Legalities, as always Sam and Dean and all things Supernatural do not belong to me. They are the property of the CW and Kripke Enterprises. I wish they would share, but I don't think that is going to happen so I guess I will simply play in their sandbox for a bit.

Rating MA: For language and injured Dean and Sam throughout the storyline, they will also be M/M pairing although they are not brothers in this story. Pairings won't happen till later chapters, so be sure to review the warnings before reading.

Author's Note: This story will follow Sam and Dean they continue their lives and try to deal with the challenges of their own pasts and tragic past of a child named Adam Milligan. This ride will get bumpy before it gets smooth, so be prepared.

IF YOU READ MY OTHER STORIES AND DO NOT READ - NON-RELATED SAM/DEAN SLASH - PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER :You have been warned.

WARNING!WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of rape and emotional torture. WARNING!WARNING

Previous Chapter

His cell phone rang and he reached for it more out of habit than anything else. But his heart skipped several beats when Dean's number popped up. Sam scrambled to his feet and rushed into the bathroom, turning on the water to mask his conversation. "Dean? Dean, where are you?" He demanded breathlessly.

"Sam…Smmy?" It was Dean's voice but it was slurred and tinged with something that Sam didn't like. It sounded broken. The way Dean sounded after a particularly vivid nightmare. The phone went silent for a moment and Sam panicked.

"Dean? Babe, talk to me. Where are you?" He kept pleading until a guttural laughter stopped him.

"Sammy…Dean's got his mouth full at the moment." Brandon groaned in pleasure just to drive the point home and Sam felt bile race up his throat at the picture it painted. His gut twisted as a very real pain sent him to his knees.

"Let him go or I swear—"

"What? What is a scumbag lawyer gonna do against an ex-special ops guy? Tsk, tsk, tsk, Sam. He's mine. He always was. Be grateful that I let you have him as long as you did." And with that the line went dead.

"Brandon?! Brandon!" Sam sank back onto his heels, his breathing coming in rapid little pants. He swallowed the revulsion of knowing that that sick sadistic son of a bitch had Dean. Oh god…Dean. His almond shaped eyes lifted to the darkened room and his breathing hitched. "I'm going to kill you." It was said in a whisper, but the intension was so sincere that Sam could feel it all the way to the depths of his soul.

In his heart he was a pacifist. Sam preferred to deal with problems by talking them through. That was why he'd become a lawyer and not a cop. But for Dean? The things he was willing to do or kill? It scared the shit out of him. He pulled himself to his feet and slowly pushed the door open, his eyes landing on the sleeping child and the brightly colored cartoon playing on the big screen tv. Sam cradled the cell phone to his chest and a plan formulated inside his shattered mind. Castiel. The man had known that something was wrong.

He dialed the number and waited for the answer. "Sam? What's going on?" Castiel's voice wasn't tired. It was like he'd been waiting for Sam's call.

"It's Dean." He managed in a choked whisper. His eyes flickered about the room and Sam found that just containing both the rage and the fear was taking everything he had.

"Tell me what I can do."

Twenty minutes later Sam hung up and he forced himself to breathe. He wasn't going to get any sleep, not tonight. So he put on a pot of coffee and sank into one of the chairs in the makeshift kitchen. He'd thought that Dean was crazy for spending what the penthouse cost when they'd checked in. The love of his life had explained that he'd grown up in fleabag motels and now that he had a choice? He'd rather spend the money and stay somewhere nearer the heavens. It hadn't made much sense to Sam, but if it made Dean happy? He was fine with it. He spent the next ten minutes on the phone with Richardson explaining their plan and the phone call he'd received from Brandon. The agent was understandably upset about the call and the fact that Sam wanted to exclude all of the law enforcement except Richardson himself.

