TIME – Chapter 2

I don't own the characters

It's Wincest, Baby

Dean has watched his father being tortured so many times, he has lost count. The horror of it never goes away, but it dulls with each passing year. His no at the end of the day becomes stronger and stronger again, as his mind wraps around that it isn't really John strapped to that chair, it's a facsimile of his father that Alistair has conjured as a way to test Dean. Dean doesn't realize it, but he has passed the test.

So Alistair moves on to the next test.

Dean feels the rack shift and steels his mind to watch another horror torture show starring his father, but is jolted by the clawing fear in his mind when he sees the latest victim in the chair.

Because it's not John anymore. Now it's Sam tied to the chair. Dean's whole being is shaken, his instincts to protect Sam are the fiercest instincts he has, and he screams at Alistair constantly that first day, begging him through choked sobs, as Alistair stabs, pokes, prods and peels back Sam's skin. He watches his brother die in slow motion, the tears shimmering in Sam's eyes as he screams for Dean incessantly and Dean is screaming back at him constantly, "Sam hold on, hold on Sammy, come on, little brother, its ok" which was the stupidest fucking thing to ever say, because it was so far from ok, but Dean is mindless in his agony.

When its finally over, and Alistair approaches Dean as he lay breathless and sobbing on the rack, so bogged down in his grief that he doesn't even register Alistair's presence for a second, Alistair is thinking, this is what did it, he's mine, now. Alistair is wrong. When he asks his question of Dean, the answer is shaky and breathless and threaded with doubt, but it's still no.

Alistair leaves him the dark to mourn his brother.

Years are spent with Dean watching Sam die at Alistair's hands every day. It never dulls for Dean the way it did with his father's likeness. He can never convince himself it isn't Sam in that chair, and every day he screams for his brother, his voice becoming harsher and as brittle as paper. Every day he begs Alistair to stop hurting his brother, and Alistair laughs with glee, sure in his methods. This will be the day he folds, Alistair tells himself. But it never is. Dean always says no at the end of the day.

Alistair is bored with his methods, so he changes it up a bit and begins torturing Sam's of all ages. He plunges a knife into 5 year old Sam, while salty tears blur Dean's vision and he drowns 11 year old Sam in a vat of acid. The pain Dean is feeling during these times is so strong, so acute, he is wishing for the good old days when it was only him and Alistair and Alistair was peeling his skin back day after day.

Nostalgic for torture. Only Dean Winchester.

Alistair is as smart as he is evil, and he has spent a good deal of time in Dean's head, getting to know every facet of the man in front of him on the rack.

He had thought watching his father die might do the trick, but inside Alistair knows that Dean is stronger than that. He thought he might have gotten Dean with the killing Sam constantly, and he had felt the resolve slipping away a few times, but in the end, Dean had held firm.

Dean was Alistair's Moby Dick.

So, weaving himself through the folds of Dean Winchester's mind, Alistair comes across something that makes him laugh to himself, because it is so perfect, so absolutely ingenious, that he knows it is the thing that will work the most.

Dean has been mentally coaching himself all night long regarding the torture. He is trying to convince his mind that it isn't Sam being killed. He is trying to find his way through the murky anguish that he feels constantly now. He is emotionally shattered to his core, but he lectures himself with things like, man up bitch, the reason you are here is because Sam is topside, remember, jackass? It works a little bit, and he steels himself when Alistair enters the chamber that day.

Something has changed in Alistair, Dean feels it and terror sneaks down his spine as he watches the man wander aimlessly around the room. The demon's eyes narrow as he approaches Dean, an ugly, evil smile twisting his face.

"Gonna try something different today, Dean, " he says in his nasally voice and Dean fights back the horror rising up his throat.

To Dean's shock and amazement, Alistair unlatches him from the rack, and Dean falls to his knees, free for the first time in over 20 years. Dean pants into the floor, blood gushing to his extremities in painful spurts and he wraps his arms around his own stomach to try to hold himself together.

So intent on the relief of being released from the rack, Dean is slow on the realization that this can't mean anything good. Alistair hasn't got a charitable bone in his demonic body.

Dean slowly gets to his feet, taking his place beside the demon obediently, because Dean isn't the smartest guy on the bus, but he does know that he isn't escaping hell by running, so he just stands there.

Alistair waves a hand in the air, and the room morphs into a nameless, faceless motel room, anywhere, USA. Dean has seen a million different versions of this room in his lifetime, so this one doesn't look familiar to him for any special reason.

The faded red carpet is worn by the door and the lamp is on between the two queen sized beds and there's a duffel bag thrown carelessly on one of the beds. It's Sam's bag, Dean thinks to himself dimly.

As if he conjured him out of thin air, Sam comes out of the bathroom and Dean lets his breath out in a great huff because Sam is completely naked.

Tall, broad shouldered, slim waisted, long legged, and tanned skin, the tattoo they both shared sitting on Sam's pec muscle perfectly and Dean finds himself trying to wet his own mouth with his tongue suddenly. Sam is so amazingly beautiful that Dean blinks over and over again, trying to focus.

Oblivious to the spectators in the room, Sam grabs a pillow off the bed that still holds his duffel bag , and props himself up against the wall on the other. He grabs the remote from the nightstand and flicks on the TV, the light from the small box placing a ghosting shadow across Sam's features.

Sam's long fingers reach between his own legs absently and Dean's eyes are drawn to Sam's cock. He swallows air and gulps like a fish and a million fucking sarcastic remarks to say to Alistair, like, 'how gay are you fucker?' But Dean says nothing, because he is mesmerized by Sam at the moment.

Sam works his own cock slowly, carefully, the stiffening between his legs happening in slow motion. Dean's eyes never leave Sam, and he has no clue that Alistair is watching him alone, forgetting Sam the moment he conjured the vision for Dean.

Sam's brow shows a sheen of sweat and his face is reddening from the exertion of the jerking of his dick and Dean watches with a fascination and hunger that clings to him in sickening gobs of awful.

Sam's lips are moving wordlessly and Dean is trying to pick out what Sam is trying to say, but Sam is so fucking distracting, because he is beautiful and he is jerking off and Dean's own dick in hell is so hard just watching it.

Dean sees how close Sam is to the edge of release and he begins panting himself, lost in the distraction that is his brother. Sam suddenly shouts into the air and comes into his own hand blindly and collapses on the bed a little, shuddering from his orgasm. Dean own dick is straining so hard that he feels like he might come in his pants any second from watching the display. Sam plucks a tissue from the box beside the bed and lazily cleans himself off, distracted, his thoughts far off.

At that moment, it comes crashing into Dean's head. What Sam had shouted at his moment of release. He had shouted Dean's name into the air, before ejaculating into his own hand.

Dean watches dully as Sam pulls boxers and a t-shirt on before getting into bed, and turning off the light in the little motel room. His mind is numb as he watches his brother drift into sleep.

With the scene played out, the motel room disappears from sight and Dean gags on the bile that has risen in his own throat.

Wordlessly, Alistair takes Dean back to the rack and straps him on, and Dean doesn't even fight him, he is so lost in his own thoughts.

He barely hears Alistair ask him the question, but his mind is tuned in enough to say no, and Alistair leaves Dean alone, in the dark.

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