Author's Note: This is the second part of this two-shot. In it, Dean gets his confrontation with Josh...but it definitely doesn't go as expected. Also: John makes a surprise cameo to tie up loose ends? Oh, and this chapter in particular owes a huge debt to a certain story, "Born Again." Read on.
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Four days later…
"Would you like some more coffee, hun?"
The waitresses' pleasant, heavily-accented, voice breaks into Dean's thoughts. He looks up, bleary eyes meeting a perky face, smeared with lipstick.
"No thanks, I'm good."
"Ok then. I'll be back to check on you in a bit." She smiles at him and walks on to her other tables. He tries to nod in return but can't muster the energy.
It's been almost 100 hours since he lost his little brother, and he's beginning to go a little crazy.
Right now Dean Winchester is sitting in some diner in the middle of a nowhere town. Except this isn't just any old nowhere town—Dean is 98% sure this is where Sam ended up. Before he vanished.
No, not vanished—vanished makes it sound impossible, like a magic trick. And Sammy is no fuckin' David Blaine.
It's taken him more than four days to get this far—four days too long. And all along part of the back of his mind was whispering away: you won't find him; you can't; you're too late; he's gone.
But still here he sits. God he's so tired. But he's not going to stop. He won't; he can't.
Faintly, Dean hears the ding at the front door as some trucker walks in for his daily slice of pie. Usually, in a place like this, full of flannel and smoke and rough language, Dean would be in heaven; he'd practically grown up in dumps like this his whole life. The sizzle of grease was like the soundtrack of his life; and the heavy accents of the dumpy waitresses were like—
Stop: enough with the overwrought metaphors. Sure he was tired, but he wasn't crazy. And he sure as hell wasn't going to crack now. He just had to stay focus.
"Hey," he called out to his waitress, trying to get her attention. "I think I will have another cup of coffee."
"Great, hon. I'll bring it right out." This time Dean actually musters a sincere smile in return, and he notices her slight blush as she heads over to the pot. Even run ragged and distressed, he was still a ladies' man.
His waitress is back with his coffee. As she sets it down, she binds over just a little more. If it were any other time—say, if Sam were here and not God-knows-where—Dean might be a little touched; he might even play along a little, just to make his brother uncomfortable. But his brother isn't here. There's no one to mess with. He is alone.
The waitress soon leaves, slightly disgruntled but none the worse for wear.
Dean takes a sip of his coffee. It's bitter. Damn waitress.
When did he start cursing the wait staff? When did he start calling them "wait staff"? What the hell is wrong with him?
Sam. Always a pain in my ass, aren't ya little brother?
His jaunty inner-monologue does nothing to relieve his distress, his annoyance, at the current situation.
He takes another sip of the coffee winces. It's that bad. He considers just leaving—thinks better of it—thinks better of that—and gets up, ready to dash.
The world spins once, and he steadies himself against the booth.
What the hell?
Things are getting fuzzy around the edges—wobbly. The coffee was laced, but Dean's too slow on the uptake.
"I think I'm going to be sick…" he says. And then someone is by his side, holding him by the arm, steadying him. Turning, he narrows his eyes and shakes his head, trying to clear his vision. It doesn't really help, but right before he passes out, Dean could have sworn he knew who the guy was that had kept him from falling to the floor.
Sam…
--
The room is dark, and for a second all Dean can do is sort of groan lowly and quietly to himself.
He hears a noise in the corner.
"Hey there, I'm glad you're finally getting up. You've been out for a good day-and-a-half."
Dean doesn't know whose speaking. Slowly he eases himself up against the headboard of the bed he's laying in. The room is still dark, but his eyes are adjusting. There's a man, dark-haired, average height, in the corner; that must be who spoke.
"Call me Josh," the man says as he walks forward and smiles.
"Where am I?" Dean asks in return. He really wants to come across as menacing, to intimidate this guy into submission, but he just feels off. He can't quite place it, but he feels weak, somehow.
"My house. I was at the diner when you passed out—you looked really sick. So I brought you back here to rest up." The oddness of Josh's answer doesn't stick with Dean. His head is too muddled, too slowly clearing, for it to.
He rubs his hand across his face in an attempt to rub the sleep from his eyes. "How long did you say I was out?"
"A good thirty hours, I'd say."
"Jeez. Must have been some kind of bug I had." Josh nods.
"Want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot." Dean nods; Josh turns and walks out, clearing intending for his new guest to follow him.
Cautiously Dean eases himself up off the bed. His clothes are wrinkled and his shoes are off—I should probably go find those—but besides that and a soon-to-be-splitting headache, he feels not too terrible.