After explaining the necessity of keeping this plan known to as few people as possible, the agent had finally agreed to an 'off the books' operation. But he held the right to call in backup if it went off the rails. Sam had reluctantly agreed. His gaze slid over to the digital clock on the microwave and he sighed when it read two-thirty. Three hours…Sam had to wait three hours before they could put this plan into motion. His heart was broken for Dean. The man had spent his life trying to undo the spineless attacks of his father. Even now, Sam knew that there were days when Dean couldn't escape the nightmare of his upbringing.

It was on those days that Sam reminded him how much he loved him. He'd hold the smaller man as he shook through the nightmares, his jade colored eyes haunted and dead. It wasn't until sanity returned that Sam was able to pull away and look into those beloved eyes again. Over the last several years the need to reassure Dean had diminished to almost nothing. But after this? Sam was pretty sure they'd be back to square one. The square where he had to convince Dean that he loved him and that he didn't care what he'd done to survive. Because he didn't care. The only thing that mattered to Sam Wesson, was that Dean did survive.

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WARNING!WARNING: The following chapter contains graphic depictions of rape and emotional torture. WARNING!WARNING

Chapter Twenty-one

Breaking Dean

Dean didn't know what had pulled his attention back to the present. Maybe it was the tremors running through his abused body or less than comfortable temperature surrounding him. The air was almost cold where Brandon was keeping him. There were no clues in the immediate area that gave away the location of where that actually was. The too cool air drifting over his exposed skin was not pleasant and it was leaving prickled flesh in its wake. He was lying naked on an old army cot that had been left in the room. His clothes had been discarded in a tangled shredded heap in the corner, Brandon had delighted in cutting them into tiny shreds, and the table was shoved up against the far wall. There was a single overhead light bulb and it was barely casting off enough of a glow to see the closed door on the other side of the room. Dean desperately wanted to get to that door, but he was having a difficult time keeping focused on the here and now.

He had enough medical knowledge to know that he'd been dosed with something. Dean wasn't sure what sort of cocktail that Brandon had concocted and used, but it was enough to keep the doctor's thoughts random and disjointed. Dean even thought that he'd spoken with Sam at some point, but he hoped with every bone in his body that that had been a pleasant dream. The thought that his Sammy had actually heard evidence of what Dean was experiencing? Well, it was damaging to his soul in ways that may never heal.

The skin on the left side of his face was swollen and tight where Brandon had knocked him out earlier. Dean assumed that was before he was drugged, but he couldn't be certain. Time had no meaning to him at the moment. He couldn't trust his own memories. There were no windows inside his small room and he had no way of determining how long he'd been held here. Brandon had been in to see him twice already, both times had ended with Brandon rutting around like a prize bull and Dean trying desperately to clear his mind of all thoughts as he suffered in as much silence as he was capable. He couldn't even pretend that it was someone else, because the only face that would appear was that of a certain tall, handsome, and sexy lawyer.

He would not think of Sam. The idea of having Sam's perfect image tied to this horrific act would be damning to Dean's very soul. So his only option was to simply shut down. Brandon had been angry by the lack of response, which had let to more physical abuses before he'd finally stomped out of the room and slammed the door, leaving Dean lying in his own blood on the cold cement floor. He'd dragged himself over to the cot and slowly pulled himself up until he was lying half-hazardly on the stiff material.

The air was dank and smelled of mold and mildew. The doctor found himself pulling his legs up against his chest and curling in on himself as he waited for the anguish and shame to pass…it never did. His chest was pulsing with remembered pains as the scars from his recent bout with death were punished against the hard table in rhythmic painful thrusts. Twice. It had happened twice and Dean wanted nothing more than to crawl into a corner, curl up, and die. He'd lived through this type of treatment once. But that had been a very long time ago and he hadn't known what it was to love yet. And when he'd met Sam…Dean had changed. He didn't think he could get past this again and he knew for certain that he didn't want to put Sam through that. He moaned as he twisted toward the wall. His head pounding and his vision greyed out at the edges. It could have been from the pain, or it could have been at the loss of his former life…he didn't know.

