Title: Beyond All Repair [1/?]
Author: alakewood
Pairings: Possessed!Sam/Adam, possessed!Sam/Dean, Dean/Adam
Warnings: Dub-con, underage, breathplay. AU. Spoilers for Born Under a Bad Sign and Jump the Shark, general minor ones for seasons one and two.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3760+
Summary: Possessed!Sam makes a pit stop on the way to Bobby's.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. And I'm so going to Special Hell.
oxoxo
Meg eyed herself in the rearview mirror, twisted a bloody-sweaty strand of Sam's lank hair around her fingers and pushed it out of his hazel eyes before gripping the steering wheel tightly in both hands, feeling the unevenness of the highway vibrate through the Impala. A dusty green, half-illuminated highway sign alerted her to the short matter of miles before she reached her destination. She glanced at the cellular phone she'd abandoned on the passenger's seat, knowing that it was most likely the way Dean had tracked her down in Duluth so quickly and hoped he was on her trail once again.
Meg slowed the Impala as she crossed the Windom city limits. Already having done her homework and knowing exactly where she was going, she wove through familiarly named streets until she was in front of the house with the familiar number. The rumbling of the car's engine ceased and the headlights went dark, plunging the street into silence and dimness.
The curtain of the lone illuminated window on the second floor was pulled back, revealing a shadow, then the curtain quickly fell shut and lights turned on throughout the house as its occupant rushed downstairs until, finally, the porch light blazed on. The front door swung open and a boy, nearly seventeen, crossed the threshold in bare feet and raggedy cut-off sweatpants. "Who're you?" he questioned warily, eying the Impala parked at the curb.
"I, uh, I'm Sam. Winchester," Meg replied, schooling the expression on Sam's face into one of uncertainty and slight trepidation.
"Winchester?" the boy echoed, eyes widening slightly even as the eyebrows above them narrowed.
"Yeah. And I – I think we're brothers."
The boy glanced at the Impala again. "Where's John?"
Meg felt her joy at the answer to that question welling up inside her and warring with the grief it brought out in a barely-cognizant Sam. She coaxed tears to her eyes and looked anywhere but the boy. "He, uh, he died." Meg finally raised Sam's glistening eyes to the boy's face. "This past July." She watched as the kid's hand clutched at the knob on the door, knuckles going white, as his breath left him in a shocked reverse-gasp.
"What?"
"I didn't know about you until recently and...You have a right to know that our dad died."
The boy bit his lip, nodding. "Yeah, um, why don't you come inside...?"
"Sam," Meg supplied, reaching a hand towards John Winchester's youngest son.
"Sam. I'm Adam," the boy replied, taking Sam's hand; Meg held Adam's hand gently and longer than necessary. "Let's- let's go inside."
"Yeah," Meg sighed, holding Adam's gaze and letting it linger, begging trust and acceptance with Sam's stare. Sam's long limbs moved like slow-motion. "Okay."
Adam's eyes stayed locked with Sam's as Sam moved nearer, eclipsed the porch light, pressed closer than recently acquainted brothers should. Blue irises slimmed in the shadow Sam cast, gaze slipping to Sam's mouth as Sam's body heat warmed him, replacing the coolness of the March night. He stepped back enough to let Sam pass and followed his brother inside.
Smile, unseen by Adam, stretching Sam's mouth, Meg knew what she had planned would be easier to put into motion than she'd initially thought, Adam's lack of a father-figure growing up...made him a bit more susceptible to Sam's influence.
oxo
Meg filled his head, pressed him into the corners of his mind, shadowy, confined places like the spaces between the walls in that apartment building in Philly, sounds muted like they were filtering through drywall and plaster. Still, Sam was aware of what Meg was planning, caught glimpses of what she was doing when her focus shifted from containing him, and he saw his hands smoothing down the kid's chest, over the ridges of his ribs, his flat belly, coming to rest on the jut of his hip bones. His voice speaking Meg's words echoed in his mind, "we're brothers," and all he could think was how sick, twisted the things she was doing were. It reminded him of when he was sixteen; knew the look in his eyes now was probably exactly the same as the look in Dean's eyes all those years ago.
Sam's mouth on Adam's, and he could taste the places Meg kissed as she trailed his mouth over his brother's jaw and along his throat. Then his hand was following the same path, thumb pressing firmly on one side of his neck, fingers wrapped around and pressing on the other effectively cutting off blood flow, and Adam was gasping into his mouth as Meg slipped Sam's other hand lower, over the growing bulge in Adam's sweats.
Then Adam stopped moving. But Sam's hands didn't. They worked to rearrange Adam on his bed, limbs spread-eagle, before Meg secured his wrists and ankles to the bedposts.