As he's walking through the doorway to follow Josh though, something strikes him. Sam.
But as quickly as it sticks in his head, the name slips out again. He has an image of his little brother firmly behind his eyes, and the feelings therefore associated, but it's all muted somehow—coated with Teflon.
A minute or two later, the two men are sitting down at Josh's kitchen table, and then the man is pouring Dean a cup of coffee. Before Dean has to find something to say, though, Josh begins to speak. "You're worried about your brother, aren't you?"
Disregarding the fact that Josh seemed to have read his mind, Dean is still shocked. He looks up where Josh is standing with the coffee pot.
"Yeah, I am," is all he can muster. God how he wants that last sentence to come out powerful and confident, but something…
"I figured. I wasn't sure you guys were related, but now that I've spent some time around you when you're conscious, it's all clicked."
"We're brothers," Dean says.
"I can see it," Josh says, nodding. "Anyway, I'm sure you won't want to waste time drinking my mediocre coffee. I know where your brother is—"
"What? Where?"
"He's with me." The bizarreness of that statement is so large, it's hard for Dean's head to wrap around it.
How? Why? When? Who?
Questions ricochet against each other inside of Dean's head, and each new, more frantic, thought seems to bring him a little more clarity. Suddenly, it clicks.
He stands up. "I need my shoes."
He gets up quickly, ready to leave—he'll come back after he has a plan, after he clears his head, after he figures out what's going on with this guy, after—
"Sit down…DeeDee." Josh had spoken quietly. Dean knew he should leave—he wanted to. But he couldn't; he had to sit down. Something about that name…
"That's better," Josh said. "Did you really think I was going to let you just leave, after what I did to your little brother, before I've had the chance to do anything to you?" He laughs, "I don't think so."
"What…what have you done?"
"Well it happened quite by accident, I will say that. I didn't mean to stumble upon your brother, Dean. Rather, he stumbled into me. But what a happy accident that turned out to be." Josh pauses for a moment. "Y'know what—why don't I just show you: Sam, come here."
Dean turns his head, half-curious and half-terrified at what he's about to see.
It isn't pretty: his brother isn't wearing anything except some underwear. Tighty-whities, Dean notes absently in his muddled little head. Fruit of the Loom.
What's worse though is the way Sam looks. His shoulders are squared and hunched forward, and he sort of slouches forward as he walks up to Josh. No, it's not just a slouch—it's a swagger. He walks like he owns the place. But that confidence doesn't extend up to his face. Sam's lips are parted and he seems to be drooling a bit; further up Dean can see that his eyes are dull. Worse than dull: empty.
"See, he had a bit of a breakdown, your brother. And I'm afraid it seems to be permanent," Josh explains.
"You…you…"
Josh laughs wickedly as Dean struggles. "Ok, you caught me: he didn't have a breakdown so much as I broke him down into the dumb hunk you see before you. Before, oh—you should have seen him—the way he was so worried about something, so nervous, about you I guess. Or angry, who knows? I took care of that pretty quick. Now he doesn't think anything at all. But he is always careful to do exactly what I say plus," Josh adds, sardonically, "he looks fuckin' great in his tighties doesn't he?" He reaches over and snaps the white elastic waistband above Sam's crotch.
This is all too much for Dean to process; he's still trying to catch up. How did this happen?
"You…you did this on purpose?"
"You could say that."
"I won't…I won't say anything, I promise."
"No, you won't. But if I let you go you'll be back here in a day, no more, to rescue your baby brother. No, that's not going to happen." Josh walks over to Dean, standing over him and looking down slyly.
"Let me just go ahead and explain to you what is going to happen. Simply. While you can still understand."
Josh laughed. Dean froze, terrified. Things were spiraling out of control…
"You're going to have a little breakdown of your own, Dean. You'll become more passive, more docile. You already feel a little like that, don't you? It's only going to get worse; it's all going to change."
"You're crazy," Dean spat out, mustering himself briefly. "And I'm leaving. Where are my shoes…where…?"
As Dean starts moving to the door, Josh steps calmly in front of him, putting his hand out on his chest. Before Dean can push it away, Josh speaks."
"Stay, DeeDee."
Dean felt suddenly woozy and almost sank to the floor before Josh caught him by the arm. Was he hallucinating, or was Josh really stripping his shirt off over his head. And why was he fumbling with his belt?
"What have you done to me…what…?"
Josh looked down at Dean.
