dean nearly gasped as he turned around. Only,
there was no hands on his shoulders and he frowned before feeling his father's
breath on his neck and it was all he could do not to scream. It had ghosted
over his skin, caught in the realm of too real but not real to anyone but Dean.
He wanted to flee the room but he turned back in his seat and caught a glare
from Mr. Winchester. He ducked his head like a puppy who had just been caught
being mischievous and resumed working on his notes.

But the moment is over as soon as it had started and Dean is once again drawn
into the lull of Mr. Winchester's voice. It carried a soft, melodic tone to it
as the man listed out some of the current themes they were working on in the
book. Of course, Dean knew the older man could get stern if he had to and he
was sure everyone in the class understood it as well. They all knew well enough
to not test the mild mannered man because if they did, his wrath would be
coming out. And that was anything but mild.

The bell rings and everyone begins to pack up their stuff. Mr. Winchester is
making his last few announcements for the class, reminding them all to make
sure they got through with the reading before tomorrow's class. He all but told
them there was going to be a quiz on the material but Dean wondered if any of
them had actually picked up on it. Dean was always sure to pick up on it. He
had to. As he was getting ready to leave the room, he's stopped by a voice that
makes him shuffle his feet a bit.

“Dean, if I could have a moment please. I'll be sure to give you a note for
your next teacher.” Mr. Winchester had called out to him before having a seat
at his desk, waving him over.

Dean swallowed the thick fears churning in his gut; they gnawed at him, trying
to convince him he had fucked up somehow. The voices of his fear were all but
pounding in his ear as he came to a stop at the desk. Then, the swelling
crescendo fell to dead silence as Dean struggled to look up at the man's face.
At least he knew how to do this part, albeit almost on a script.

“Yes, sir?” He questioned, his voice low.

“How was your weekend?” The man said, his voice staying at the same level of
Dean's.

“It was alright.” Dean replied, almost too quickly.

“Everything going good at home?” Sam asked

Fuck. Alarms started going off in his head and Dean could feel his feet
quivering below him. There was a certain level of paranoia that nearly
paralyzed Dean on the spot and he had to choke back a whimper. Now he was
certain that word was going to get back to his father that questions had been
raised and that Dean had ratted on him. Dean knew that would not end well for
him.

“Everything is fine.”

Mr. Winchester is searching Dean's face, prodding in like he doesn't believe
the boy. Dean knows the man shouldn't believe him because it was, in fact, a
lie. There was no way that the boy could say that though. Running a hand
through his hair, Dean pointedly avoided making eye contact with the older man;
he felt like all of his truth would just come spilling out and Dean couldn't
have that. There was some quick scribbling from Mr. Winchester onto a piece of
a paper. One half of the sheet was a note for his next teacher and the other
half had two phone numbers on it.

“The top number is the hot line number for the National Center for Abused
Children. Maybe you have a friend who needs that number.” The words come across
as more of an accusation than an attempt at comfort. “Against my better
judgment, the bottom one is my personal cell phone number. Call me if you need
anything, ok?”

Against his better judgment, Dean tucks the numbers into the back pocket of his
jeans. There is a quite moment where Dean is not denying what Mr. Winchester is
saying. He can tell the man knows. When Dean thought about it, he figured it
wasn't hard to put two and two together. Dean fidgets with his hands before he
is turning on the spot.

“Thank you.” It's quieter than he normally speaks and Mr. Winchester simply
gives a nod to acknowledge what was said.

Turning on his heels, Dean walked from the room and his cheeks were flushed and
tears were threatening to spill over from his eyes. There was no way he could
go to his next class in this state. Instead, he just made a quick path to the
restroom and slumped against the wall in the stall. The tears came hot and
heavy as he stood there, feeling the most amount of shame he ever had in his
whole life. Nothing – no name calling, no bullying – had ever called up this
deep well of shame that Dean had been carrying around with him for years. Most
days he could keep it hidden, tucked away out of view. But today, Mr.
Winchester had shone a light directly onto it and Dean wasn't sure he was ready
for that.

The rest of the school day passes in a blur. His mind is still playing through
the scene with Mr. Winchester and the way that man had looked at him; it was
almost as if he had an accusatory glint in his eyes. Voices swirled around in
Dean's head, causing his heart to begin to race. The man obviously knew
something was up and Dean wasn't sure how much longer he could hold the truth
at bay. Most everyone at his school had to know that he was getting abused. But
it was a small town and no one wanted to rock the boat. So, it just slid under
the radar.

For the most part, Dean could handle his father. He was an expert at predicting
the pattern that his father would follow. And if Dean didn't resist, then most
of the time things went ok for Dean. Then there were the times that his father
just needed to take out aggression. And what better target than his fourteen
year old son that wouldn't fight back. It mainly consisted of a rough spanking
with his father's belt or the occasional slap to the face.