Images of Dean arriving on that very scene flashed through his and Meg's shared consciousness as she thought through the scenarios. He knew she would try to break Dean by using the brother he was afraid of losing and the one he'd never known, and there was no way he could save either of them from what Meg was planning to do.
Sam finally understood Dean's motives for everything he'd done throughout his life – how he constantly put himself on the line and in danger just for Sam – because Sam was feeling the exact same protectiveness, wanting to keep all of what Meg had devised from happening to his brother.
oxo
Dean was thankful that the demon didn't know or understand GPS or cell phone tracking. Sam's cell was still on and Dean was able to follow it's signal across southern Minnesota for nearly five hours. Then again, maybe this demon was a lot smarter than he'd given it credit for and it was leading him somewhere. He had followed it straight to Jo – look how well that had turned out.
Judging by the direction the signal from Sam's phone was going and by the fact that Wandell and Jo were both targets, Dean had deduced that the demon was hunting hunters and that Bobby Singer was now in its crosshairs. But as he checked the GPS location, the signal from Sam's phone had stalled in a small town called Windom. Either the demon had ditched the phone or it was waiting for him. Perhaps there was another hunter nearby that was somehow connected to his father that he didn't know about. So he pulled over to the shoulder of the highway, hazard lights flashing, and pulled out John's journal. He scanned all the entries he didn't already know forwards and backwards and only two mentioned Minnesota. And only one mentioned Windom, specifically, but the pages that followed had been ripped out. There was something or someone there.
The house the cell signal led him to was nice, ordinary, with a well-kept lawn on a tree-lined street in a quiet neighborhood. The Impala was parked along the curb. Obviously, the demon hadn't dumped the phone – otherwise it had left it and the Impala behind.
But Dean didn't slow as he passed, cataloged details of the house with trained vigilance. He parked his stolen car around the corner and made his way across dark backyards and driveways back to the house halfway down the block.
The lock on the back door was standard and Dean picked it and was inside before he'd even really thought about breaking in. The house was quiet and dark save for the hum of the refrigerator and the dim glow of the digital clocks on the stove and microwave. It looked as though the house was empty, but Dean didn't feel like he was alone. He quickly made his way through all the rooms on the first floor before heading upstairs. As he reached the top landing, he heard the muffled squeak of floorboards under carpet somewhere down the hall. He followed the sound.
"I was wondering when you were going to join us," Sam's voice whispered from the darkness beyond an open doorway.
At first, Dean thought the demon was just referring to itself and Sam, then his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room beyond and he saw the figure tied down to the bed. "What the-" Dean began, starting further into the room.
But one of Sam's large hands gripped Dean's arm and held him back. "Tsk tsk," Sam clucked, devious smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth. "Not so fast there, Deano." The hold of Sam's hand changed into a caress, sliding up Dean's arm, fingers trailing over his injured shoulder and down his chest, pausing to touch the amulet dangling from the cord around Dean's neck. "I want to play a game first."
Sam's breath was hot and damp in his ear and Dean felt a shiver of desire roll down his spine. He used his hands to put distance between himself and his brother's body. "No."
"Oh, but it'll be fun. And you'll like it – I promise."
Sam- the demon, rather, didn't move closer, but Dean was still within the reach of Sam's hands, and the demon lifted both of them – one moving to the open front of Dean's jacket while the other skimmed across the heated skin of Dean's throat, cool fingers wrapping around the back of his neck. "What are you doing?" Dean demanded, trying to lean away from the touch and failing.
"Nothing you don't want," the demon sighed. Sam's body pressed closer, pressed right up against Dean, pressed Dean right up against the wall. At Dean's confused gaze searching Sam's face, the demon explained. "You're not as subtle with your attraction to your brother as you think. All the looks, the lingering touches; all the times his name was on your lips as you came, jerking off when you thought he was asleep or gone or couldn't hear you. But he did and he knew. Why do you think he was in such a hurry to go off to Stanford, Dean? Hm?"
"Stop." Dean pushed against Sam's muscled chest, tried to force them apart, tried to force his own body to stop reacting to the feel of Sam's flush against him.
"Do you want to know a secret?" Sam's nose bumped against the shell of Dean's ear. "There's a teeny, tiny part of Sam that wants nothing more than for you to fuck him into oblivion. Wants you inside. Wants you to make it hurt." Sam's hips tilted down, thrust up, dick hard against the groove of Dean's hip.
Dean's response was involuntary, a quick jerk of his own half-hard dick against Sam. "Don't do this. Please don't do this," he begged, turning his face away from his brother's, eyes squeezed shut.