"I did it while you were sleeping, after I'd spiked your coffee in the diner. Sam's the one who filled me in, after I'd stripped him down, I went through his things. I found your picture in his wallet. You looked possessive, and I figured there was no way someone like that was going to let a stud like Sam slip away from them easily. So I waited, and you came. And then you 'passed out' and I brought you here. And while you were enjoying your nice little drugged stupor I filled your little head with subliminal triggers, messages, and instructions that reinforced your desire to be submissive, helpless, and defenseless. All you needed was a new name to set the whole process off. And 'DeeDee' just seemed to fit perfectly: it's such a cute name for who you're going to become."
"That's impossi…"
"Getting harder to concentrate, Dean?" Josh asks, smirking. He props Dean up on the kitchen table.
"…never get away…it's like murder, it's…"
Dean can't think of the words he needed. He panicks. Sam looked at him with blank eyes as a tiny strand of drool dropped from his parted lips to slide down his chest onto his six-pack.
To his surprise, tears formed in his eyes."
"Oh don't be such a crybaby, DeeDee," Josh says brightly. "A few shots to breakdown your ego structure—it'll be a relief for you. No more worrying about your life, and your relationships, and your job—whatever it is you and Sam used to do."
"…didn't do anything…believe me…please…"
Josh acts as if he hadn't heard.
"Of course you won't be able to wear any of the clothes you used to, not like your brother. For you it'll be much simpler. You'll be much more free, though, trust me." He rubs his hands across Dean's pecs, pulling and tweaking his nipples.
"Josh…please…"
"Call me 'daddy.'"
"I—umm—dadd…daddy?"
"That's it kiddo. Now just slide down onto the floor here. Babies don't sit on the table."
"Daddy…pweaze…daddy—"
Dean feels himself being lifted off the table into Josh's strong arms. His pants fall to his ankles, showing off his grey Hanes boxer-briefs, but he can't seem to figure out how to pull his jeans back up. Soon he doesn't care. He trys to say something, something really complicated…
"Small words, DeeDee, small words."
"Daddy doana ga daddy…"
Josh smiles and helps Dean lay back on the carpet. His pants were in the corner where they'd fallen off his feet in-transit to the floor.
"Almost done…" Josh says to himself, reaching out and stripping off Dean's underwear. He reaches forward excitedly and grabbed Dean's penis, rubbing it excitedly. Soon the older Winchester is moaning and well into the motion, and then he came. Josh had titled Dean's cock back toward his face, though, so as his dick jerked quickly six times in a row, each shot of cum splattered all over his face, in his eyes and ears and nose and in his hair.
Josh sighs and sits back.
"Time to clean you up…" He went and grabbed a dirty rag before coming back and rubbing it all over Dean's face. And then he reaches out and opens Dean's mouth and shoves the cum-soaked rag in between his slack jaw.
He leaves the room for a minute as the two Winchester brothers, one still standing dumbly in the corner while the other lay staring into nothing, stay where they were. Before too long Josh returns, carrying a bulky bag. He opens it, reaches in, and pulls out a large diaper.
He sits down next to Dean.
"Ok big guy, here we go…" He grabs Dean's hips and lifts his butt into the air for a second as he slips the diaper under him. Taking another moment he begins to rub lotion into his crotch. Finally, he powders Dean's cock and balls before bringing the thick diaper up between his legs.
Standing up, Josh steps back to admire his handiwork:
He turns first to Sam, who was exactly where he'd been left. Just looking at him made Josh horny. He could imagine so much to do to this grade-A hunk that seemed to love white briefs. His dick twitched in his jeans.
Promising himself a long afternoon of fun with Sammy, Josh then turns to Dean.
Even though the younger Winchester would provide him more entertainment, really it was Dean who was his masterpiece. After all, he'd taken not even half the day to strip the man of his basic cognizance. There was nothing left now, thanks to Josh, except a really hot guy in a really cute diaper. The man did nothing but lay sprawled on the floor, his well-muscle body in starkly absurd contrast to the white diaper with baby-blue swirls that covered his middle (and which was also heavily-tented by his massive erection). His mouth hung open and his eyes were flat and dull: dumb. The nuerons in his head had withered and died after Josh had triggered his subliminal suggestions, and now the only sparks in Dean's brain were his hormones, ready and eager.
Together, the brothers were going to make his life a lot more interesting.
Somewhere, a phone buzzed. Josh finally found it in one of the pockets of Dean's jeans. The caller ID said "Dad." He rejected the call.
And yet, turning back for another second to admire the two men who he'd tricked and fucked with until they were his dumb jock stud slaves, Josh had no idea of the mistake he'd just made.
After all, Dean always answered his phone. And John had already called Dean. And now John would be worried. And he would come after his boys.
He would take them back.
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Author's Note: Well, that's it. Enjoy it, hate it: review!
