tehdirtiestsock (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tehdirtiestsock) wrote2009-10-28 04:16 pm
tehdirtiestsock) wrote2009-10-28 04:16 pm
Little Death (Sam/Dean/OMCs)
Dean was kidnapped by demons as a child. it pretty much fucks the Winchesters up forever.
extreme underage, non-con & dubcon, violence and snuff.
Dean's kidnapping is Sam's first real memory.
The confusion of his big brother, his biggest constant, abruptly absent. Dad's frantic demeanor. Sam remembers crying for Dean, inconsolable for days on end. Remembers Dad trying with little success to keep his temper and hold his shit together and take care of Sam, all while hunting for the demons that took his oldest son.
He was missing for a year and two months, and looking back, Sam can see the way Dad had been losing hope. Not giving up—never that—but losing the belief of getting Dean back alive. Other hunters' children had gone missing simultaneously and one by one their bodies turned up, bloody and broken and torn apart from the inside. Dad kept looking, relentless as ever, but it was mechanical. A vengeance machine.
Dean turned out to be the only survivor, and when they got him back, he was...different. The degree to which he was broken broke Dad a little more.
They did a lot of pretending, after that. Dad pretended to be relieved to have his child back. Dean pretended Dad left them alone because of his devotion to the hunt. Sam pretended that Dean was taking care of him, instead of the other way around.
They all pretended that the Winchesters were the lucky ones. That Dean wasn't better off dead.
John finds the eviscerated bodies of dead animals in the yard, in the woods, down the street, sometimes in the house. Once, he catches Dean at it, the bloody remains of what used to be a kitten strewn across a carpet that, while never pristine, is now beyond hope. John's gonna lose his rental deposit.
Dean's covered in gore like he's rolled around in it, eyes unfocused now. Vacant. He's got a hunting knife in one hand and a small lump of purple-red flesh in the other. John thinks it might be the cat's heart.
Sammy's sitting on the couch Indian-style, wide dry eyes moving between his brother and where John stands, shocked in the doorway.
"It quit crying almost an hour ago," he informs John solemnly.
John bags the grisly remains with shaking hands, tosses them in the dumpster, hoses off his kid, and then he vomits. He crawls inside a bottle and doesn't come back out for a week.
He has nothing but a passing acquaintance with sobriety after that, which makes hunting a riskier proposition. It does keep him from answering those pesky, nagging questions he'd rather not acknowledge. Like why Dean was naked when John found him.
Dean is nine years old.
Dad dies in a hunting accident when Dean is twelve. But he stopped being a parent a long time before that, so Dean and Sam get by.
It does make things easier, though. Dad's always been adament that Dean's extracurricular activities stay confined to stray animals, but when puberty hits, that's just not enough. Dean's fun stops being a dull, aching compulsion and becomes a hot, live, bright thing. He has vivid dreams of blood and come, and it stops being enough to gut a puppy and shove his dick in Sam's small, willing mouth. Dean struggles to obey Dad's rules. The neighbor's children cry and choke, but stay unblemished and alive.
Sam doesn't seem particularly surprised the day Dad doesn't make it home. A day later he's smiling again, dimples and all, no longer grieving. He brings a friend over to play.
Dean doesn't mean to kill him. He means to keep following Dad's rule. But it's the first time he's put his dick inside a boy of his own and the kid won't hold still. He's screaming and sobbing and it makes Dean crazy. Frustrated and desperate. He wants to come, needs to come all the time these days but it's hot and tight and slicked up with blood inside that tight little ass and the air is ripe with metallic perfume. He wants it to last. He wants it to never stop. So he holds the boy down til he gasps and claws at Dean's arms and finally stops struggling altogether.
Dean looks down at the limp body under his with the wide, still eyes and gaping mouth. Its throat is no longer gasping for air beneath his tight grip. It looks like Caleb's son when the demons were done with him. Jeremy was really small and he died before they ever cut him open. They killed Jeremy with their big fat cocks.
Dean groans and comes inside the boy's still-warm body at the memory of that. He flops to the side, still panting, and kisses its breathless mouth, and tells Sammy they're definitely doing this again. Sam rolls his eyes and tells him, duh.
And that's how Dean loses his virginity.
Mostly, Sam just likes to watch. Fucking little kids is more or less Dean's thing, and Sam's thing is just Dean.
His only job is making sure their games stay buried. Sam's good at picking a kid or a disposal method that will explain Dean's tryst away as part of the case they're working.
The rest, he leaves for Dean. It's not a selfless decision.
Because Sam's brother is never as gorgeous and funny and charming as he is when he's seducing a small child. He flirts shamelessly, and there's something about him that enamors them. Sam suspects it's the same ephemeral quality that's always appealed to him. Shame that Sam is too old for Dean's taste by now. He stopped being the one to get Dean hard when he hit puberty himself. When he gained hair and bulk and the ability to hold Dean down and make him take it.
Not that Sam's ever done that to Dean. He tried, once. And almost lost his dick. Dean had made it clear there would be none of that, wild-eyed and terrified in a way Sam had never seen before.
Sam's made peace, since then, with the way things are. Makes do playing the voyeur to Dean's lust, and if he ever feels the need to put his cock somewhere hot and tight, then he has options.
After all, Dean is always happy to share.
He's five, and he's beautiful.
Reminds Dean of Sam, actually, when he was small and unblemished and vulnerable. Big dark eyes that plead and worship...a soft pudgy belly that Dean wants to bury himself in. Intestines feel different from the outside than from the in. The rectum is soft and tight but there's something to be said for slitting a new hole and feeling the slick, slimy give of organs making way for his cock. And the sounds they make when they watch him do it....
Dean reaches out to tickle that soft tummy and the little boy lights up with laughter. Dean grins. This one is too much like Sammy. Makes him want to be gentler. Makes him want to keep this one a while. Dean thinks this one wants that. It blushes and ducks its head shyly when he flatters it and damn near bats its eyelashes.
Flirting. Dean licks his bottom lip. When he suggests they go play somewhere else, it's ecstatic, and takes hold of his fingers in its soft little hand.