Brandon pushed the door open and Dean barely reacted on the dirty cot. He placed a board on the stiff cot and reached out to take Dean's right hand. The doctor pulled half-heartedly at the action. But Brandon was stronger, he splayed Dean's hand out flat and the next thing he knew was agonizing pain. He hadn't seen the hammer, but there was no way to ignore the crushing agony as it slammed into his hand over and over again. Dean felt the bones break and he finally screamed until his throat was raw and his voice was a harsh whisper. His captor never said a word. He simply picked up Dean's damaged hand and set it back on the cot and then he'd left.

Finally the relief of unconsciousness had settled on Dean and he passed out from the pain and the shock. The broken and mangled thing that had been his hand pulled protectively against his body.

He felt the air shift as Brandon sat down near his lower back and ran his fingers along Dean's ribs, trailing down over the tender skin of his hipbone and finally stopping at his lower abdomen.

"You're making me do this, Dean." He whispered. "Just remember that." The needle stick came as a shock and Dean's back arched as he tried to convince his rebellious body to move away. His mouth opened and closed several times in pain as the cocktail was injected into his body in a thick burning liquid. His hand was throbbing in a way that kept timing with his heart.

"What…what are…doing…to me. What…is…that…" He stammered as the drugs worked their through his body. Almost instantly, Dean's muscles relaxed and he felt his back muscles soften and he rolled back against Brandon's thigh. The other man was still sliding his fingers over the silken skin near Dean's crotch, but he shifted as Dean's body opened up to him and he dropped his probing fingers to the flaccid cock. His hand raked through the dark golden patch of hair at the apex of Dean's legs and picked at it gently before moving to palm the prize. It was possessive and confusing as the drugs stole Dean's ability to tell fact from fiction. Consciousness was fading in and out and it was so good to feel some semblance of pleasure instead of the constant pain that his mind latched onto that one thing. Brandon used that to his advantage.

"Dean…baby, aren't you glad to see me? It's Sam." Brandon asked quietly. He wanted to break Dean, to own more than just his body…he wanted to own his soul and his mind. And for that to happen, he needed to find where Dean took solace. And destroy it…and that was with Sam.

Dean tried to turn and look at the man sitting by him, but in the limited light he couldn't tell who it was and as he lost a sense of where he was, he wondered if this really was Sam. His head was swimming in the conflicting emotions of pain and pleasure. The way he was touching and stroking Dean felt eerily similar to the tall lawyer that owned his heart. "Sam?" He uttered softly as the image in front of him swam in and out of focus. But the gentle probing of his body remained constant.

"Yeah Dean. It's me." Brandon lied as he continued to work around the sensitive skin of Dean's inner thigh before finally wrapping his fingers around the other man's balls and kneading them gently. He leaned in and kissed the plump lips, he was careful to keep from biting Dean as he weaved his fiction further demolishing Dean's chances at recovering from this.

Dean felt his body start to respond. The blood was rushing to meet the need that Sam's fingers were creating. At least that was what his warped mind was telling his body. He couldn't hang onto any coherent thoughts. He thought that Brandon had taken him, but now, as his body was coaxed into a very real reaction, he wondered if it had all been a fucking rotten dream. The constant pain in his hand was no longer enough to ground him in reality.

"It feels good doesn't it?" The fingers shifted and wrapped around the slowly hardening shaft and Dean couldn't help but groan as his cock was squeezed. More pulling and squeezing quickly had it painfully hard and then he felt the other man slip behind him.

It wasn't unusual for Sam to be the top, just like it wasn't unusual for Dean to be the top. It just depended on their moods on any given night. But there was something slightly off about the way that Dean was feeling, he couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but it was there. There was a slight shift on the cot and then it was all Dean could do just to keep from crying out. The entry had been too hard and fast, he hadn't been prepared and it hurt.

