Raised You Better
Annaleise Marie
cross-posted from livejournal
username: girlgotagun
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam
Full List of Kinks: a/b/o, alpha!Sam, omega!Dean, knotting, public claiming, biting, heat, humiliation, spanking, exhibitionism
WARNING: dub-con
Originally written for a prompt on the spnkink-meme livejournal community.
Part One
X
Dean was good at pretending. He pretended a lot of things. He pretended that he and Sam had a snowball's chance in hell of finding their dad when it was becoming more and more obvious by the day that they didn't. He pretended that after Jessica's death Sam wasn't just running on hate-fueled adrenaline and had really let go of his apple-pie dreams; had really come back to hunting, to Dean. He pretended that they were all gonna make it out of this doomed mission, that it would finally be over, that the sky would dawn bright and sunny one day and the Yellow Eyed Demon would be dead and all would be right in the world. He pretended there was hope for them all.
But most of all, Dean pretended he wasn't what he really was. Pretended, like he had since he was fourteen and had hit his first heat, that he wasn't an omega.
When he had started pretending, it had been for good reason. Sammy was only ten; too young to protect himself, vulnerable, all rosy cheeks and baby fat. If all those bad things out there found out that Dean, the eldest son of the infamous John Winchester, was nothing more than a heating bitch, they'd come for him and Sammy. John agreed, and immediately after his first heat, which he had rode out in a motel room in the middle of nowhere while Sammy spent the week with Bobby, Dean started on the suppressants. They weren't meant to be used long-term, but they didn't need to be. Just until Sammy was old enough to take care of himself.
Dean had never breathed a word one way or another to Sammy about what he had presented as. Never claimed to be anything. But when Sammy assumed that he had presented as a beta, without heats or a knot to suggest otherwise, Dean didn't correct him.
Four years later, Sammy popped a knot. So then Dean kept pretending because Sammy didn't need to be distracted on a hunt as his Alpha instincts roared at him to protect Dean. He swallowed down his suppressants every day when his little brother wasn't looking. He would tell him when he was older, when he had more of a grasp on his instincts. In the meantime, Dean tried to raise his baby brother to be a good Alpha, to be what an omega would need him to be one day; raised him strong but sweet, nurtured in him that vicious need to protect the weak, that adamancy about fairness and right. And Dean thought that he would be a great Alpha, found himself wishing that he had a mate like that, that he could ever, in the life they led, find a mate and achieve that sense of balance, of completeness.
But then Sammy had started that college shit. And Dean paused every morning before he took the suppressants because he knew that if Sammy found out, he'd stay. Wouldn't be able to leave an unmated, unclaimed omega on his own, unprotected. Ultimately that thought made him feel lower than dirt, and it was the same thought that made him drop the tiny white pill onto his tongue and toss his head back to let it slide down his throat. He wouldn't manipulate his baby brother like that; wouldn't use his Alpha status against him to keep him at Dean's side, no matter how bad he wanted him there.
Sam and John's fights got worse; words becoming more biting, cruel; old wounds constantly poked and agitated, kept exposed and raw as they festered. John would look at Dean, asking him silently to do it, to pull the trigger that would cripple Sam, to impart the knowledge that would effectively muzzle his youngest son. But Dean never spoke, never stopped pretending.
And then the door slammed one last time and Sam was gone. Dean finally stopped taking the suppressants, his body overtaxed and weary from too many years of them, and within days his first heat in eight years ripped through him, setting his nerves on fire and robbing his vision, his sane mind and he screamed and cried and begged, ripping his nails on the door of Bobby's panic room as Bobby himself and John sat upstairs, their own nerves on edge every time the sounds ripped through the air.
The heats after that had been less intense but left Dean no less vulnerable, wracking his body like clockwork twice a year. Each time he was sealed in the panic room, once even leaving a hunt early to make it there on time, calling his dad from the road as he passed the sign that told him he was entering Sioux Falls, felt the first rushes of slick, the first spikes of fever.
When John had disappeared, Dean had just finished a heat cycle. He battled with the decision to go get Sam, ask him for help, pull him away from that perfect normal that he had built over four long years. Then he grappled with the decision of whether or not to begin taking suppressants again. Ultimately he couldn't, couldn't pay the tax they placed on his body. Besides, he had every other hunter, every other monster and creepy thing fooled. Two weeks out of the year he'd have to dodge Sam, but other than that he could pretend, could fool his little brother without the pills.