Sammy's eyes are warm and appraising when they walk through the motel door. He studies the boy and then looks at Dean like he knows. Knows that the resemblance is not coincidental. The boy, whose name is Alex, introduces himself with big eyes as Sam stands up and up and up.
"Alex," Dean says, squatting down on his level. "We wanna play a game that Sammy and I made up when we were little. It's really special, but we think you're special too. Special enough to join us."
Alex is pink-cheeked and proud, and so, so eager to play the special game. Even when Dean strips him naked and some instinctual part of the boy sees danger. Dean is gentle, more gentle than he can remember being since Sam stopped being his, mesmerized by soft skin and chubby cheeks and messy mop-top hair. Alex trembles in a way Sam never did but he sits still and good for him while Dean touches and licks and kisses his body.
"When does the game start?" he asks, and his voice is reedy, body jerking when Dean hits a ticklish place.
"Soon, buddy. I'm gonna take my turn now, then later you'll have yours."
Alex nods and offers Dean a pale version of his earlier smile. He wants to be good for Dean and it makes Dean want to keep him a while. He says that Alex is a good boy while he pets baby-soft thighs and Alex jerks, sounding high and surprised when Dean rubs his privates with gentle hands.
Dean remembers. Remembers how confusing this was. Alex looks like a rabbit or fawn or some other small, hunted thing and it makes Dean so hard. Once upon a time he was the small one, the helpless one, the one torn between the warm pulse in his cock and the sour feeling in his stomach.
The small, frightened sound Alex makes before Dean's mouth engulfs his dick and balls stirs up a rage in his gut. It always does, when they cry. Sometimes he gets blind with it, and those are the days he rips them up too soon, before the thirst is quenched. Those are the days when he goes through two or three or four small bodies before he feels sane, before he can rest.
This is not one of those days. Dean is gentle, so gentle, and Alex trembles differently as Dean starts to suckle. He tastes like little-boy sweat and honey or something else sweet but unprocessed. Dean tastes him til his little body is exhausted and limp. He falls asleep unselfconsciously, unafraid of what Dean could do. Dean puts him on his tummy and works one pinkie slowly, methodically into his little hole.
It takes a lot of lube. For just one pinkie. Alex fusses and squirms, squeezing the tip of Dean's finger inside his tiny little sphincter.
They're so small inside at this age. He could fit his cock inside right now but it would take a lot of force. A lot of torn flesh and bloody pulp and high, keening noises like a rabid, dying animal. This little body could only make room for him by breaking, til Dean was fucking more than just Alex's ass. He'd have to fuck his body, his body cavity, til the bed was soaked through red.
Dean's done it before. Sammy likes it when he does. But this time he wants more. Different.
So he doesn't fuck Alex today. He coaxes him awake to take his turn, groggy and grumpy and disoriented as he follows directions, licking Dean's cock and nearly unhinging his jaw to fit the head inside. It's less than satisfactory, but Dean can reign himself in when he needs to. He jacks his own shaft while Alex sucks the head, eyes big and leaking. Holds his little head right where he is when Dean comes, thinking how easily he could end it now, choke him to death on come and cockhead.
He doesn't do that either. He releases the child and lets him sit up crying, choking more on his stupid tears than he ever did on Dean's dick. He's hurt and frightened, and like a dog that wags its tail at the man that kicked it, he settles into Dean's arms gratefully when Dean draws him in.
He croons and rocks and strokes up and down that vulnerable little spine til Alex falls unconscious on his shoulder with a shudder and a hiccup.
Sam is studying him with frank intensity from the other side of the room. "We don't do catch and release, Dean. Not anymore, it's too dangerous."
"I know," Dean says softly, but even at that volume, Alex stirs, rubbing his snotty face on Dean's neck. "I'll finish it eventually, but."
Sam could nix this whole idea if he thinks it's unsafe, and Dean hesitates, wanting to hold onto the fantasy a little longer.
"But what?" Sam prompts.
"He's so...Can we keep him, just a little while? Can we take him with us?"
Dean's afraid to look, to see how mad Sam gets. It's stupid, it's reckless, so much could go wrong. When he finally lifts his eyes, Sam's eyes are soft, without anger. He studies the little mop-head tucked under Dean's chin and sighs. "Sure, Dean. For a little while."
They leave town in the middle of the night. Two in the morning, in a place this small, and no one’s awake but them. Sam makes sure of that before Dean carries the boy to the Impala, limp and sleepy against his shoulder.
He won’t give them trouble when he wakes up. Dean’s convinced him they’re on some sort of adventure, that they’re friends of his parents, that they’re going to goddamn Disneyland…whatever. Sam isn’t sure of the lie he’s used, just that Alex is eager to come along. He sleeps through the night, curled between them with his head butting Dean’s thigh.
He’s up with the sun, chattering happily. They stop for breakfast and the kid calls them ‘uncle,’ just as he’s been coached. The waitress at the greasy spoon thinks they’re adorable but she won’t remember them all that well. This is a risk, a huge, stupid risk, but when Sam considers Dean’s smile, he can’t bring himself to mind.
Dean spends the late morning teaching Alex to steer the Impala from his lap, the way Dad used to do. Bare feet braced on the seat between Dean’s splayed thighs, held upright by a strong forearm banded around his middle, and the car jerks alarmingly each time Dean digs his fingers into soft pudgy flesh, sending his tiny frame off on a peel of giggles.
Around noon, when he’s worn the kid out, Dean gathers the limp body in the crook of one arm and takes back the wheel, nose buried in baby-fine hair as Alex dozes off. “Need to get some of that baby shampoo,” Dean remarks quietly. “He doesn’t smell right.”
He doesn’t smell like you. Sam aches.
They stop at a pharmacy before the hotel, because Dean wants to get some essentials. If they’re going to keep Alex long enough for what Dean wants, they need to take care of him in the meantime. No bruises and bare protruding ribs for this little boy. Dean bathes him with the same gentle hand he reserved for Sammy, one hand cupped along his forehead to keep the Johnson’s shampoo away from his eyes.
He’s sweet and clean and soft when Dean is done, creamy skin flushed from warm bath water, muscles lax and pliant. Dean lays him on his tummy in the middle of Dean’s bed.
