Thus far, this is the last one-shot in my quiver of fanfics. For some reason, I'm just not good at them. So silly, so silly.

Hopefully you disagree!

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I was wearing nothing.

I'd gotten used to that, though. Besides the disgusting, degrading costumes Larry liked to use on me to spice up our sex life, this was always how it was.
My arms were chained to the headboard, and I had long stopped fighting my inevitable fate. This was my purpose; this was the reason for my existence. To be a fuck toy.

Larry climbed on top of me, his grin so wide and menacing I felt like cringing.

He took me into his hand and fondled me. I flinched, feeling myself grow hard.

Even after all this time with him, I still hated myself. Hated how my body reacted to this.

Larry cackled and moved his hand up and down on my shaft. "Looks like you're enjoying this, Sammy boy. I didn't realize you were such a slut."

Without meaning to, I moaned. It wasn't often he did this to me. He rarely worried about my own enjoyment, and I didn't understand why he was bothering to do this now.

He then stopped moving and grabbed something out of his drawer of goodies. He suddenly placed a cock ring on me, and I groaned in frustration and pent up desire. Fuck, just let me go.

But Larry never made anything easy.

"Now that I've played with ya, it's time for you to return the favor."

He flipped me over, and I landed on my knees, arms still awkwardly outstretched at the headboard. His penis poked at my hole, prodding me for a few seconds.

"Ya know what…" he said, as though contemplating something. "Nevermind. I'm gonna use a toy on ya. I really wanna watch your face as you cum."

I gulped as something thick entered me. It went in deep, and Larry was sure to shove it in as far as physically possible.

Larry laid down beside me as I stayed in my kneeling position. He certainly had a front row seat to my facial expressions.

He turned the dial on his remote, and the thing in my ass started to jerk, pulsating violently. I huffed, trying to suppress my moan.

Larry put a hand to my penis, running a finger along the underside. My entire body spasmed, and tears spilled over my cheeks. Every inch of me was hypersensitive. Every touch felt like a jolt of electricity.

"Tell me ya want it," he said huskily.

"I-I wa—." His entire hand gripped me, and I whimpered. "I want-t it. P-Please…"

After several minutes of absolute agony, Larry's smirk never once leaving him, he asked, "So you want me to remove this here ring?" He squeezed the ring and my penis with it for emphasis, and my whole being shuddered.

"Y-Yes."

My body was hot, riled, hungry.

If possible, his grin grew. "I can't wait to watch you spray your jizz everywhere." He inched over and gave my tip a lick, and I almost lost it right there.

"If I take this off, I get to fuck you all next week. Deal?"

I nodded rapidly, not giving it a single thought. It's not like that wasn't going to happen anyway. Besides, I was pretty sure I would've agreed to anything at that point.

Larry reached for the ring, removing it.

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"Sam. Sammy!"

I awoke with a scream, so loud and hurt even I could hear my own desperation.

I tore my gaze all around, searching frenziedly in every direction. Everything was dark. Just like when I stayed with Larry. Was I still with him? Had I never escaped?

A hand was on my shoulder, shaking me. "Sammy. It's okay, you had a bad dream."

It was too dark; I couldn't make out the figure.

The voice was familiar, though. Very familiar. And trusted…Yes, this was someone I could trust. This person was in the bed with me, but I was safe.

A bright light then abruptly shone from the ceiling, and I squinted my eyes away.

With the light came my recognition of reality. Everything started to sink in, replacing the fantasy and nightmare that had taken place in my head. The person beside me and shaking me was my brother…Dean. John wasn't far behind, standing near the foot of the bed. God…of all the nightmares I've had about Larry, that one felt more vivid than any other I've had.

But, as reality began to become more and more real, I was starting to understand just how "vivid" it had really been.

I focused on not hyperventilating. I clutched tight at the thin sheets on top of me, holding them firmly above my waist.

A wet patch had grown on the front of my boxers. How could I possibly react like that to something as fucking stupid as a dream?

A tear fell down my cheek, and Dean and John only grew more alarmed. I blocked them from my mind, though. How could this be happening? What kind of person was I?

