Control
Part 14, Stop, Please
cntrlphreaque
----------------------------------------------
August 15, 2001 -- Wednesday
Dean's breath was labored as he tried to move from the living room to the kitchen. Sam had just gotten through with beating him for being on the phone
without permission. Sam had wailed on Dean for over an hour, breaking his jaw, his nose, every finger on his right hand, and three ribs on the right and two
on the left. Dean did not have a place on him that was not bruised or bloody.
Sam ordered Dean to clean up the mess and himself because it was not over. He promised more punishments to come. After disabling all the phones he left, he
still had errands to run. Sam had only stopped back at the house to check on Dean and maybe a quick fuck when he found his older brother on the phone.
Dean just needed to rest a bit before he started to clean. He could not stay in the living room because when his parents came home he did not want to be
ignored to his face. They would come in and just not acknowledge him at all. It hurt too much, much more than the bruises and broken bones.
Dean was up on his knees hanging on to the door frame. He coughed trying to catch his breath through his busted mouth. He could not steady himself enough
to stand so he crawled on his elbows and knees to the sink. It took nearly fifteen minutes to make the ten foot trek. Blood dripped from his nose and
mouth, his eyes were swelling, and he could not hear anything in his left ear for the ringing.
Every breath was a struggle, every move torture. Dean could not remember movement without pain. He could not remember a day he did not hurt; the past year
had been a particularly brutal one. He sat, propped up against the cabinet, concentrating on breathing and not puking. Sometime later he got up on his
knees and leveraged himself up on to his feet. He hung onto the sink for dear life because he did not want to fall. If he did, he did not think he could
get back up again.
Dean let the water run as he washed the best he could the blood from his face. His right eye was not quite swollen shut like the left so he could sort of
see what he was doing. The cold water felt good on his battered face and broken fingers. He leaned on one of the double sinks filling it with soapy water
so that he could start to clean the place up. He had not looked but he knew his blood was everywhere.
'at least he did not rape me this time,' tears filled Dean's eyes at the thought, because at that moment he felt Sam on him, in him, violating him. He could
smell Sam's musk, hear his breathing, feel his dick inside him ripping him to shreds. He shook but remained up right. 'please don't, just stop, please,' he
begged his mind. Dean was as helpless against his own memories as he was against his younger brother.
"What the hell have you been doing?"
Dean jumped at the voice then turned to see Sam standing in the doorway.
"You are a bad boy, Dean," his voice was low and angry. A slow hard smile crept across his face when is saw the tears in his brother's eyes and on his face.
"N-no, I'm n-not-t," Dean whispered to his younger brother. His left hand had slipped into the sink that he had piled the dirty dishes into, causing him to
bobble but remain standing.
"What? Are you defying me?" Sam laughed, a humorless, ugly sound. He approached his older brother ready to discipline him again for his insolence. He
watched as Dean cowered at the sink, shaking with fear. Bruises from the beating earlier already formed and turning from red to blue. Sam froze Dean to the
spot and ripped off the ragged remains of his bloody t-shirt. Sam smiled again at the ugly marks decorating his brother's body.
"Dean, you are so pathetic," Sam purred running his fingers over Dean's chest, reopening cuts, smearing blood that was not already dry. He enjoyed the tears
newly trailing down Dean's face and the hiss of pain. He undid Dean's jeans, pulled them down, then spun him around.
"P-pl-lea-s-se d-don'," Dean begged, he could not handle it any more. "J-jus' k-kill me," his last words were so faint Sam did not hear him.
"You are a bad boy and this is what bad boys deserve," Sam crooned and jabbed a finger up Dean's ass. He could hear the labored breathing from his older
brother, almost gasping in the effort. Sam unzipped his own jeans and wetted his hard dick with the soapy water in the sink. He buried himself in Dean,
enjoying another muffled cry of pain.
Dean clutched at something in the sink trying with little success to brace himself. His right hand tried for purchase but found none on the water slick
countertop. Dean's stomach was pressed against the sink and his hips were being banged against the cabinet with each thrust.
"Pl-lea-s," Dean begged, feeling Sam wrap his arms around his chest. Breathing was hard enough without Sam adding to the struggle. 'maybe if he punctures
a lung, I can die,' the thought actually gave him hope.
Sam pounded Dean's ass hard, biting into his shoulder. 'oh, yeah, tight and hot,' Sam thought ignoring Dean's rough, ragged pleas. He came with a gasp and
held onto his older brother. Sam staggered back releasing Dean.
"You are so fuckin' pathetic," said Sam as he was pulling up his jeans. Then took a step closer continuing, "I don't kn-"
"Pl-lea-se st-top-p," Dean whispered, trying to stop Sam's new advance he had held his hands in front of him. He watched as Sam stumbled back staring at
him with a strange look on his face.
Sam looked down to find a handle sticking out of him. Sam continued to back up until he hit the far cabinets then slid to the floor. Sam looked up at his older
brother in disbelief. 'He stabbed me,' the thought raced around in his head but he could not come to grips with what was actually happening. He felt his control
slowly slipping away. Sam tried to get angry again, however, the pain was pushing all efforts away. Gingerly he gripped the handle and pulled. He let out cry
of tortured pain he had never felt before and let the knife drop from limp fingers.
The clatter on the kitchen floor brought Dean's eyes to focus, they had gone blurry in effort to control the pain. He, too, had slid to the floor causing
him to cough roughly, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Dean failed to noctice the foamy blood added to the bright red that was Sam's on his left hand.
He had wanted to pass out but something held him there. He stared at his younger brother waiting for retaliation. He did not understand why his brother was
now on the floor as well. It took several minutes for him to register that the red on Sam's shirt was not his but in fact his brother's because it kept
getting bigger. That was when he looked at his hands.
"I- you-," Sam started but could not finish, his vision was fading to black. He blinked and tried to focus but he started slip to the right, a gental slide
to the floor. Sam violently shook his head to clear his vision then yelled, "Dean, you bitch!" He started with venom but ended with a plea, "What the hell have you done?"
Dean raised his head from his chest, an effort. His breaths were shallow and short, blood dripping from his lips. He squinted at Sam across the room. His
mind was in chaos; words had little meaning.
"Dean," Sam's voice was weak, "why don't love me?" Tears were falling down his face.
Dean heard his brother that time. He was dumbfounded by the question. He tried to answer, "S-sam-m..." A cough stopped him.
"I just wanted you to love me," Sam said through tears. He was fading fast, he knew he did not have much longer. Nothing he tried worked, he was going to
die.
"I alw-ways-s l-love you," Dean finally answered, though he doubted that Sam could hear him. He never listened in the past. "You h-hat-ted m..." he could
not finish. Dean breathed his last breath and slumped forward, his hands slipping to the floor.
Sam did hear his older brother. "What have I done?" he whispered, confusion clouded his mind, he tried to think back on his life and all he came up with was
Dean. Always Dean, there for him to play with, to punish, to torture. Dean was a constant in his life that never would go away. Sam blinked and raised his
head one last time.
"You never left," Sam's eyes were wide, the epiphany happened too late. The last tears he shed were not for himself. The last thing he remebered was
thinking, 'what have i done?' before he himself joined his brother.
fini