When Dean probes at his sphincter, Alex bleats like a lamb, muscles tense as he tries to scramble away, but he’s easily placated. His eyes turn big and wounded-guilty when Dean puts hurt in his own voice. “I thought you liked to play the game,” he mourns, and it brings Alex up short. “Don’t you trust me?”
He still confines himself to using his pinkie, but it’s better this time because Alex is awake, and fully conscious. He makes little grunting, hurting sounds as Dean twists his way inside, asshole clenching nervously around Dean’s smallest finger. He’s beautiful. Flushed from exertion and fear now but still so trusting, squirming uncomfortably around Dean’s intrusion without a single complaint. Dean bites his lip til it draws blood when he’s loose enough for thrusting.
He curls his other fingers into a fist and fucks Alex with his stiff little finger. Like some pansy motherfucker drinking tea, and he’d laugh if he weren’t hard enough to drill for oil. Alex makes a startled little sound, surprise and pleasure, and Dean’s hands are shaking when he slides his free one between the boy and the bed, fondling that little dick and screwing him til he shakes apart and comes.
Dean wipes his finger off on the cheap bedspread and looks to where Sam is tugging his own cock. “That doesn’t usually happen,” Sam murmurs, low because Alex has fallen asleep. Dean is still shaking from some thin, sick adrenaline high.
“No,” he agrees, “but it will make things easier.”
Alex’s hole is pretty, pink and shiny and gaping. All Dean needs is to stare while he strips his cock. It’s a little raw-looking, a little inflamed, and it matches the filthy-used quality of the soft lips Alex bit to keep the sound inside. Yesterday that tissue was virgin, unsullied, unstretched, untouched, and then *Dean* happened. Dean came along, and it’ll never be the same.
His hips jag forward when Dean comes, jizzing all over plump little asscheeks and the hollow of Alex’s lower back. One drop lands on the red, puckered flesh he’d been admiring and Dean rubs it around, pushes it inside, shuddering.
He pulls on some boxer shorts before he joins Sam at the table for a beer and a cigarette.
“It’ll make what easier?” Sam asks, and Dean knows he’s been holding that in a while.
Dean chews on his lip, trying to put words to the impulse that’s grabbed him. “I’ve always had to split them open to fuck them. The little ones.”
He can feel Sam’s eyes on his profile. He knows there’s a worry-line between his eyebrows. “Right. Because they’re little.”
“Right but. Is it possible? Is it possible to stretch him out enough that I can fit my dick in there? If I take the time.”
Sam’s face smoothes out as he realizes guilt isn’t the motivating factor here. A smile spreads as he considers the new game. “Should maybe invest in some plugs.”
Nice. Dean thumbs his bottom lip, staring at Alex’s bare body and considering. He imagines Alex driving again, stiffer and more awkward from the silicon splitting him wide. His dick twitches. “That’s why you’re the brains, Sammy.”
“We can’t keep him forever,” Sam reminds him like he’s forgotten. All quiet like he’s scared to point it out.
“I know that. He’s not you.”
Dean’s eyes were closed, but they open when he hears Sam hit the ground. When Sam crouches between his spread thighs. When Sam looks up at him with eyes that are soft and painfully young right now, though the rest of him hardly matches. “Can I…?”
Dean nods, drops his head back against the chair and lifts his hips so that Sam can strip away his underwear. He won’t get hard again, but this is for Sam. Sammy can spend forever suckling Dean’s soft cock, ginger and just this side of pain. He threads his hands through Sammy’s too-coarse hair and hisses as he gets swallowed down, losing himself in memories of a smaller mouth, a different place.
The first week Alex stays with them is hard on Sam. He's never been jealous of Dean's little boys before, but then again, there's never been a reason to. Dean is always sweet and gentle when he's courting them, but hardly pays them mind once he's got them. They become bodies, then. Soft, breakable bodies that cry very sweetly while he takes them apart.
But Alex is different.
The first week, Dean never hurts Alex. Never. He frightens him, sometimes, when he toys with his body, but never for long. Dean minimizes the pain, careful and considerate in a way that belongs to Sam. He soothes the fear as soon as he causes it. He coddles the boy all the time, and Alex loves him for it.
On the fourth day, Dean plugs him up for the very first time. It's small, the size of a slim finger, but Alex hates it. He squirms in the car, fussy and bad-tempered, and Dean doesn't smack him like he should.
He takes Alex into his lap and cradles him there, rocks him, tells an outlandish story til the boy falls asleep. When he wakes back up, Dean rubs him off, big hand squeezed under the waist of his little pajama pants, rocking the plug, palming his dick, til Alex shakes apart.
Dean kisses his forehead, tells him what a good boy he is, and gets Alex to agree that the plug isn't really all that bad.
Two weeks after they take Alex, the plugs get too big for him. Not as thick as Dean's cock, not nearly as long, and Dean realizes whether he tears the kid or not on the day he finally fucks him, Alex won't enjoy it. Damn. He'd been hoping....
Maybe if he was one year older. But five is such a pretty age. Four is prettier, but even less tenable.
He's still a little trooper. He trembles and sobs whenever Dean fucks him open, opener, but he tries so hard to make Dean proud. His asshole is puffy and painful-looking but it's not tearing yet, and Dean thinks if he keeps going slow, it probably never will. Not when stretching to take his dick, anyway.
Maybe Sammy's. Sam deserves to fuck this one. Alex's presence is making him anxious.
Two weeks in and Alex stops talking and laughing in the car. He's wan and listless, curled on the seat because it hurts to sit down. He clutches Dean's leg for comfort, falling fitfully asleep while Dean pets his head.
He can't get off anymore while his ass is full. But when he's good (and he usually is), Dean leaves the plug out for bathtime, gives him an hour free of pain and coaxes an orgasm out of his little body when it stops throbbing so hard.
It makes him looser when Dean works the plug back in. And on the days he graduates to the next largest size, Dean starts to get him off repeatedly, young body dry-coming several times in a row til it knocks him out.
Dean doesn't enjoy hearing Alex sob in pain the way that he should. The way that he used to.
"He's becoming a problem," Sam murmurs to Dean, eighteen days after Alex came to live with them. Dean's been expecting this a while, but it makes his stomach sink to hear it. He wishes it didn't. Alex's behavior is conspicuous now when they take him out in public, and they get suspicious glances everywhere they go. "You need to finish it, Dean. You could have fucked him a week ago."