He shook himself free from the swirl of thoughts and memories spinning around
his head as he heard the dismissal bell ring out at the end of the day.
Gathering himself up, Dean practically bounded down the stairs on his way out
of the school yard. He brushed past Cas once again but he just kept walking as
he could feel the other boy's eyes digging into the back of his neck. Dean
wanted to mutter the words 'coward' or something under his breath, as some kind
of tension release. But he knew that wasn't right or fair. Cas was in a much
more delicate situation than Dean was. If Cas' father ever found out about his
son's secret desires then Dean could only imagine the man would try to
'exorcise the homosexual demons' out of Cas or some other foolishness.

And that was some grade A, fuck-you-up-for-life kind of shit. However, it
wasn't Dean's monkey's nor was it his circus.

He took the shortcut to get home, hopping down into the lush growth of the
field. The long, untamed grass brushed along his calves as he made his way down
a familiar path. Daisy's were in bloom in the field and Dean began to pick a
few as he walked, slowly starting to form a daisy chain. Once he had enough for
a crown, he placed them onto his head and began to snap a few fun, ridiculous
selfies.

He couldn't ignore the busted lip so prominent in the photos.

As he is fidgeting with his phone, it buzzes and he sees a text message come
in. It's from Cas and that earns a big groan from the boy as he clicks it open.

“Your dad is out of control.” The words read on the screen.

“Don't talk about my dad.” It was cold, unforgiving.

Perhaps they could be a thing after the multiple times he had blown the boy in
the bed of his truck, way out on one of many country roads. Maybe they could
have made a go of a relationship after the way Cas whispered words into Dean's
ears that made him shiver and bend to the other's desires. It could have all
been wonderful except Cas would barely acknowledge Dean's existence inside the
school halls anymore.

But there was always those eyes watching him. And Dean always made sure to let
Cas know he wasn't forgiven.

“You can't avoid me forever.”

“I can sure as hell try.”

“Come on, don't be like that.”

“Text one of you foot ball buddies, maybe he'll suck your dick.”

It was borderline petty but Dean was just done with the situation and felt like
that a swift kick to his pride would shut the conversation down. Well, it
didn't. There was still a string of texts coming in from Cas but Dean was just
making a point of ignoring them and moving on with his life.

Eventually, Dean makes it home and starts to work on cleaning the house up a
little bit. It mainly consists of throwing away old liquor bottles and clearing
out some other trash that his father had left in his wake. He finds his father,
slumped in a chair and passed out. A flare of rage hits him but only because
he's emboldened by his father not being conscious. He grabbed a large butcher
knife from a kitchen drawer and stood towering over his father. Red filled his
vision and he heard his heartbeat thundering in his ear drum. He wanted to make
his father pay for everything he had done. Dean wanted to feel the man's blood
on his hands, watch as his skin ripped underneath the blade. There was a small,
but persistent voice in the back of his mind urging him forward.

But Dean couldn't bring himself to do it.

He let the knife clatter from his hands down onto he counter top and ran out
the backyard into the cooling evening air. Running a hand through his hair,
Dean gasped a couple of times and quickly wiped at the edges of his eyes before
darting out across the field. Soon, he made it to a simple spot beside the road
and came to a halt, trying to figure out the next part of his plan.

On a whim of inspiration, Dean took his phone out of his pocket and dialed Mr.
Winchester. The man had said to call if he needed anything. And Dean really
needed some help. He listened impatiently as the phone rang and then finally
there was a click to let him know it had been answered.

“Hello?” The man's voice was softer than Dean was used to, more relaxed.

Dean on the other hand was an utter mess. “Hi – yeah, hey Mr. Winchester. It's
Dean Winchester. I uh –.... I need some help.” His voice was ragged. “I just
don't know how much more of this I can take.” That line took him by surprise.

“What are you talking about, Dean? Where are you?”

“I'm just tired. Tired of all of it.” He choked a bit on the words. “I'm off
route 7, near the school. Literally on the side of the road.”

“Stay there, I'm coming.”

Mr. Winchesters voice was firm now, more like it used to be. And where was Dean
going to go? He was afraid something bad would happen if he went back to his
father. He was afraid of how that situation could end. Truth be told, Dean was
ready to just implode everything if it meant he could at least get out. It was
his best shot at survival.

Because if he went back to his house, him or his father would die. And Dean
wasn't sure which end of that fight he would come out on.
End Notes
     Let me know down in the comments what you think of this fic! I am
     working on it in real time so perhaps some of your feedback will help
     alter the course of this story. As always, I hope you all you enjoyed
     (as much as one can, I guess).
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!