CHAPTER 10

ON THE RUN

They were at the counter again, Dean with his plastic mug of coffee, Caroline with her tea.

"You've admitted that you were afraid that if your father learned what had happened, he'd leave you. You've insisted that we not tell Bobby or Sam about any of this. Now, I'm not saying that what you were feeling was wrong, or that we need to tell anyone anything, but I do need to know if you still feel shame for any part of what happened. Again, it isn't necessarily wrong to feel that way, but if you do, you need to examine your shame and understand it. That will allow you to decide if that is something you deserve, or if it is a subconscious reaction that does not make sense."

He remained silent.

someone is devouring him, soft-moist-sucking warmth, and his back arches as he groans,

and it shouldn't feel so good, he can't remember why but it shouldn't,

and he tries not to let it, but it does, and the hands and mouths move faster, they are everywhere,

and his skin is tingling and his heart is racing and he feels the build

and he knows it's coming and it shouldn't and it is and he can't and it's wrong

and the wet sucking heat is filling his head and a "No" erupts from his lips

But there was also Zellynnexia.

The pads of her fingers stroked beneath his tattered shirt,

heat and a nerve-arousing tingle tracing along each laceration before flowing lower,

pooling below his belt, making him groan with need.

Am I ashamed? He thought about telling Sam or Bobby about Zell, and smiled. Then he pictured himself trying to confess to either one about...that night... and his stomach rolled. Yeah. Guess I am.

She sighed. "This is a very difficult topic to broach, and I need you to promise me that you will hear me out and not walk away."

He pulled his shoulders in, shielding himself. Can't I have just one good day before we dig into my psyche with a dull knife again?

"Dean." She reached out, laying gentle fingertips on his sleeve. "This may be the most important thing I tell you. Please, just listen. You don't have to confirm or deny anything I say; just listen, alright?"

Dread welled, flowing from his chest out to his shoulders and down his arms.

"Why?" he whispered, and he hated how strained his voice sounded. "I mean...after last night. Aren't I good now?"

Caroline exhaled deeply. "You're better. Much better. But I don't want to let you leave here until I'm convinced that you won't back slide. What happened to you called two vital aspects of your self-identity into question: your identity as a hunter, and your identity as a heterosexual male. Killing the ghoul went a long way towards resolving the issue of your status as a hunter. I need to know that you are equally comfortable with your sexual identity, no matter what definition that ends up being."

Fear burned like acid in his chest. She thinks I'm gay. She's a shrink, she's trained in this stuff. What does she see? What makes her think that?

"Will you listen, and not walk away?"

Dean nodded marginally.

Caroline took a deep breath. "It is very common for men who rape other men to do everything in their power to force their victim to ejaculate. They do it to dominate, to humiliate, to prove that they can."

Dean stopped breathing. They laughed. They used their hands and their mouths and their roofies, and he couldn't stop it, and they laughed.

"As part of my graduate school training I assisted a professor who made a study of men who were in prison for that crime, so I'm not just telling you something I read in a textbook. I talked to those men face-to-face." She shook her head, looking away. "I still have nightmares about some of them."

There was a roaring in his ears, and bile burned the back of his throat.

"Our bodies are machines, Dean, and we do not have complete control over what they do. You can't stop having a headache just because you don't want to have one. You can't stop a certain type of touch from tickling, even when you don't want to be tickled. Pain, pressure, heat, cold: these sensations are all dictated by nerves, and nerves are just wires. Look into something called 'electroejaculation' when you get a chance, and you'll see what I mean. It's a method physicians use to help men reproduce after they've suffered paralysis."

Dean could barely hear her over the pounding of his heart. Did he really fight as hard as he could have? He fought the ghoul off, even after it had knocked him out, tied him up, made him bleed. Why couldn't he fight Jeff off?

"The point is that many rape victims do experience some sensory input that is perceived as pleasurable, an occurrence that is biologically programmed and unavoidable. And that is often the worst part of the whole experience, because it leaves the person feeling as if he or she subconsciously wanted the act to occur. That is not at all accurate, whether the person is gay, straight, or anything else, and the guilt and shame that come with that belief are completely undeserved."

he tries to resist, but Jeff is there, and he sounds paternal

He lets them take his jacket, and his flannel,

he mumbles "No," or he thinks he does, but Jeff is there, and he sounds paternal

And then he's on the mattress, and there is a man on each arm,

and Jeff is sitting on his pelvis, pinning him down with his hips.