Dean looks down at the boy in his lap, whose pout looks so much like his Sammy's. He frowns even in sleep, these days, pale and fitful. He still looks at Dean like he's the strongest person in the world.
"I know. I'll do it tonight," Dean answers, and Sam visibly relaxes. Dean knows he's been worried, and he's sorry for that. Even if he wishes they could keep Alex forever.
But Alex would grow up on him, just like Sammy did. It's better, probably, to finish it now.
They stop for a hotel at nightfall, and Dean convinces Sam to go out for a while. They’re low on cash, and Sam can hustle pool before he gets them something to eat. They’ve been bringing food into their room lately because Alex can’t sit still in a diner. Dean swears he’ll wait for Sam before he does anything, and that convinces him to go. Sammy doesn’t fuck all that often, but he loves watching.
Dean figures he bought himself three, four hours for just him and Alex.
Alex is pliant as Dean strips him out of his clothing. He tries to be careful when he takes out the plug, but it makes Alex cry anyway. His asshole is puffy and raw, so Dean runs the water a little warmer than usual. He gets in the bath with him this time, reclining back. Alex bury his face against Dean’s throat, and Dean allows it, cradles him there, rubs his back and lets the water sooth him down. They stay that way, no pretense of washing, til the water turns cold and Alex shivers, burrowing closer into Dean’s arms.
He drains half the water and warms it back up, then he takes his time sponging Alex clean. They don’t play. Alex is unusually quiet and somber for a small child. Dean isn’t sure if he feels what’s coming, or is simply responding to Dean’s own mood.
Maybe Dean just broke him. He doesn’t laugh as much as he used to, anymore. If that’s the case, it’s better to end it. Better than breaking him and letting him live. Look where that got Dean.
He’s so very serious as Dean towels him dry that Dean can’t stand it. He forces himself to smile, to be silly and tickle til Alex finally laughs. He has the sudden, brash impulse to do something normal, to take Alex out…the movies or the fair or even the frickin zoo, just to make him look that way a little longer.
But those things aren’t an option. Sam’s been gone a while, and Dean needs to get this done. He doesn’t lie to Sammy often, but this time he did. Sam won’t like what he’s about to do. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before, but this time…it’s different.
He lays Alex out on the bed. Kisses his plush little mouth. Alex likes the kissing, and it makes Dean wonder why he’s never done this before. His tongue easily fills that little mouth but Dean is careful not to give him too much. He ends it with Eskimo kisses, rubbing noses til Alex giggles sweetly.
They’re doing all of Alex’s favorite things tonight. That’s one way this is different. The others never had favorite things, never lived long enough to. Dean knows what Alex likes. He nuzzles the boy’s soft, unblemished palms and kisses the silky sweet spot where his back becomes his tummy. He breathes against his ear, licking and sucking til small arms circle his neck, body shaking and needy.
Alex loves having his dick licked, his balls sucked, and tonight Dean gives it all he’s got. He relaxes utterly when Dean makes no move to touch his hole. This is all his. It’s all for him. He struggles when Dean’s palm covers his nose and mouth but it’s easy to hold his small body down, free hand pinning his hip so that Dean won’t get jarred and bite down. He doesn’t want to hurt him. He wants to tell him it’ll be ok. Don’t be scared. Dean’s gonna make this good.
Dean knows how good an orgasm can be when your body’s hypoxic. He always thought that would have been a nice way to go. Alex deserves to have that.
Dean edges him towards orgasm and then away, over and over and over again. Little body jerking with panic or pleasure. Dean’s mouth is full the way Alex likes it, full with underdeveloped dick and the bare baby testicles he rolls on his tongue. He gives him a little more air to see this through. Alex whimpers desperately against Dean’s palm, hands yanking painfully against Dean’s scalp. Begging. Begging Dean for release, one way or another. Begging Dean to let him go.
It’s hard to get the timing right. Harder than simultaneous orgasms, making him come on the verge of passing out. But Dean does it. Alex’s body wracks beneath his in a different way, hard and spastic for a long time. Then he goes limp and unconscious and Dean sits up panting, hand clamped in place a little longer to finish it the job.
He doesn’t bother lubing up before he shoves himself inside. Alex is feeling no pain, and Dean kinda wants to. Wants to fuck his dick raw inside Alex’s tight ass, to fuck himself sore. He finishes faster, normally, when they’re limp and pulseless, but Dean pounds into Alex’s dead body for a very long time. Can’t take his eyes off him. He’s an empty husk, limp and inanimate. His arms flop with every thrust like a used-up chew toy, neck rolling loosely, rhythmic. His eyes are wide with shock and Dean can see blood vessels in the white that burst while he died. He fucks Alex viciously, disregarding his plans, tearing up his insides like he knew he would, three weeks ago.
He fucks him til his body burns. He loses time. He’s only dimly aware when the hotel room door swings open, then quickly shut. Sammy’s home. He squeezes his eyes closed and forces himself to come. It hurts in a way it hasn’t since he was six himself.
When he opens his eyes, breath ragged, Sam’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him warily. His face is twisted into something strange and sad. He reaches out and cups Dean’s cheek in his too-big, too-rough, too-grown hand, and his thumb is wet when he swipes underneath Dean’s eye.
Oh. Oh.
Dean jerks out of reach, dick falling out of Alex’s body. It’s covered in blood. The whole bed is bloody, like he knew it would be. Dean guesses his experiment failed. He stares at the evidence of that failure til Sam breaks him out of it quietly.
“We need salt, kerosene, and matches. There’s a store a half-mile further down.”
Dean’s pretty sure they have that stuff in the trunk, enough for a body this small, anyway, but Sam is calm and firm. Dean nods, wiping his eyes. He doesn’t look at the bed again.
“I’ll go do that, then. You should….” Dean’s cocky smile is lop-sided. Forced on his face. “You should help yourself when I’m gone. He’s a nice little ride.”
“Okay,” Sam says, but he doesn’t move to unbuckle his pants. Dean can feel him on the back of his neck as he slips out of the room.
extreme underage, non-con & dubcon, violence and snuff.