How sick was I?

I put my head in my hand, the other still forcefully gripping the sheets. I couldn't believe this was happening. It's been months since I escaped Larry, but he still made me react like this? He still made me horny? Hadn't I been so convinced that everything I'd done with Larry was gross, sick? I'd stuck with the notion that it was disgusting, but…had that all been a lie?

Because this wetness I felt was in stark contrast to that previous conviction.

"Sammy? Sammy, talk to me. Please."

Dean. He sounded so desperate. I was making them worry.

I removed my hand from my face, and the tears kept spilling from my eyes.

"S-Sorry. I'm fine, was just a dream."

A wet dream.

But I kept my cool. I was okay. This was…disgusting, embarrassing, and shameful, but I was okay. Larry was gone; Larry was dead.

I gulped. Dead…yet still had me wrapped around his chubby little finger.

And that thought brought everything tumbling down. The waterworks opened, and suddenly I was hiccupping and wheezing and gasping for breath.

Hands suddenly wrapped tightly around me, and Dean leaned me onto his chest. I kept my hold on the sheet but let myself rest on him. He was warm, inviting, and made some of my ache go away.

"S-Sorry. S-S-So s-sorry." I kept apologizing. That was all I knew to do. I'd had nightmares before, but this was the first time I'd ever reacted like this. John and Dean were probably freaking.

How could I make this better?

All Dean did was "sh" me, whispering sweet nothings in my ear as I cried havoc and the end of the world.

"It's okay, Sammy, it's okay," he said softly as he rubbed my back. "It was just a dream. You're safe. We won't let anything happen to you."

That was probably true. They were so protective now; I genuinely didn't think anything bad would happen to me ever again.

At least, from an outside source. If it came from within, however…

I sniffled, holding back a sob as I rubbed my face into Dean's chest.

"I…I…" I was cowardly hiding my boxers, but I knew I couldn't hide it forever. There was no way I could get out of this bed without at least one of them noticing.

I was having trouble getting the words out, though, and I clutched the sheet like a lifeline. "I…I...L-Larry…"

Dean's grip stiffened protectively around me. "…You had a bad dream about Larry?"

I nodded. But could I consider it bad? I had so clearly enjoyed it…

"H-He…I…came."

The crying did not cease, and I waited for it to dawn on them.

With the following silence, I could tell Dean and John were probably looking at each other quizzically, trying to decipher my meaning through lip-reading.

After a moment, Dean spoke, rubbing my shoulder. "Uh…Sammy, so he came? Where'd y'all go?"

No, they didn't understand.

This was awkward. This was so so awkward. I wiped a tear with the hand that wasn't gripping the sheet. How could I put this into words? "N-No, he…my body…j-just now…"

Dean continued rubbing soothing circles on my back. "What, Sammy? What happened?"

"I-I came. I came."

Dean's body was motionless beneath me, nearly frozen in posture. I could imagine his mind going to a screeching halt as he finally understood. The hand on my back stopped, and I wouldn't have been surprised if his heart had stopped, as well.

Dean stuttered. "L-Like…right now?"

I nodded, burrowing my head into his chest. "W-Wet dream…a-about…" I choked back a sob. "L-L-Larry."

He crushed me to his chest, and I could hear his erratic breathing. Was he crying now, as well?

I could see John moving frantically in my peripheral, and not a second later he was holding out a fresh pair of boxers to me.

"Son, this isn't a big deal. Every guy has to deal with this at some point. You've done nothing wrong."

I snatched the boxers from his hands. "T-Thank you."

Every day I had scars to remind me of Larry. Every day I looked in the mirror and saw him there beside me. Would I start seeing him in my dreams every day, too?

Without moving my head from Dean's chest (if he wanted to move I'd let him initiate it), I slipped my boxers off. Dean replaced my grip on the sheets as I did so, keeping them intact and over my waist.

I wadded up my boxers and successfully threw them to my dirty corner of the room.

I awkwardly wriggled into the clean boxers. The task was tedious, but it gave me even a short reprieve. No one spoke, and it gave me time to calm down, to think.

