A/N: PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT THIS IS STRONG DUB-CON, BORDERING ON NON-CON.
This is not a happy story, so please heed the warnings!
Inspired by Midget-Banana's artwork. (Can be found here: midget-banana. tumblr (dot com) post/85940903985/ since FF hates links.)
This was never how he had planned to help Dean. When he'd started to fall he knew he'd lost much of his purpose but he'd tried his hardest to be of help. He'd had Sam teach him how to handle guns and had worked hard to learn everything he needed to know to become a hunter. He'd wanted to help with hunt, be someone Dean could trust to keep his back, be someone Dean needed. Then the world had ended, Sam had said yes, his own grace had dwindled down to nothing and Dean had become more and more like his father. He was cold, ruthless and did what he had to do. Castiel knew that, that was why he couldn't blame Dean for taking out his frustrations on the most useless being around. Besides the only times Dean seemed to care for him was when he spread his legs and did the only thing he could to be helpful.
Dean had been out on a raid, their need for supplies never ended. Castiel had taken another drag of the joint, when he had heard the cars. If he was lucky it had gone well and the whole group was fine, otherwise he was in for a rough night. He moved to the door of his small hut and leaned against it waiting for Dean to tell him how the raid went. Dean walked past Castiel without even looking at him. It would be a rough night.
Castiel was on his way back to his quarters after having joined Chuck for dinner. Without any form of warning he was pressed up against the wall of his hut.
"Cas," Dean mumbled before pulling out two pieces of cloth. Castiel put out his hands, he knew how this worked. "Good boy." Dean wrapped his hands tightly together. Castiel couldn't help the pride that welled up in his chest at the praise.
"Dean," Castiel breathed, regretting it instantly.
"And here I thought you could keep your whore mouth shut, apparently not," Dean's voice was cold and he held up the second piece of cloth. "Open up," Dean wrapped the fabric around Castiel head and made sure it was tight enough to make sure Castiel was unable to make a sound.
"I was going to let you suck me, but now I know I can't trust you to be quiet enough." Dean pressed closer and whispered into Castiel's ear, "Wouldn't be good for the moral if they found their hero fucking the camp-slut. The hero should have some kind of taste, shouldn't he?"
Dean nibbled at Castiel's neck before continuing, "It wouldn't do good to disappoint them right? They need to trust me after all, and who can trust a man who fucks a slut like you." It wasn't a question. Castiel simply accepted the verbal abuse; it was what he deserved after all. If it hadn't been useful for Dean, Castiel would be dead. Dean had even saved him, though he was useless. He was grateful and he needed to show that.
Dean unzipped Castiel jeans and pulled them down, not all the way, just enough so he could reach the parts he wanted. He made quick works of his own jeans as well and pulled out his hard dick. Dean put Castiel's arms around his neck and lifted him high enough to be able to simply push inside of Castiel.
"Shh, shh," Dean soothed Castiel. "I'll take care of you." His voice was almost warm, Castiel should have known better by now, but every time Dean spoke with any kind of warmth it was as if Castiel were back in the past. Back when they still worked together. Back when he was useful for more than a punch bag.
A spit slicked finger made it into his hole, it was rough and hard. No finesse, no illusion that Dean cared, it was nothing more than a duty. Dean had once said that going in completely dry was not only painful for the receiver but it also uncomfortable the giver. Dean made fast work with his finger and soon he pushed in, hard. If Castiel hadn't had the piece of fabric between his lips to bite down on, he would have screamed. It was agony and it hurt. He couldn't help the tears running down his cheeks. He tried to control them; Dean wasn't impressed by those who cried. Castiel turned his head to the side, trying to hide the tears.
Dean was sucking bruises on his neck and his rhythm was fast. Castiel ignored the pain as much as he could, he wanted to go inside, pop some pills and forget the pain. Dean moved faster and harder, seeking his orgasm. Dean had started to whisper praises, telling Castiel how good he was, how good he felt and how helpful he was. Castiel knew that a little bit of pain was worth helping Dean. He wanted to do right by Dean, be useful.
Dean came with a grunt. When his breathing had returned to normal he pulled out and put Castiel down. Dean hurried to remove Castiel's arms and took out a knife to cut them loose. He turned and walked away without a word, just like always. Castiel hated this moment, hated it with a passion but at the same time he never felt as happy as he did when Dean had used him. All the praise and the knowledge that he had helped Dean, even in a small way, was enough for him.
After all, that was all Castiel had ever wanted, since he gripped Dean tight in hell and raised him, all he had ever wanted was to be useful. He pulled up his jeans and removed the cloth from his mouth. He moved inside as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the pain he felt with every step.
The first thing he did when he was inside was find the pills, the booze and light a new joint. He had helped today and this was just a way to forget the pain that came with helping Dean. The pain was durable; there was nothing he wouldn't do for Dean.
A/N: As always, a big thank you to my beta and bestie.
Also a huge thank you to Midget-banana who made pretty art and became my muse for this story.
I hope you liked it.