Dean's kidnapping is Sam's first real memory.
The confusion of his big brother, his biggest constant, abruptly absent. Dad's frantic demeanor. Sam remembers crying for Dean, inconsolable for days on end. Remembers Dad trying with little success to keep his temper and hold his shit together and take care of Sam, all while hunting for the demons that took his oldest son.
He was missing for a year and two months, and looking back, Sam can see the way Dad had been losing hope. Not giving up—never that—but losing the belief of getting Dean back alive. Other hunters' children had gone missing simultaneously and one by one their bodies turned up, bloody and broken and torn apart from the inside. Dad kept looking, relentless as ever, but it was mechanical. A vengeance machine.
Dean turned out to be the only survivor, and when they got him back, he was...different. The degree to which he was broken broke Dad a little more.
They did a lot of pretending, after that. Dad pretended to be relieved to have his child back. Dean pretended Dad left them alone because of his devotion to the hunt. Sam pretended that Dean was taking care of him, instead of the other way around.
They all pretended that the Winchesters were the lucky ones. That Dean wasn't better off dead.
John finds the eviscerated bodies of dead animals in the yard, in the woods, down the street, sometimes in the house. Once, he catches Dean at it, the bloody remains of what used to be a kitten strewn across a carpet that, while never pristine, is now beyond hope. John's gonna lose his rental deposit.
Dean's covered in gore like he's rolled around in it, eyes unfocused now. Vacant. He's got a hunting knife in one hand and a small lump of purple-red flesh in the other. John thinks it might be the cat's heart.
Sammy's sitting on the couch Indian-style, wide dry eyes moving between his brother and where John stands, shocked in the doorway.
"It quit crying almost an hour ago," he informs John solemnly.
John bags the grisly remains with shaking hands, tosses them in the dumpster, hoses off his kid, and then he vomits. He crawls inside a bottle and doesn't come back out for a week.
He has nothing but a passing acquaintance with sobriety after that, which makes hunting a riskier proposition. It does keep him from answering those pesky, nagging questions he'd rather not acknowledge. Like why Dean was naked when John found him.
Dean is nine years old.
Dad dies in a hunting accident when Dean is twelve. But he stopped being a parent a long time before that, so Dean and Sam get by.
It does make things easier, though. Dad's always been adament that Dean's extracurricular activities stay confined to stray animals, but when puberty hits, that's just not enough. Dean's fun stops being a dull, aching compulsion and becomes a hot, live, bright thing. He has vivid dreams of blood and come, and it stops being enough to gut a puppy and shove his dick in Sam's small, willing mouth. Dean struggles to obey Dad's rules. The neighbor's children cry and choke, but stay unblemished and alive.
Sam doesn't seem particularly surprised the day Dad doesn't make it home. A day later he's smiling again, dimples and all, no longer grieving. He brings a friend over to play.
Dean doesn't mean to kill him. He means to keep following Dad's rule. But it's the first time he's put his dick inside a boy of his own and the kid won't hold still. He's screaming and sobbing and it makes Dean crazy. Frustrated and desperate. He wants to come, needs to come all the time these days but it's hot and tight and slicked up with blood inside that tight little ass and the air is ripe with metallic perfume. He wants it to last. He wants it to never stop. So he holds the boy down til he gasps and claws at Dean's arms and finally stops struggling altogether.
Dean looks down at the limp body under his with the wide, still eyes and gaping mouth. Its throat is no longer gasping for air beneath his tight grip. It looks like Caleb's son when the demons were done with him. Jeremy was really small and he died before they ever cut him open. They killed Jeremy with their big fat cocks.
Dean groans and comes inside the boy's still-warm body at the memory of that. He flops to the side, still panting, and kisses its breathless mouth, and tells Sammy they're definitely doing this again. Sam rolls his eyes and tells him, duh.
And that's how Dean loses his virginity.
Mostly, Sam just likes to watch. Fucking little kids is more or less Dean's thing, and Sam's thing is just Dean.
His only job is making sure their games stay buried. Sam's good at picking a kid or a disposal method that will explain Dean's tryst away as part of the case they're working.
The rest, he leaves for Dean. It's not a selfless decision.
Because Sam's brother is never as gorgeous and funny and charming as he is when he's seducing a small child. He flirts shamelessly, and there's something about him that enamors them. Sam suspects it's the same ephemeral quality that's always appealed to him. Shame that Sam is too old for Dean's taste by now. He stopped being the one to get Dean hard when he hit puberty himself. When he gained hair and bulk and the ability to hold Dean down and make him take it.
Not that Sam's ever done that to Dean. He tried, once. And almost lost his dick. Dean had made it clear there would be none of that, wild-eyed and terrified in a way Sam had never seen before.
Sam's made peace, since then, with the way things are. Makes do playing the voyeur to Dean's lust, and if he ever feels the need to put his cock somewhere hot and tight, then he has options.
After all, Dean is always happy to share.
He's five, and he's beautiful.
Reminds Dean of Sam, actually, when he was small and unblemished and vulnerable. Big dark eyes that plead and worship...a soft pudgy belly that Dean wants to bury himself in. Intestines feel different from the outside than from the in. The rectum is soft and tight but there's something to be said for slitting a new hole and feeling the slick, slimy give of organs making way for his cock. And the sounds they make when they watch him do it....
Dean reaches out to tickle that soft tummy and the little boy lights up with laughter. Dean grins. This one is too much like Sammy. Makes him want to be gentler. Makes him want to keep this one a while. Dean thinks this one wants that. It blushes and ducks its head shyly when he flatters it and damn near bats its eyelashes.
Flirting. Dean licks his bottom lip. When he suggests they go play somewhere else, it's ecstatic, and takes hold of his fingers in its soft little hand.
Sammy's eyes are warm and appraising when they walk through the motel door. He studies the boy and then looks at Dean like he knows. Knows that the resemblance is not coincidental. The boy, whose name is Alex, introduces himself with big eyes as Sam stands up and up and up.
"Alex," Dean says, squatting down on his level. "We wanna play a game that Sammy and I made up when we were little. It's really special, but we think you're special too. Special enough to join us."