And then Sam had said he wouldn't be sticking around that long anyway. So there was really no need for them. But Dean had been pretending he didn't miss Sam, pretending he was doing fine without him, that letting him walk away and forget that Dean and the hunt existed hadn't torn the older man apart the first time. Pretending that sure, he could do it again.
Dean was good at pretending; so good that he even fooled himself sometimes. And then when the reality hit him, it hit with a vengeance. Because it had been nearly impossible to let Sammy go the first time; had nearly torn him apart, destroyed him. And he wasn't sure he could do it again.
He had thought about telling him then, revealing his status to keep his brother with him, to stop the Alpha from leaving him again. He had almost stopped pretending; had been about to.
But then the world went insane and Dean was rushing into the apartment building to drag Sam out as his eyes stayed fixed on Jess. Jess, on the ceiling. Jess, burning. Jess, her eyes wide and accusing as they stared at Sam.
And then Dean couldn't tell Sam; couldn't add one more problem, one more upheaval as his little brother's world collapsed. Sammy had built his normal life in the model of the Tower of Babel, and Dean telling him the truth now would only further confuse their language, make it harder for them to work and relate in the day-to-day. Dean cared about his brother too much to add one more stone to the rubble.
Sammy was broken; torn apart in ways that Dean couldn't imagine, deep in his soul. And Dean couldn't blame him. He had raised him to be that kind of Alpha; to protect and nurture and take it personally if harm came to his mate. And sure Jess was beta, and sure Sam hadn't claimed her yet, but he had planned to, and really that was all the same, wasn't it?
So Dean had raised him like that, and now he would stay quiet, would keep pretending as Sammy reaped the hard-won fruits of his older brother's labor and suffered for it.
It was nearly a year later when Dean's stone finally joined the rubble. They were so close, so damned close to finding their Dad. Meg had as good as sworn—for what that was worth coming from a demon—that the eldest Winchester was alive. Not that that helped anything; they had no idea where they were keeping him.
Dean was agitated. Not just by Sam's readiness to believe that their dad was dead, though that was what he had snapped about out loud, but by his rapidly-encroaching heat. Like clockwork, he knew he had only a matter of hours before it became too obvious. Maybe until morning. Maybe.
Their dad was more important. He'd have to risk it; let the chips fall where they may and deal with the fallout—the anger and hurt and surely many chick-flick moments—with Sam later.
He sighed, resignation making his shoulders sag. "Maybe we go to Lincoln; start at the warehouse where he was taken."
"C'mon, Dean." Sam looked skeptical. "You really think those demons are going to leave a trail?"
The kid had a point. They needed to come up with a definite plan, find something concrete. Especially if Dean was going to risk it all, expose everything he had been hiding from Sam for over a decade, forgo getting to Bobby's on time—
"You're right," he muttered as an idea occurred to him. "We need help."
They started toward Bobby's, the needle of the speedometer edging up to eighty, ninety, and on up as Dean stopped paying attention to anything but the road. They had to reach Bobby's; had to get there fast. He'd worry later about what to tell Sam when he sent him on to find their Dad on his own while Dean holed up in the panic room.
They almost made it. Dean almost made it. It started slow, with Sam scenting the air, a confused look on his face as Dean's fever spiked, the darkness of night hiding the heat flush from Sam's eyes. Sam's body reacted on instinct, his own powerful scent filling the cab of the Impala, pulling a rush of slick from deep inside of the omega.
"Sammy—" Dean's voice wavered and choked in his throat as a low growl issued from the Alpha.
"Pull over." The command was short, clipped.
"Listen man—"
"Pull the fuck over, Dean." This command was a rolling growl, issued through clenched teeth. "Don't make me tell you again."
The Impala slowed as Dean steered onto the shoulder, coming to a lurching stop. He waited, the silence heavy, pressing down on the scruff of his neck as pure rage rolled off of his little brother.
"Get out of the car." Sam's voice was deathly quiet. "Put your hands on the hood and wait for me. Don't fucking move."