And Jeff bunches Dean's shirt in his hands, from hem to neck,

and he pulls it up and forces it between Dean' teeth, and he is not paternal at all.

Dean lunged for the sink, vomiting explosively into it.

through the blur of tears and lash-shuttered eyes he sees Jeff kneeling on one of his bare arms

and Jeff's face is feral

and hands circle Dean's ankles like talons and they pull and he fights and something tears and he panics

He dropped to his knees, arms wrapped tightly around himself, rocking.

he needed something he didn't bother trying to put words to

She bit her lip as she watched him, tears gathering in her eyes. "It wasn't your fault, Dean," she offered quietly. "You didn't want it, not on any level, no matter what physical sensations you experienced. It was not your fault, and you didn't deserve it."

"You want a partner?" one of the men asked, and Dean answered with an easy smile.

"Sure. Name's Dean."

He shifted, pulling his knees into his chest, dropping his chin to them, covering his head with his arms. He pressed his body into the cabinet, curled tightly into himself.

"Loser buys," Dean drawled, and his grin had just the right touch of confidence in it. "I'm plannin' on getting wasted tonight. How 'bout you?"

Caroline watched quietly.

"You as good at poker as you are at pool?"

Dean flashed a smile and a wink. "'Course not."

Five minutes passed with no movement from the broken man save a fine tremor.

She retrieved an afghan from a nearby couch. Approaching cautiously, she draped it over his shoulders.

He never moved.

"Aw, Scott, you know they always taste better when ya earn 'em fair and square, right?"

Dean winked good naturedly at the man before tipping his head back and emptying his glass.

She relocated to the couch, able to observe him but awarding him some privacy.

He pulled the afghan over his head and resumed rocking, but in a way that allowed him to inch slowly across the floor. He wedged himself into a corner, no longer visible to Caroline without her making it obvious that she was watching him. Instead, she shifted her attention to the exits, wanting only to know that he had not left.

"M'kay," but he was having trouble staying awake, and Jeff's shoulder was more comfortable than the car's window.

She had long since removed anything sharp or breakable from the kitchen.

After thirty minutes of silence, she stood, using the pretense of needing more tea as an excuse to return to the kitchen.

She found him curled tightly on the floor, asleep.

someone is devouring him, soft-moist-sucking warmth, and his back arches as he groans, and it feels so good, and it shouldn't feel so good, he can't remember why but it shouldn't, and he tries not to let it, but it does, and soft hands and a hot mouth move faster, Jeff is there, and he is paternal, and Dean's skin is tingling and his heart is racing and he feels the build and he knows it's coming and it shouldn't and it is and he can't and it's wrong and the wet sucking heat is filling his head and "Jeff" moans from his lips as his torso folds and his orgasm erupts

someone is devouring him, soft-moist-sucking warmth, and his back arches as he groans, and it shouldn't feel so good, he can't remember why but it shouldn't, and he tries not to let it, but it does, and the hands and mouths move faster, they are everywhere, and his skin is tingling and his heart is racing and he feels them bite and he knows what's coming and he should fight but he can't and the wet sucking heat is draining his blood and a "No" bursts from his lips as his torso folds and his vomit erupts

someone is devouring him, jagged-sharp-burning agony, and his back arches as he screams, and fingers dig into recently sutured lacerations, "I smelled your blood" hissed in his ear, and he tries not to let it suck on him, but it does, and the sharp nails and strong jaws move faster, "We'll have all the time we need to enjoy one another, Dean," and his skin is shredding and his heart is racing and he feels the darkness and he knows it's coming and he should fight and Sam needs him and he can't and he's so helpless and it's wrong and the awful crushing torment is filling his head and a "No" explodes from his lips as his torso folds and his blood erupts

someone is devouring him, soft-moist-sucking warmth, and his back arches as he groans, and it's never felt so good, he can't remember why, and he sees Zellynnexia, and her hands and mouth move, they are everywhere, and his skin is tingling and his heart is racing and he feels the build and he knows it's coming and wants to touch her and he can't move and he wants her to feel it too and the wet sucking heat is filling his head and "Lynne" groans from his lips as his torso folds and his orgasm erupts

Dean sat up on a gasp.

His father watched him, lounging against the central island, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. "You ready for bed yet?"

Dean looked around, confusion ebbing as the familiar lines of Caroline's kitchen worked through his sleep-induced daze.

He snugged the knit blanket more tightly around his shoulders. "Yeah."