Alex is pink-cheeked and proud, and so, so eager to play the special game. Even when Dean strips him naked and some instinctual part of the boy sees danger. Dean is gentle, more gentle than he can remember being since Sam stopped being his, mesmerized by soft skin and chubby cheeks and messy mop-top hair. Alex trembles in a way Sam never did but he sits still and good for him while Dean touches and licks and kisses his body.
"When does the game start?" he asks, and his voice is reedy, body jerking when Dean hits a ticklish place.
"Soon, buddy. I'm gonna take my turn now, then later you'll have yours."
Alex nods and offers Dean a pale version of his earlier smile. He wants to be good for Dean and it makes Dean want to keep him a while. He says that Alex is a good boy while he pets baby-soft thighs and Alex jerks, sounding high and surprised when Dean rubs his privates with gentle hands.
Dean remembers. Remembers how confusing this was. Alex looks like a rabbit or fawn or some other small, hunted thing and it makes Dean so hard. Once upon a time he was the small one, the helpless one, the one torn between the warm pulse in his cock and the sour feeling in his stomach.
The small, frightened sound Alex makes before Dean's mouth engulfs his dick and balls stirs up a rage in his gut. It always does, when they cry. Sometimes he gets blind with it, and those are the days he rips them up too soon, before the thirst is quenched. Those are the days when he goes through two or three or four small bodies before he feels sane, before he can rest.
This is not one of those days. Dean is gentle, so gentle, and Alex trembles differently as Dean starts to suckle. He tastes like little-boy sweat and honey or something else sweet but unprocessed. Dean tastes him til his little body is exhausted and limp. He falls asleep unselfconsciously, unafraid of what Dean could do. Dean puts him on his tummy and works one pinkie slowly, methodically into his little hole.
It takes a lot of lube. For just one pinkie. Alex fusses and squirms, squeezing the tip of Dean's finger inside his tiny little sphincter.
They're so small inside at this age. He could fit his cock inside right now but it would take a lot of force. A lot of torn flesh and bloody pulp and high, keening noises like a rabid, dying animal. This little body could only make room for him by breaking, til Dean was fucking more than just Alex's ass. He'd have to fuck his body, his body cavity, til the bed was soaked through red.
Dean's done it before. Sammy likes it when he does. But this time he wants more. Different.
So he doesn't fuck Alex today. He coaxes him awake to take his turn, groggy and grumpy and disoriented as he follows directions, licking Dean's cock and nearly unhinging his jaw to fit the head inside. It's less than satisfactory, but Dean can reign himself in when he needs to. He jacks his own shaft while Alex sucks the head, eyes big and leaking. Holds his little head right where he is when Dean comes, thinking how easily he could end it now, choke him to death on come and cockhead.
He doesn't do that either. He releases the child and lets him sit up crying, choking more on his stupid tears than he ever did on Dean's dick. He's hurt and frightened, and like a dog that wags its tail at the man that kicked it, he settles into Dean's arms gratefully when Dean draws him in.
He croons and rocks and strokes up and down that vulnerable little spine til Alex falls unconscious on his shoulder with a shudder and a hiccup.
Sam is studying him with frank intensity from the other side of the room. "We don't do catch and release, Dean. Not anymore, it's too dangerous."
"I know," Dean says softly, but even at that volume, Alex stirs, rubbing his snotty face on Dean's neck. "I'll finish it eventually, but."
Sam could nix this whole idea if he thinks it's unsafe, and Dean hesitates, wanting to hold onto the fantasy a little longer.
"But what?" Sam prompts.
"He's so...Can we keep him, just a little while? Can we take him with us?"
Dean's afraid to look, to see how mad Sam gets. It's stupid, it's reckless, so much could go wrong. When he finally lifts his eyes, Sam's eyes are soft, without anger. He studies the little mop-head tucked under Dean's chin and sighs. "Sure, Dean. For a little while."
They leave town in the middle of the night. Two in the morning, in a place this small, and no one’s awake but them. Sam makes sure of that before Dean carries the boy to the Impala, limp and sleepy against his shoulder.
He won’t give them trouble when he wakes up. Dean’s convinced him they’re on some sort of adventure, that they’re friends of his parents, that they’re going to goddamn Disneyland…whatever. Sam isn’t sure of the lie he’s used, just that Alex is eager to come along. He sleeps through the night, curled between them with his head butting Dean’s thigh.
He’s up with the sun, chattering happily. They stop for breakfast and the kid calls them ‘uncle,’ just as he’s been coached. The waitress at the greasy spoon thinks they’re adorable but she won’t remember them all that well. This is a risk, a huge, stupid risk, but when Sam considers Dean’s smile, he can’t bring himself to mind.
Dean spends the late morning teaching Alex to steer the Impala from his lap, the way Dad used to do. Bare feet braced on the seat between Dean’s splayed thighs, held upright by a strong forearm banded around his middle, and the car jerks alarmingly each time Dean digs his fingers into soft pudgy flesh, sending his tiny frame off on a peel of giggles.
Around noon, when he’s worn the kid out, Dean gathers the limp body in the crook of one arm and takes back the wheel, nose buried in baby-fine hair as Alex dozes off. “Need to get some of that baby shampoo,” Dean remarks quietly. “He doesn’t smell right.”
He doesn’t smell like you. Sam aches.
They stop at a pharmacy before the hotel, because Dean wants to get some essentials. If they’re going to keep Alex long enough for what Dean wants, they need to take care of him in the meantime. No bruises and bare protruding ribs for this little boy. Dean bathes him with the same gentle hand he reserved for Sammy, one hand cupped along his forehead to keep the Johnson’s shampoo away from his eyes.
He’s sweet and clean and soft when Dean is done, creamy skin flushed from warm bath water, muscles lax and pliant. Dean lays him on his tummy in the middle of Dean’s bed.
When Dean probes at his sphincter, Alex bleats like a lamb, muscles tense as he tries to scramble away, but he’s easily placated. His eyes turn big and wounded-guilty when Dean puts hurt in his own voice. “I thought you liked to play the game,” he mourns, and it brings Alex up short. “Don’t you trust me?”