Sam's teeth grazed the defined line of tendon in Dean's neck, sharp little nips, then Sam's hot mouth was on his, tongue invading, plundering, until Dean gave in and kissed back, his hands sliding up Sam's back, fingers tangling in greasy, filthy hair.
They were interrupted by a sound from the bed – a creak as weight was shifted – then the rustling of fabric. And Sam's mouth was gone, Sam's hands, his body. Cool air took Sam's shape and clung to Dean's overheated body.
"You're awake," Sam's voice whispered into the darkness, and Dean could hear the smile in it even before his brother's face was turned back towards him. "About that game..."
oxo
Adam slowly drifted into awareness, his limbs heavy as though he'd been sleeping for hours. But his room was still dark so he couldn't have been out for that long. Then he remembered hearing the car and Sam – his brother - and what had happened after he'd invited Sam in. News about his father and the brothers he never knew he had. Then Sam, all around him. Everything jumbled together, his memories unclear, uncertain, but a yawn suddenly overtook him and he felt the sides of his neck throb as the muscles of his throat contracted to allow him a deep, lung-filling breath and he knew. He hadn't dreamed any of it. He made to roll over but found he couldn't move – his arms and legs tied at the wrists and ankles to the headboard and footboard of his bed.
There was movement across the room by his door, the sound of denim on denim and other material rubbing and the wet suction-sound of mouths meeting and quick, shallow breathing. The shadows parted, one moving towards Adam on the bed. "You're awake," Sam whispered to him before turning back towards the shadow still by the door. "About that game..."
"What?" Adam questioned confusedly.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's all up to you, Dean."
Adam's eyes finally adjusted to the darkness in his room, making out the face of the shadow, of the man. He recognized the name – Dean – as his other brother that Sam had mentioned earlier in the night. "What's going on?"
Sam faced him again, eerie smile curling his lips as his eyes flashed obsidian. "Dean's got a choice to make. Either he's gonna fuck you," Sam turned back to Dean, "or I am. And I can tell you right now, I'm not a gentle lover. What's it gonna be, Dean?"
"You can't. Please don't do this. Don't bring this kid into this," Dean pleaded, stepping closer to Sam.
Don't bring this kid, Adam's mind repeated. Dean didn't know Adam was his brother. What kind of sick family had his father raised his brothers into?
"I figured you'd want to keep it in the family," Sam said, crouching beside the bed, hand sliding along the inside of Adam's thigh, then higher. "Meet baby brother, Adam. Dear old Dad had a couple dirty little secrets."
Adam watched Dean's eyes widen and focus on him, distressed gaze swinging back to Sam. "Don't. Don't do this. Whatever you want-"
"This is what I want. So, you or me? Who's it gonna be?"
A shadow crossed Dean's face, something similar to disgust but not, then acceptance. "Me."
"Good," Sam chuckled darkly. "I like to watch."
"Can you at least- Can you untie him?"
Sam turned an open and honest face on Adam, looking as harmless as he had when Adam had first opened the front door to him. "You're not gonna try to run, are you?"
Adam licked his lips, fear making his heart thud in his chest as he recalled the black shine of Sam's eyes moments earlier. He instinctively knew he wouldn't be able to escape, even if he tried. "No."
"Well, all right, then." He made quick work of undoing the knots about Adam's wrists and ankles, letting his fingers caress raw skin and making Adam's stomach lurch in a completely different way that it's previous reaction to his touch.
Once Sam had backed away, moving to sit in the desk chair a few feet from the bed, Dean slowly crossed the room and sat on the mattress. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," Adam lied.
"No, it's not. Not at all." But Dean's hands moved to his waist anyway, stroking, soothing.
Adam sat up and reached for Dean's jacket, helping him remove it, feeling Dean's heated skin through the thin, over-washed fabric of his t-shirt. It would all be over with soon.
Dean stood, kicked off his boots and shucked his jeans and shirt, then settled himself back on Adam's bed. His hand shook as he splayed it on Adam's lower stomach, slowly slid it lower, fingers stopping at the elastic band of his sweats. "You have lube or lotion handy?" he questioned softly.
"Yeah. In the top drawer," Adam replied, nodding towards the nightstand.
Dean pulled the drawer open and rummaged around inside, finding a small bottle of hand lotion. "Condom?"
Adam's shocked gaze flicked between Sam and Dean, finally settling on his eldest brother. He opened his mouth to reply, feeling heat flood his cheeks and lower, but no sound would come out so he just shook his head.
"Okay." Dean's hand finally slipped beneath the waistband of Adam's shorts, fingers finding and curling around his hardening erection.