John heaved himself to his feet, leaving the bottle on the counter, and Dean followed him silently to their room.

"This ain't something I ever thought I'd tell anyone." John's voice, quiet and deep, filled the dark.

Dean froze, listening.

"You know my dad died when I was real young, and my ma never remarried. Maybe that had somethin' to do with it, maybe not."

The pressure in Dean's chest was nearly suffocating.

"My ma...she let me have a lot of freedom. Made it easy to hide stuff from her. So I started...ah...experimenting, I guess, at a pretty young age."

Please, don't, Dean wanted to insist, but the words stuck in his throat.

"Wasn't always with females. I was pretty much open to anything. For quite a while, actually. Then I went into the Marine Corps: all guys."

Dean squeezed his eyes closed tightly.

"We didn't talk about it, but pretty much everyone did it. Especially after combat. Adrenaline brings it out sometimes."

Dean trembled in the silence.

"For some reason that all stopped when I got back, started living a civilian life. Not sure why. Wasn't really a conscious thought; I guess the opportunities just weren't coming up, or something. And then I married your mom…." His voice trailed off.

A tear slipped coldly down the side of Dean's face.

"I haven't thought about all that in a long time. Never imagined tellin' either of you boys about it, but maybe I should have. I think it's normal, that it happens with most young guys."

The bed creaked as bedding rustled, and Dean imagined that his father had turned on his side to face his oldest son.

"Thought it might help you to hear that."

he tries to resist, but Jeff is there, and he sounds paternal

the wet sucking heat is filling his head and a "No" boils from his lips as his torso folds and his orgasm erupts

Does Dad know?

"I'm gonna try to talk to Meridiana."

Bobby didn't expect this announcement to go over well with Sam.

He was pleasantly surprised by the young hunter's response.

"It makes sense," Sam began, voice pensive. "I mean, she's never hurt you before right?"

Bobby smiled, realized why that grin had split his face - the memories that had provoked it - and coughed. "No," he agreed, projecting a little anger into his voice. "She hasn't."

"Is it...is it like a lucid dream? I mean, can you actually talk to her? And will you remember the conversation when you wake up?"

Bobby had asked himself the same questions. "I don't really know. I know I won't be able to move, but she and I have spoken in the past, and I do remember what we said."

Sam shrugged a shoulder. "It's a logical step." He looked away, voice nonchalant. "Or I could try to get Zellynnexia to talk to me."

His face colored immediately at Bobby's loud guffaw. Bobby bent double, hands on his knees, laughing until tears seeped from the corners of his eyes. "Oh, damn!" He struggled to bring himself under control.

Sam squirmed, cheeks on fire.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Just," he paused, wiping his eyes, "you tryin' so hard to sound innocent, like you'll be a lamb to the slaughter -" and he was gone again, lost in mirth.

Sam stood. "I'm gonna...um...go see if we missed anything in the lore."

"No, wait!" Bobby reached out blindly, once again wiping his eyes, but managed to snag Sam's wrist. "I'm sorry, boy, I don't mean nothin' by it." He finally succeeded in replacing his smirk with a more characteristic scowl. "The truth is your dad'd kill me if I let you take that risk, especially since we have no idea why she did what she did to your brother. Can't risk adding insult to injury."

Sam sat back down. "So...When? And what do you want me to do?"

Bobby shrugged. "Might as well had back to my place, make it tonight. We been doin' research for weeks, ain't come up with a thing yet. No point in puttin' off our best chance for learnin' somethin' useful."

"Okay. So what do I do?"

Bobby gave him a speculative look. "Don't think there's really anything you can do, to be honest. Like I said, I won't be able to move, and you can't see into my head, so you'd have no way of knowin' if I was in trouble. And I don't know when or if she'll come, so I can't even say, 'Come check on me in an hour', you know?" The older man shrugged. "If I really thought this was dangerous, I'd figure somethin' out, boy, but for now I'm thinkin' you just get a good night's sleep, and we'll talk in the mornin'."

Sam wasn't at all thrilled with that idea, but the thought of sitting beside his surrogate father's bed while the man experienced what was likely to be a wet dream didn't appeal to him, either. "Alright." He stood. "I'll grab my bag."

Bobby chuckled as he watched Sam step into the bathroom to retrieve his toothbrush. ""I could try to get Zellynnexia to talk to me'." He'd pitched his voice high, sounding more like a cartoon character than the younger Winchester. "Idjit."