He still confines himself to using his pinkie, but it’s better this time because Alex is awake, and fully conscious. He makes little grunting, hurting sounds as Dean twists his way inside, asshole clenching nervously around Dean’s smallest finger. He’s beautiful. Flushed from exertion and fear now but still so trusting, squirming uncomfortably around Dean’s intrusion without a single complaint. Dean bites his lip til it draws blood when he’s loose enough for thrusting.
He curls his other fingers into a fist and fucks Alex with his stiff little finger. Like some pansy motherfucker drinking tea, and he’d laugh if he weren’t hard enough to drill for oil. Alex makes a startled little sound, surprise and pleasure, and Dean’s hands are shaking when he slides his free one between the boy and the bed, fondling that little dick and screwing him til he shakes apart and comes.
Dean wipes his finger off on the cheap bedspread and looks to where Sam is tugging his own cock. “That doesn’t usually happen,” Sam murmurs, low because Alex has fallen asleep. Dean is still shaking from some thin, sick adrenaline high.
“No,” he agrees, “but it will make things easier.”
Alex’s hole is pretty, pink and shiny and gaping. All Dean needs is to stare while he strips his cock. It’s a little raw-looking, a little inflamed, and it matches the filthy-used quality of the soft lips Alex bit to keep the sound inside. Yesterday that tissue was virgin, unsullied, unstretched, untouched, and then *Dean* happened. Dean came along, and it’ll never be the same.
His hips jag forward when Dean comes, jizzing all over plump little asscheeks and the hollow of Alex’s lower back. One drop lands on the red, puckered flesh he’d been admiring and Dean rubs it around, pushes it inside, shuddering.
He pulls on some boxer shorts before he joins Sam at the table for a beer and a cigarette.
“It’ll make what easier?” Sam asks, and Dean knows he’s been holding that in a while.
Dean chews on his lip, trying to put words to the impulse that’s grabbed him. “I’ve always had to split them open to fuck them. The little ones.”
He can feel Sam’s eyes on his profile. He knows there’s a worry-line between his eyebrows. “Right. Because they’re little.”
“Right but. Is it possible? Is it possible to stretch him out enough that I can fit my dick in there? If I take the time.”
Sam’s face smoothes out as he realizes guilt isn’t the motivating factor here. A smile spreads as he considers the new game. “Should maybe invest in some plugs.”
Nice. Dean thumbs his bottom lip, staring at Alex’s bare body and considering. He imagines Alex driving again, stiffer and more awkward from the silicon splitting him wide. His dick twitches. “That’s why you’re the brains, Sammy.”
“We can’t keep him forever,” Sam reminds him like he’s forgotten. All quiet like he’s scared to point it out.
“I know that. He’s not you.”
Dean’s eyes were closed, but they open when he hears Sam hit the ground. When Sam crouches between his spread thighs. When Sam looks up at him with eyes that are soft and painfully young right now, though the rest of him hardly matches. “Can I…?”
Dean nods, drops his head back against the chair and lifts his hips so that Sam can strip away his underwear. He won’t get hard again, but this is for Sam. Sammy can spend forever suckling Dean’s soft cock, ginger and just this side of pain. He threads his hands through Sammy’s too-coarse hair and hisses as he gets swallowed down, losing himself in memories of a smaller mouth, a different place.
The first week Alex stays with them is hard on Sam. He's never been jealous of Dean's little boys before, but then again, there's never been a reason to. Dean is always sweet and gentle when he's courting them, but hardly pays them mind once he's got them. They become bodies, then. Soft, breakable bodies that cry very sweetly while he takes them apart.
But Alex is different.
The first week, Dean never hurts Alex. Never. He frightens him, sometimes, when he toys with his body, but never for long. Dean minimizes the pain, careful and considerate in a way that belongs to Sam. He soothes the fear as soon as he causes it. He coddles the boy all the time, and Alex loves him for it.
On the fourth day, Dean plugs him up for the very first time. It's small, the size of a slim finger, but Alex hates it. He squirms in the car, fussy and bad-tempered, and Dean doesn't smack him like he should.
He takes Alex into his lap and cradles him there, rocks him, tells an outlandish story til the boy falls asleep. When he wakes back up, Dean rubs him off, big hand squeezed under the waist of his little pajama pants, rocking the plug, palming his dick, til Alex shakes apart.
Dean kisses his forehead, tells him what a good boy he is, and gets Alex to agree that the plug isn't really all that bad.
Two weeks after they take Alex, the plugs get too big for him. Not as thick as Dean's cock, not nearly as long, and Dean realizes whether he tears the kid or not on the day he finally fucks him, Alex won't enjoy it. Damn. He'd been hoping....
Maybe if he was one year older. But five is such a pretty age. Four is prettier, but even less tenable.
He's still a little trooper. He trembles and sobs whenever Dean fucks him open, opener, but he tries so hard to make Dean proud. His asshole is puffy and painful-looking but it's not tearing yet, and Dean thinks if he keeps going slow, it probably never will. Not when stretching to take his dick, anyway.
Maybe Sammy's. Sam deserves to fuck this one. Alex's presence is making him anxious.
Two weeks in and Alex stops talking and laughing in the car. He's wan and listless, curled on the seat because it hurts to sit down. He clutches Dean's leg for comfort, falling fitfully asleep while Dean pets his head.
He can't get off anymore while his ass is full. But when he's good (and he usually is), Dean leaves the plug out for bathtime, gives him an hour free of pain and coaxes an orgasm out of his little body when it stops throbbing so hard.
It makes him looser when Dean works the plug back in. And on the days he graduates to the next largest size, Dean starts to get him off repeatedly, young body dry-coming several times in a row til it knocks him out.
Dean doesn't enjoy hearing Alex sob in pain the way that he should. The way that he used to.
"He's becoming a problem," Sam murmurs to Dean, eighteen days after Alex came to live with them. Dean's been expecting this a while, but it makes his stomach sink to hear it. He wishes it didn't. Alex's behavior is conspicuous now when they take him out in public, and they get suspicious glances everywhere they go. "You need to finish it, Dean. You could have fucked him a week ago."
Dean looks down at the boy in his lap, whose pout looks so much like his Sammy's. He frowns even in sleep, these days, pale and fitful. He still looks at Dean like he's the strongest person in the world.