Before he could say anything he could feel the slow pace picking up speed. There was a strange mixture of pain and pleasure and he found himself more confused. Even though his body was in pain, his already rock hard erection pulsed in anticipation and he couldn't hold in the moan as long fingers wrapped around the length. "That's it Dean. Moan for me, baby. Come on…tell me you love me." The drugs that he'd been given made the voice sound like Sam…so much like Sam, even though Sammy would never ask Dean to tell him he loved him, in a warped way his mind turned Brandon's raspy words into Sam's. Dean would never have to tell Sam that he loved him, Dean told the man that all the time. But if he wanted to hear it, then Dean would say it.

"Oh god…love you, Sammy…" He managed as he was brought to the brink of climax. He couldn't stop his body from responding to the ministrations as the hand that held his cock released it only to grab Dean's good hand and wrap it around himself.

"At the same time, Dean." The voice whispered and lips ghosted over the heated flesh of his neck and jaw.

It happened in a flash. Brandon's pace picked up and Dean stroked himself to completion at the same time there was a massive tightening of muscles and then a groan of ecstasy as his captor came inside him. Simultaneously Dean's own orgasm released and his mind cleared just long enough for him to realize what he'd just done. The effect was instant. His eyes burned with tears as the guilt and shame poured through him. An animalistic and guttural keening worked its way through his chest and from his lips in a shattered denial.

It was this exact moment that Brandon knew he'd broken Dean. The feeling of satisfaction that he felt was more than the pleasure of killing and suddenly he no longer wanted the doctor dead. He wanted to see Dean try and live with what he'd just done. To lose all that he'd worked so hard to gain. It was a punishment worse than death. Because Dean would remember that he'd sought pleasure with someone else. That the rape and the confinement had led him past his own moral compunctions and he had wanted this…this release from the pain. And it had come from his captor not his lover.

A sadistic laughter bubbled out of Brandon as he climbed off Dean and knelt down next to his anguished face. Silent tears were running down his cheeks as he stared into the cold dead eyes of the man that had destroyed him…and he'd done it without killing him.

"Now, Sam can have you back." He pinched Dean's chin between his fingers in a vice like grip. "Congratulations Dean, you've become everything your father hoped you'd be." And with that he stood up and walked from the room, leaving the shattered remains of a good man lying on the cot. Blood mixing with semen the only clue that Brandon had ever been there at all…that and Dean's broken body and his devastated and haunted eyes.

Brandon left the door open. He had no reason to lock it anymore. This had worked out better than he could have hoped.

Dean had no idea how long he'd laid there staring into the void. His arm was completely numb and his body was shaking from the cold. He could still feel the act happening. Over and over he felt his own betrayal and Brandon's laughter at his weakness played through his head. An involuntary movement had him pressing his battered hand into the cot and he surged back to awareness as pain poured through him. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent cry. He finally shifted and turned his face into the rough material of the cot. He didn't say anything this time. He was dead inside as he finally forced himself to move. It wasn't that he wanted to be saved, it was a survival instinct that he couldn't quell that forced him to slip off the cot and fall into a tangled heap onto the floor. His hand slapped the concrete and he moaned at the pain that shot through him.

He stayed there until he could gather the strength to move again...and then he crawled toward freedom.

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Sam was on his second pot of coffee when his phone rang. He scrambled to answer it and felt his stomach wrench when he saw Dean's name pop up on his screen. His finger paused for a fraction of a second as he tried to prepare himself. "Dean?" He asked hopefully when he finally swiped 'answer'.

"Nope. Still not Dean. I am however, Dean adjacent. But I have good news, Sammy. I've decided to let you have him back." The way he said it made Sam cringe. Like he was doing them some sort of favor. Brandon chuckled. "Well…what's left of him."

Sam's heart leapt into his throat and his anger toppled over into rage. "What the hell do you mean?! What have you done to him!" He'd been trying to keep his voice down for Adam's sake, but the sadistic way that Brandon had said that last statement scared Sam to his very core.