Dean did as he was told, trembling as his mind tried to buck instinct. He tried to calm himself, tried to soothe his hindbrain with the knowledge that he raised Sammy; he raised a good, gentle Alpha. Sam had done this, told him to get out of the car, to wait outside so that he could regain control over himself. Sam wouldn't want to hurt an omega, even if he was angry—especially if he was angry. He had raised Sammy better than that; had raised him right.
Despite telling himself all of this, despite replaying the reassurances on a loop in his head as he waited, when Sam opened the door and stepped out into the night something deep in Dean's baser mind flinched, screamed and told him to run run run never stop running never look back.
But he tamped it down, held his position, engine-warmed metal under his hands and headlights silhouetting his body, putting him on sharp display as cars flew by on the highway.
He felt Sam approach him rather than hearing him over the growling engines and rushing wind wake of cars passing only meters from him. Felt the anger and rage rolling off of the Alpha, kicking up a storm of conflicting instincts. Run—stay—cower—beg—scream—stay quiet—run—escape—hold fucking still. Obey. Alpha.
Sam was behind him, his cold hard gaze fixed on Dean's bowed form. His lips curled over his teeth. "How dare you?" His voice was a menacing snarl, drawing a whimper from the omega as he stepped closer. "How dare you hide this…like it's not my right to know? Like you thought it was acceptable to trick me into thinking you weren't a heating bitch."
Dean's heart shattered at the insult, at the person he cared most about, had fought hardest to protect all his life, reducing him to his baser role. He choked put a dry sob, his head falling to his arms on the hood of the car, disgusted with himself as he felt a warm rush of slick leak out of him, darkening his jeans for Sam's predatory gaze.
"You're mine, Dean. It's my fucking birthright as Alpha." He leaned forward, hard chest pressing against Dean's back, body heat and scent causing the omega to arch into him even as he tried to fight it. "How dare you try to keep that from me?"
Sam's hands were pulling at Dean's jeans, yanking them down roughly. Humiliation joined the fever of heat, crawling up Dean's chest and face, setting his body aflame as he was suddenly, shamefully exposed to the passing traffic.
Sam was talking again, his voice barely registering in Dean's mind through the haze of heat and shame. "Could've been different; Dean. Could've taken you nice and slow; knotted you and filled you up, bred you as you came on my cock. But you lied to me; stole that from me. So now I have to put you in your place; show you who you belong to, show everyone whose bitch you are."
The first time Sam's open hand landed on the soft skin of Dean's backside was a sudden, sharp sting that the omega couldn't immediately identify through the rush of panic and humiliation coursing through him hard on the heels of the need of heat. The second blow, hard and focused, finally brought the realization forth: Sam was spanking him, punishing him in full-view of anyone driving by who would happen to bear witness.
He scrambled to escape, his legs tangled in his jeans and boxers hindering his speed, and Sam's hands gripped his hips hard, yanking him back into place.
"Do not make me chase you down," the Alpha growled sharply.
Dean whimpered, trying to force his fevered mind to focus. "Please, Sammy, don't—" The rest of the plea was choked off as a third blow landed, abrupt and burning pain shooting up through Dean's nerves and into his spine, curling his back in pain. This was no light, teasing spanking. This was intended as a brutal punishment, and in that respect Sam was succeeding.
Dean lost count of the number of times Sam's hand landed, raining down pain on his ass, thighs, and even once over his slick-coated entrance. He wasn't sure what number blow finally brought the tears forth, wasn't sure how many after that he endured as cars sped by, sometimes slowing to gape as they passed, never stopping to interfere. Because Sam had been right, according to the rules of the world, Dean was just a bitch, and it was Sam's birthright as Alpha to punish him; too keep him in line, show him his place. Even Dean's own body knew it, wave after wave of slick appearing, running down his thigh as everything in him screamed for the Sam to mate him, claim him, make him a good little bitch for his Alpha.
When it was finally over Sam ordered him into the passenger seat. Dean sat carefully, trying to find a position that wouldn't send excruciating shocks and hot licks of agony shooting through him. There was no such position, however, and every bump in the road felt like it was tearing Dean apart, splitting skin and muscle, through the long, long ride to Bobby's.