"I know. I'll do it tonight," Dean answers, and Sam visibly relaxes. Dean knows he's been worried, and he's sorry for that. Even if he wishes they could keep Alex forever.
But Alex would grow up on him, just like Sammy did. It's better, probably, to finish it now.
They stop for a hotel at nightfall, and Dean convinces Sam to go out for a while. They’re low on cash, and Sam can hustle pool before he gets them something to eat. They’ve been bringing food into their room lately because Alex can’t sit still in a diner. Dean swears he’ll wait for Sam before he does anything, and that convinces him to go. Sammy doesn’t fuck all that often, but he loves watching.
Dean figures he bought himself three, four hours for just him and Alex.
Alex is pliant as Dean strips him out of his clothing. He tries to be careful when he takes out the plug, but it makes Alex cry anyway. His asshole is puffy and raw, so Dean runs the water a little warmer than usual. He gets in the bath with him this time, reclining back. Alex bury his face against Dean’s throat, and Dean allows it, cradles him there, rubs his back and lets the water sooth him down. They stay that way, no pretense of washing, til the water turns cold and Alex shivers, burrowing closer into Dean’s arms.
He drains half the water and warms it back up, then he takes his time sponging Alex clean. They don’t play. Alex is unusually quiet and somber for a small child. Dean isn’t sure if he feels what’s coming, or is simply responding to Dean’s own mood.
Maybe Dean just broke him. He doesn’t laugh as much as he used to, anymore. If that’s the case, it’s better to end it. Better than breaking him and letting him live. Look where that got Dean.
He’s so very serious as Dean towels him dry that Dean can’t stand it. He forces himself to smile, to be silly and tickle til Alex finally laughs. He has the sudden, brash impulse to do something normal, to take Alex out…the movies or the fair or even the frickin zoo, just to make him look that way a little longer.
But those things aren’t an option. Sam’s been gone a while, and Dean needs to get this done. He doesn’t lie to Sammy often, but this time he did. Sam won’t like what he’s about to do. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before, but this time…it’s different.
He lays Alex out on the bed. Kisses his plush little mouth. Alex likes the kissing, and it makes Dean wonder why he’s never done this before. His tongue easily fills that little mouth but Dean is careful not to give him too much. He ends it with Eskimo kisses, rubbing noses til Alex giggles sweetly.
They’re doing all of Alex’s favorite things tonight. That’s one way this is different. The others never had favorite things, never lived long enough to. Dean knows what Alex likes. He nuzzles the boy’s soft, unblemished palms and kisses the silky sweet spot where his back becomes his tummy. He breathes against his ear, licking and sucking til small arms circle his neck, body shaking and needy.
Alex loves having his dick licked, his balls sucked, and tonight Dean gives it all he’s got. He relaxes utterly when Dean makes no move to touch his hole. This is all his. It’s all for him. He struggles when Dean’s palm covers his nose and mouth but it’s easy to hold his small body down, free hand pinning his hip so that Dean won’t get jarred and bite down. He doesn’t want to hurt him. He wants to tell him it’ll be ok. Don’t be scared. Dean’s gonna make this good.
Dean knows how good an orgasm can be when your body’s hypoxic. He always thought that would have been a nice way to go. Alex deserves to have that.
Dean edges him towards orgasm and then away, over and over and over again. Little body jerking with panic or pleasure. Dean’s mouth is full the way Alex likes it, full with underdeveloped dick and the bare baby testicles he rolls on his tongue. He gives him a little more air to see this through. Alex whimpers desperately against Dean’s palm, hands yanking painfully against Dean’s scalp. Begging. Begging Dean for release, one way or another. Begging Dean to let him go.
It’s hard to get the timing right. Harder than simultaneous orgasms, making him come on the verge of passing out. But Dean does it. Alex’s body wracks beneath his in a different way, hard and spastic for a long time. Then he goes limp and unconscious and Dean sits up panting, hand clamped in place a little longer to finish it the job.
He doesn’t bother lubing up before he shoves himself inside. Alex is feeling no pain, and Dean kinda wants to. Wants to fuck his dick raw inside Alex’s tight ass, to fuck himself sore. He finishes faster, normally, when they’re limp and pulseless, but Dean pounds into Alex’s dead body for a very long time. Can’t take his eyes off him. He’s an empty husk, limp and inanimate. His arms flop with every thrust like a used-up chew toy, neck rolling loosely, rhythmic. His eyes are wide with shock and Dean can see blood vessels in the white that burst while he died. He fucks Alex viciously, disregarding his plans, tearing up his insides like he knew he would, three weeks ago.
He fucks him til his body burns. He loses time. He’s only dimly aware when the hotel room door swings open, then quickly shut. Sammy’s home. He squeezes his eyes closed and forces himself to come. It hurts in a way it hasn’t since he was six himself.
When he opens his eyes, breath ragged, Sam’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him warily. His face is twisted into something strange and sad. He reaches out and cups Dean’s cheek in his too-big, too-rough, too-grown hand, and his thumb is wet when he swipes underneath Dean’s eye.
Oh. Oh.
Dean jerks out of reach, dick falling out of Alex’s body. It’s covered in blood. The whole bed is bloody, like he knew it would be. Dean guesses his experiment failed. He stares at the evidence of that failure til Sam breaks him out of it quietly.
“We need salt, kerosene, and matches. There’s a store a half-mile further down.”
Dean’s pretty sure they have that stuff in the trunk, enough for a body this small, anyway, but Sam is calm and firm. Dean nods, wiping his eyes. He doesn’t look at the bed again.
“I’ll go do that, then. You should….” Dean’s cocky smile is lop-sided. Forced on his face. “You should help yourself when I’m gone. He’s a nice little ride.”
“Okay,” Sam says, but he doesn’t move to unbuckle his pants. Dean can feel him on the back of his neck as he slips out of the room.
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(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 06:27 am (UTC)(link)no subject
(Anonymous) 2010-05-26 09:57 am (UTC)(link)no subject
shhiiiit! Poor thing. Poor Alex. Poor Sammy, having to see his brother take care and be gentle with another little boy.
WOW! This was just.... I'm not sure how to describe it, but like whoa.
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