Adam scooted closer, reached a hand towards Dean's crotch, unsure of what else to do. He cupped Dean's flaccid dick through his boxer-briefs, rubbed it like he would his own until he felt it begin to stiffen under his touch. Their positions were awkward, and he couldn't thrust into Dean's hand like he wanted, couldn't get more friction. He pressed his forehead against Dean's collarbone, felt Dean's other hand slide up to caress his neck. Turned his face just a little more, leaned forward a couple more inches, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Dean's neck.
Dean's hand slipped from his neck to his shoulder and gently shoved him down to the mattress. Adam went, hips lifting to find Dean's hand as his cock was released from its experienced grip. But Dean followed after him, pulled his shorts and underwear down and off and squeezed a small amount of lotion onto a couple of fingers on his left hand. He situated himself astride Adam, his hand bypassing Adam's dick, fingers pressing against his taut opening. "I'm sorry," Dean began to chant into his ear as he eased a finger inside, slowly working it to the first knuckle with little thrusts, then deeper, adding a second finger when Adam relaxed, and a third when Adam had started thrusting back and panting in his ear.
"Please," Adam half-begged, half-whined as Dean's fingers grazed that spot, curling, torquing, scissoring inside him. And it felt so good, regardless of how wrong he knew it was. Just focused on the feeling.
Dean's fingers slipped free altogether so he could slick himself up with lotion. He moved to kneel between Adam's spread thighs on the bed, lined himself up with his puckered hole and slowly started pressing forward. "Tell me if it hurts and I'll stop."
There was a chuckle beside them and Adam had nearly forgotten about Sam, who was raptly watching them with desire and amusement. "You're so gentle," he laughed. "Just fuck him already. He's practically begging for it. And you know you like it rough. I bet you're a real kinky bastard, aren't you?"
Dean faltered above him, but Adam raised his legs and hooked them behind Dean's back. "It's okay," he breathed, lifting his ass off the mattress and pressing closer to Dean. "Keep going." He slid his hands up Dean's arms, let one linger at his neck as his other dropped to his aching dick. He jerked himself as Dean pressed on, hand faltering and breath hitching when Dean stretched him impossibly wide and kept going until he was full. "Yeah," he said, tilting his hips and Dean's dick buried inside him glanced that spot again. "Yeah."
oxo
Dean slowly started to move, face buried in Adam's neck. Meg watched as Adam closed his mouth on Dean's shoulder just above the gunshot wound, teeth scraping, dragging as his mouth fell open to breathe deep. Pants and grunts, whimpers and whines, the slapping of flesh on flesh – the sounds of sex filled the small room. She could feel Sam's contrasting revulsion and arousal, reveled in it all knowing what it was doing to these brothers.
Dean was giving in, she could see it in thrust of his hips, deeper, harder, more aggressive. Then his mouth was on Adam's, all tongues and teeth and urgency. Then Dean's hips stuttered and he gasped against Adam's mouth and his body went rigid as he came, Adam's hand a flurry of movement between them as he fisted himself to his own orgasm. Meg watched a moment longer, made sure Sam was seeing the same thing she was, then she quietly left, tucking Sam safely away into the recesses of his mind.
oxo
Dean collapsed to Adam's side and realized that Sam was gone. He lay there, trying to catch his breath, trying to fend off the panic and nausea rising inside him. He reached for his clothes, hastily getting dressed, not even bothering to clean himself up or pull on his boots. Then he was gone.
oxo
Adam woke to weak sunlight filtering though his curtain as the sun rose. He was sore and confused and had no idea what had happened to him. Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he glanced at his clock. His mother would be home any minute if she wasn't already. He reached for his abandoned underwear and sweats and slowly climbed out of bed, his whole body aching.
"Adam?" his mother called from her room down the hall as he ventured out of his room towards the bathroom.
He quickly ducked into the bathroom, closed the door to a crack. "Yeah?" His voice was rough, didn't sound like his own.
"You okay?"
"Uh, yeah, Mom. Fine." But he wasn't. So far from it he didn't know if he ever would be again. He closed the door dropped his clothes on the floor and climbed into the shower. He washed away what he could, but physical vestiges of the night remained – rope-burn red on his wrists and ankles, bruises blooming dark beneath the skin of his hips where Dean's hands had gripped him too tight.
Rope-burn and bruises would fade with time, as would the soreness in his muscles and deeper. But the memories would always remain. He couldn't rinse those down the drain, time wouldn't heal them.
Fucked up. Everything was fucked up. He thought back to a phrase he'd learned from his father one of the last times he'd seen him. FUBAR And that was exactly what he was. Fucked up beyond all repair.
Unfixable.
Broken. By the brothers he'd always wanted but never thought he'd have.
Be careful what you wish for, came the unbidden adage, manic laughter rising in his chest. Because it just might fuck you up. Literally, he thought, finishing the quote.
Fubar. And he'd never really know why.