I felt exhausted. Back in clean underwear, I leaned against the headboard instead of Dean. I didn't hide my face anymore. I was just wallowing in self-pity. I was so weak.

"'Every guy', huh…" I said absently, lost in thought. "Every guy has wet dreams…about another guy?" And my wet dream didn't involve ordinary things. It involved sex toys and dirty talk with a 30 or 40-year-old man. It involved experiences that had, more or less, already happened before.

They were both speechless.

Dean swallowed. "You can't help what you dream about, Sammy. This isn't your fault, and this isn't something you should worry yourself over."

I was lost in my nightmare, and I felt a tremor run through my body. "I…I begged him for more. I be-begged him to touch me." I didn't hide my face, but I didn't look them in the eyes, either. Instead I stared down at my hands, forlorn. "I came in my dream, too. W-When he took the cock ring off…" I made a small explosive motion with my hands, signaling my ejaculation.

"Sammy…," Dean whispered. What more could he say? What more could he do to make this any better?

Nothing…he could do nothing.

But that wasn't true either, was it? I looked at a scar running along my thigh, fingering it lightly. Dean and my father were everything to me. Just being there, just showing they cared…that was all I needed.

That was an idealistic thing to say, but it was close enough to the truth. My dream…my wet dream fucking sucked, but I'd be okay. Even if I struggle with my own inner being and personality and liking for Larry, as long as Dean and John stayed by my side, I could endure it.

I could hate myself all I wanted as long as I could be with my family.

"Sammy, listen..." Dean's voice was somber and earnest, and my ears perked up. "I know this has to be hard. The fact you saw yourself e-enjoying it with Larry…must be hard. But you have to understand." He squeezed my shoulder taut to his hand, and I met his gaze. "This dream does not mean you like him, and it does not mean you miss the things he did to you."

I looked away. I could feel water building up in my eyes, but I did everything I could to hold them back. My thoughts were so dark, so disgusting. When would I be how I was before?

Would I ever be how I was before?

I covered half my face with my hand. "H-How…How can you say that with such certainty?"

I didn't understand Dean's blind faith in me. Why was he so convinced?

Dean seemed reluctant, and I watched as he licked his lips nervously. "I've done a lot of research on this. Like…a lot." Ah. Hm. I wasn't expecting that. "A common theme of rape victims is that they believe t-they enjoyed it. I-It's like Stockholm Syndrome." He sat up, fervent. "But you're not like that, Sammy. You hated your time with Larry; you know you did. Y-You just get mixed-up sometimes. This…this dream you had…"

He looked like he was going to throw up, but he swallowed hard. "I'm sorry you had such a horrible dream…such a vivid reminder of the shit you went through. But dreaming about it does not mean you liked it…" A tear fell down his cheek, and he didn't bother wiping it away. He wiped his thumb across my cheek, and it was only then that I realized I was crying. "It just means you haven't healed yet."

My lower lip quivered. The intensity of Dean's gaze felt like I was looking into the eye of a tornado. Calm, beautiful, but surrounded by turbulent storms.

"Y-Yeah…" I offered a small smile, wiping my own tears this time. "You may be right." I wanted to reach out, grab his hand, touch his shoulder, something.

But I didn't. Instead, I gave him the most genuine smile I had ever given since Joe. "Thank you."

Dean's response was a big happy smile, his eyes shining brighter than the sun. He looked so adorable I laughed. I've had a rough time, but the moment of gravity and grimness was over. We were back to normal.

Dean fist pumped my shoulder. "Ready to go back to bed, Sammy?"

I nodded contentedly, and he rustled my hair.

John walked to the edge of the bed and leaned over, giving my forehead a kiss. "Sleep well, Sam."

He went back to the light switch, waiting for Dean and I to lie down before flipping it.

The darkness was back, and I reminded myself I wasn't with Larry. This wasn't the same. I was safe.

And, as long as I stayed with family, I always would be.

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So pretty sappy and pointless but I enjoyed writing it. Hope you approved!