Time – Chapter 4

I have no claim to the Winchester characters, I just use them and abuse them

WINCEST!

Dean hears Alistair enter the chamber and the dread that comes alive at the sound of the demon's approach is so pronounced in Dean, it has become almost a phantom limb, paining him in ways that should be impossible.

It feels like several years have passed since that first time he watched Sam jerk off in the nondescript motel room. Dean finds himself disgusting, revolting in so many different and new ways every day, that when Alistair finally leaves him, Dean starts up his own session of torture on himself. He hates himself so thoroughly that he now believes he deserves hell, he deserves Alistair, he deserves punishment.

After that first time, Alistair arrives every day and lets Dean off the rack, only so he can stand beside him while he shows Dean another scene of Sam. Sam is always in the process of masturbation and he always calls out Dean's name. Dean's traitorous body never fails to be indecently and almost inhumanly aroused by watching Sam, and his own brain is incapable of blocking out the lust he holds for his brother in the shadows of his mind.

The worst moment during this bout of torture is when Dean is shown Sam slamming himself into what looks like a bathroom at a fill up joint. Sam comes into the room quickly and locks the door behind him, his hand resting for a second on the knob, making sure it is engaged. Satisfied, Sam pulls a paper towel out of the dispenser, and shoves it into his front pocket in a crumpled bunch.

Dean watches in horror and baited anticipation as Sam unbuckles his jeans and shoves his own hand into his shorts and begins to rub himself quickly, his head resting against the bathroom door, his cheeks beginning to flush, one hand twisted around the amulet that Dean is just now noticing is missing from his own body. Sam works his cock with efficient determination, twirling the amulet with his free hand and repeats the same words over and over again, in the same rhythm as his hand moving over himself. "Fuck, Dean, Fuck Dean, fuck, fuck fuck. Dean Dean Dean". Dean's eyes are filled with tears and his dick is engorged so painfully that it could explode, but won't because hell never gives Dean any release. Sam reaches his climax, pulling the paper towel out at the last second to catch his cum. Sam's head against the door of the bathroom as he sags there, exhausted and sated for the moment. When he finally turns to face himself in the mirror, Dean sees tears streaked down his brothers face, the anguish and pain clearly etched into Sam's every feature. Sam form shimmers and disappears from Dean's immediate sight, but the image is seared into Dean's memory forever.

Dean's guilt and self loathing have reached a new high now, because part of him had waited every day for Alistair to show him Sam, so Dean could feel the desire for his brother build in him once again, perversely pleased that Sam can gain his release only by calling Dean's name But after seeing Sam in so much pain, Dean can't feel anything but the gnawing edges of insanity gripping at him tightly.

And that is the first night he almost says yes to Alistair.

It should have not surprised Dean that after showing him Sam in that form, Alistair would up the stakes. This was hell, after all. Of course the demon would only up the ante every day.

So Alistair comes into the chamber and the deep rooted hate Dean feels for himself is transferred immediately to his despicable torture master. For almost thirty years, Alistair has worked on Dean endlessly, torturing him in body and in mind. Dean has reached the edge of insanity now, and his brain clicks in time to Alistair's steps towards him.

Alistair doesn't let Dean off the rack today. Instead he stands over Dean and smiles his evil smile, stroking absently down Dean's arm while Dean's skin tries to crawl away in revulsion from the demon's touch.

Alistair's voice penetrates the quiet of the chamber. "How long have you wanted to fuck your brother Dean?" The demon's head cocks to one side, awaiting Dean's reply.

Dean breathes through his nose, and musters his sanity together long enough to reply, "Get bent, you sick, twisted fuck."

Alistair laughs a nasty laugh and says, "Well if that ain't the pot calling the twisted fuck black. Which one of us dreams of his own brother in the most perverted way possible?"

Dean rolls his head away from Alistair, his throat thick and his tongue feeling like sour spikes are protruding from it. He can't fight the demon. Alistair knows everything Dean has ever felt. It's the worst kind of invasion, because Alistair had stared not only into Dean's mind, but into his heart and soul, and used every fucking thing against him. Dean is exhausted in a way he didn't know was possible.

Alistair walks slowly to the other side of the table, sizing Dean up carefully, before speaking again.

"Got some special for you today Dean, not really supposed to do this, according to the rules, you know," and he rolls his eyes upward for a second before casting them back at Dean, "But I figure you deserve it."