Another laugh… "It's not what I did, Sam." There was a long pause and Sam was holding his breath waiting for the rest of the answer. His entire body was shaking with adrenaline and rage. "It's what you did. Come find him." And with that he set the phone down and walked away.

"Brandon? You son of a bitch! What the hell does that mean?!" Sam cried as he surged to his feet, his free hand sweeping back through his hair in agitation. He'd been scared before, but now he was terrified. He'd read Brandon's files and he knew what the man was capable of. A tiny part of Sam wondered if when they found Dean…would there be anything left of the man he loved? Anything left for them to save?

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Sam sat in the passenger seat of the black SUV as agent Richardson careened around the corner of the old housing edition. His leg was bouncing in an effort to control his anger and his fear. He'd always had a very vivid imagination. In fact his mother had tried to get him into art classes as a child, but their transient lifestyle had made that impossible. And at this very moment he was cursing that vivid gift. Sam's brain had concocted some truly horrific scenes and the not knowing was killing him inside. I swear to god, Dean. I will find that bastard and I will make him pay for whatever he's done to you. Sam's mantra was now on repeat inside his head as they pulled into the last cul-de-sac.

"Jesus Christ…" Richardson breathed at the naked body lying in the street.

Sam's eyes widened in shock and he clenched his teeth before he was jumping from the still rolling SUV.

He ignored the call of the FBI man as he raced to the side of what he knew had to be Dean. The first thing Sam saw were the bruises littering his lover's body and he felt his stomach turn angrily. But it was the second thing was what had him leaning to the side and spilling his guts. Dean's right hand was stretched out toward the road, like he'd been reaching for someone. The white of a multitude of bones were popping through the broken skin along his fingers and the hand itself was bumpy from swelling and shattered bones.

"Oh god…Dean…" Sam breathed as he stared at the ruined remains of the man's hand. Dean regularly performed surgery and the extent of the damage to that hand may well take that away from him. Sam's gaze raked over Dean as he wiped his own lips and with trembling fingers he reached for Dean's pulse. The breath that he'd been holding escaped in a high-pitched keen when he felt the thread like pumping of Dean's heart beneath his fingertips. "Fuck…what the hell did he do to you?" Sam whispered as he hurried to pull off his own coat and draped it over the unconscious man in an attempt to give him some modesty.

Richardson ran to his side from the direction of the house. Sam wasn't even sure when the man had gone into the house or how long he'd been inside. "Brandon's long gone." He bit at his lower lip and debated on whether or not to tell Sam about the basement room. He decided that it wouldn't help either of the broken men on the ground in front of him so he kept the details to himself. At least until Sam asked to know specifically. Because at some point the details about what had obviously happened down there would come out. "Ambulance is almost here." He finished lamely as several more black SUV's pulled up.

Sam simply nodded and slipped forward placing Dean's battered head on his folded thighs. He wrapped his arms as carefully as he could around the smaller man and held him like the precious thing he was. Richardson watched the scene play out and he knew that it was very likely that the doctor he'd met in the hospital was gone now. The mangled wreck of a human body that Sam was holding? In his experience…people don't recover from things like this.

TBC…

Author's Note: If you're wondering whether or not Brandon will get his grisly end? The answer is yes, but not just yet. The way that Brandon broke Dean, by using Sam, was indicative of a psychopath's attempt to control the object of his affection. In learning the weakness, the captor can more easily find the breaking point for the victim. In this, Brandon knew Dean's past and he knew his present, which gave him the means to try and destroy his future. This is one of the more difficult scenes I've written, but I felt it was important to understand the nature of Dean's 'injuries' in order to understand the emotional chapters to come. In the end, true love wins out…but the journey is a series of peaks and valleys along the way.

Thank you for the reviews all you Dean whumpers out there. And thanks for sticking with me through these two chapters, it will get lighter from here. My promise to you...and Dean will recover with Sam's love, understanding, and support.

Please Review: Hard chapter to write, hope you can spare a review.