Brand New Day

Chapter Summary:

John finds out.

It's been two weeks since the rape. They've barely spent time in each other's company. Dean is at the bar most every night. Sam reads like it's going out of fashion. John cannot understand what is going on with his two boys. They fought over the dumbest things sometimes, but they've never not been able to speak to each other because of it.

Sam goes pale at the mention of his brother. John wants to know why. He's asked a few times if Dean did anything that he should know about, but Sam just shakes his head and goes back to reading.

Even if he wanted to interrogate his older son, he'd have to seek him out at the bar first. He came back drunk as all hell every night, with a new girl on his arm. They were always gone before John woke up, along with the blond.

He only ever caught sight of him if he asked him along for the hunt, or they had food to eat at the motel.

Even then, the man would not say a word to him or his brother.

John is pissed. Dean's his good soldier, who follows orders and puts the job before his own personal feelings. He couldn't have him keeping secrets from him. His mission is to look after his brother, and John would make certain that he never forgets that.

"Sam, why don't you go take a step outside for a minute? I just need to talk to Dean."

Sam does as he is told immediately, without a look back.

Dean's blood goes cold when Sam leaves the room. He didn't want to be in the same room as his father. If he ended up revealing what he'd done, John would disown him forever.

John spoke gruffly.

"What's going on between you and Sammy?"

"Nothing, sir. Why would you think there was?"

"You're constantly at the bar and he hasn't said a word since two weeks ago, that's why. Don't take me for a fool, boy! I know something happened and I want to know what—now!"

John's serious. He has no time to be messing around with this. He wants answers.

"Nothing's happened. Don't worry about it," Dean replies, trying to come across as honest.

John demands that he stop when he grabs his jacket. His son offers a look the man doesn't recognize and leaves the motel, heading for the bar.

Once Dean exits, Sammy comes back in and goes back to his reading, taking a second to thank their father for the food.

Several hours later, the door to the motel slams wide open.

Dean enters, a sick grin on his face.

"Well, well, there's the little birdy. Isn't he cute?"

John's head snaps towards the voice, his eyes going wide when black orbs meet his vision. His son has been possessed by a demon! He's quick to grab the bottle of holy water in his jacket pocket.

Before he can use it, he's thrown against a wall, held there by the smirking imitation of his eldest son. "Daddy needs to stay put for a while, okay? My business is with the quavering little princess over there," the demon says, stalking over to the youngest Winchester.

"Oh, Sammy, the things I can see in this melon. So many thoughts of suicide, regret, and abandonment, all because of that stuff you call the devils juice and a whole lot of mixed signals."

He pins Sam up against the wall, holding his face roughly in his hands.

"I have to hand it to your big brother. The way you were crawling around, swaying that ass, I wouldn't have lasted more than a minute. I can, however, see what he was thinking during that time. And he acted on it eventually, just a lot differently than the fantasy itself."

Sam's eyes cloud over with fear. His hands shake around the sturdy wrists of his brother, who he once felt protected by. Now, all he feels is conflicted. The man in front of him is his brother, only with a demon renting out his being. Sam knows this sick bastard is telling the truth.

Dean had thought about him in that way.

And he did act on it.

The admittance of Dean's thoughts of suicide and abandonment upset him, but he's so scarred that all he wants is to be left alone. If that meant Dean walking away from his life—no longer a constant reminder of that event, he could live with that.

"You should hear him screaming in here. It's adorable. 'If you hurt him, I swear to God I'll rip you to pieces'. Just precious, wouldn't you agree?"

"Who are you?" John snaps.

Dean looks back at the hunter, his smirk malicious.

"You have no business knowing who I am. But you should know this," he rumbles, pleased with himself. He turns back to Sam for a moment, breathing in his scent deeply. He licks his right cheek and grins.

"Dean fucked your son!"

At the announcement, John's eyes widen. Anger began welling up in his stomach. He didn't want to believe that his son could do such a thing to his own brother. Demons didn't work this way. They could do a lot more damage than this, given the right material—physical damage. Mentally messing with someone is also their style, but this subject has never come up before. With the way his sons have been acting around each other, he'd be stupid not to think it's true.

The demon turns back to Sam once again and winks before its mouth opens and black smoke flies out of the older brother. It exits through the open door and Dean falls to the ground, releasing Sam.

Quickly, the brunet runs away from his brother, giving his father a please don't do anything to him look on his way out. John didn't consider letting this go for a second.

He picks himself up off the ground, having slid down the wall moments prior. He watches Dean slowly get up, coughing violently. He'll be coughing up something else when John gets through with him.

Dean stands on his own two feet, unsteadily.

He doesn't stay up for long.

A fist of rage and disappointment connects with his face, sending him hurtling to the ground. He grabs the inflicted area, pressing the tip of his finger against the broken skin.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

John delivers a brutal kick to Dean's stomach, causing the man to lurch and expel blood onto the floor.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?"

Another kick.

"That's your brother! That's Sammy!"

John grabs Dean's jacket collar and slams his back against the wall.

"You're supposed to protect him! Not do stuff like that to him, you monster!"

Dean says nothing as John continuously presses against his bones. He hears a rib crack, but he ignores it. A dormant side to him relishes it all. He's being punished in the proper way for raping his brother. Right now, he wouldn't care if John killed him.

He deserves it.

A single tear falls down his face and he says sorry once more.

"You're sorry? Sorry? Sorry isn't going to cut it!" John yells and throws Dean onto the table. The weight of his back snaps it in half. He stops himself from crying out. John stands over him. "Get the fuck out of here, Dean. I don't ever want to see your face again, you understand me?" Dean nods.

He gradually pushes himself to his feet and walks on wobbly legs out of the motel. He whispers goodbye to Sammy before he leaves, closing the door shut behind him.

Dean stumbles down the walkway, a psychotic look on his face. He's been punished, but it wasn't enough.

Maybe he'll die from blood loss?