Fresh panic and dread fill Deans entire being and his brain claws at him in complete terror. He can't even begin to imagine what Alistair has in store for him.

Suddenly, Sam appears on the other side of Dean, not an image in a motel room, but right beside in the rack Dean is strapped to, and he smiles down at Dean. Dean's heart jolts automatically at the sight of him, and he tries to tell himself that it isn't Sam, but the insanity that is now his mind won't believe it.

Dean speaks to Sam in a hoarse, corroded voice. "Help me, Sam."

The Sam who is not Sam smiles again and says in a silky voice, "That's what I am here for, big brother."

Something is wrong, Dean tells himself over and over again, as he watches Not Sam make eye contact with Alistair as he removes his clothing piece by piece.

Dean tries to look away but can't, tries to close his eyes but they aren't working and all he can see is Sam's form in front of him, inches away from where he lay helpless, and dying.

Fully naked, Not Sam stares down into Dean's eyes, and even though Dean knows somewhere in the corner of his mind that it isn't really Sam standing there, the pathetic tortured version of his own soul is not allowing that knowledge to penetrate. So Not Sam turns into Sam in Dean's horrified mind, and leans towards Dean slowly, licking his lips.

The rack is suddenly softer underneath Dean but he is still strapped down and at the mercy of his own version of hell. The room around him has changed into a bedroom, and he realizes dully that he is now strapped to a bed and Sam is looming over him, huge, beautiful and as real as Dean has ever seen him.

Sam's lips brush against Dean and Dean strains up towards him unthinkingly, trying desperately to increase the pressure, his tongue flicking out to swipe at Sam's mouth. Sam chuckles low and says, "Easy cowboy," before bending forward again to capture Dean's mouth, this time with more intensity than before.

Sam's tongue sweeps into Dean's mouth and licks him from the inside out and Dean is completely gone, carried away with passion and blinding desire, driven almost completely mad with his own need. His hands strain to reach Sam, but he is locked down tight, no way to escape, to try to push Sam away, to try to make things right.

Sam kisses him over and over and Dean's head is full of him, swimming in a pool of mindless love and lust. Sam's long fingers trail down Dean's naked chest and Dean convulses automatically, his body jerking towards the light touch.

Maddeningly slow, Sam's fingers finally surround Dean's cock, and Dean's head smacks back against the bed, as his whole body jerks uncontrollably towards Sam. Sam strokes him softly, capturing Dean's mouth in a sinful kiss between strokes and Dean is out of his mind in the best way possible.

Sam's lips leave Dean's and his tongue flicks out, licking his way down Dean's body and all Dean can do is stare and quiver because it feels more like heaven than hell right now, and his mind can't grasp the notion that this is so fucking wrong.

Dean's eyes follow Sam as he kisses and licks his way down Dean's length and when his mouth finally surrounds Dean's cock, Dean sobs with relief and panic and a million other things that he can't name, can't voice, can't pronounce.

Sam begins to suck him and Dean thrusts mindlessly into his brother's mouth, unable to help himself, his self control swept aside by years of torture and abuse.

"DEAN!" Johns voice cuts through the fog in Dean's mind and his eyes fly open to see his father beside the bed, looking down at Dean with all the hate, disgust and horror Dean feels for himself.

"I told you to look after your brother boy, not turn him into your fucking prostitute. You make me fucking sick, Dean, look at your brother, look what you have done to him." He gestures down and Dean doesn't want to look but he has to and he sees Sam sliding his tongue up and down Dean's cock, while Dean's hips still jerk towards him.

The cramps of fear, rage, hate, desire, panic, attack Dean at the same time, but he cannot control his body, he can't stop Sam from being on him, he can't stop himself from reacting to the lust driving out of himself, and he begins to cry uncontrollably, seeking his father's eyes, pleading with him to understand that he hasn't the control to stop any of this.

John stares down at Dean with only hatred and speaks in the voice that Dean has always hated the most. "I trusted you son. I trusted you to do what was right for your family and instead, this is what you turned into. And what you turned him into." Again, John jerks his eyes to watch his younger son suck Dean's swollen cock.

And suddenly, Sams mouth is on Dean harder and Dean bucks wildly, fucking his brothers mouth while his father stares down at him in hate and horror and as he cums into his brothers mouth, he cries to his father, "I am so fucking sorry, Dad."

That night, Dean says yes to Alistair.

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