Dean didn't look up at Sam. How could he? Despite the obvious fact that Dean was the one who was going to have to go through with this, he worried a lot more for Sam who would have to stand by and watch, and be able to do nothing about it. He wondered for a second which position was worst. He concluded quickly that he would rather endure than witness the same thing happen to his little brother. This was why he did not kick up too much of a fight. The pain in his back made his vision blurry, his shoulders barely supporting his weight to push himself onto his hand and knees. He didn't know which made him more likely to vomit though; the pain and the shock, or the words being forced past his father's lips. Dean forced all the thoughts from his mind, tried to make himself numb. This was not his father.

Sam almost failed to contain the sickness. Bile forced its way up his throat making the Winchester swallow hard to stop himself from vomiting, leaving a searing, burning pain. His fear picked up, kicking his anger in the groin and making him shut up as all he could do is watch as his father prepared to brutally rape his brother. No...This was not his father.

Green eyes flickered between the scene, and the Colt. Never had Sam wanted anything more right that second; that fucking, taunting gun just sitting there out of his reach. He tried to will it to come to him, attempting a Luke-Skywalker on it, but alas the Colt didn't budge, didn't even twitch. Azazel smirked as he buried one of John's hands in Dean's fine, brown hair and gripped hard, pulling Deans head up, making him face Sam as he knelt behind him. The grin across John's face widened a little more, the blood pumping around his body that much harder as he heard Dean's weakening whimpers.

"Well, Sammy?"

Azazel rose an eyebrow over his lemon-coloured eyes, tilting is head slightly as his placed his other hand on Dean's hip, making the young man flinch. He smirked a little, taunting Sam with a prospect he knew wouldn't happen. Sam looked onwards, frowning, almost whimpering himself in want to help his brother. Azazel was fucking with him. He knew Sam couldn't lift that sodding Colt.

"...P-Please..."

Sam couldn't manage anything else. He'd hoped to maintain a more savage, confident voice, but what he delivered was nothing less than a pitiful plea. A beg; a whine even. His breathing was more laboured than it had been when he'd been displaying aggression, which came much more easily to Sam than fear did. Azazel tutted, shaking his head before looking down to the Winchester he had on the floor. Dean fluttered open Jade eyes, looking up to Sam. His lower lip still blood covered as it trembled as he focused on Sam's face, silence falling between them all for a moment before Dean spoke.

"Close your eyes, Sammy."

Dean didn't want Sam seeing this, didn't want anyone seeing this. He didn't want it to be witnessed, because he could deal with it himself, when it was between him and this fucker, but he couldn't if Sam was were directly involved. He couldn't stand to look at Sammy in the eyes again if he knew Sam had seen this. Sam closed his eyes on his request, and held them closed tightly as he heard the strangled cry of pain from Dean that told him Azazel had 'broken' him. His body shook and he felt sick as – although he couldn't see it – he could hear the act going on mere meters in front of him. He could hear the sobs and whimpers from his pained brother, and the moans and occasional comment from the demon in their fathers body.

Azazel went to town on Dean, Thrusting with all the effort he could muster from John's body. He kept his hand in Dean's hair, pulling it back, using it as leverage to violate him that little bit harder, and deeper. His other hand smoothed over Dean's body, feeling the tension, the pain, the shaking, and enjoying it. He leant over him a little, dipping his fingers into the bloody wounds on Dean's back, poking around and drawing much louder screams from him. The feeling of wet, slick, broken muscle and tendons caressed his fingers as he played with them like strands of wool, wriggling his fingers in the injuries and occasionally raising his fingers to lips and tasting the blood on them. This was even more pleasurable than he'd anticipated. Dean was so – accommodating. As some might say he 'fitted like a glove'.

Dean's world went in and out of focus. Blood loss and pain were beginning to get a real grasp on him now and he thanked god for the benefits that came with that: less feeling, less care. The sickness stage had passed and now all he felt was the overwhelming sensation that he was going to pass out, and hopefully die. He was mostly being kept up now by Azazel's grip in his hair, his eyes barely open anymore and his whimpers reduced in volume.

John screamed, watching through his own eyes without a single ounce of control over his body. He could hear Azazel's laughter in his head, but it no longer sparked anger. John felt nothing except the consuming guilt and manic worry for his Eldest's well-being. He didn't know how he was ever going to look at Dean again, or if he'd ever be able to hold him, give him hugs like they used too. He felt sick to think that Dean might flinch every time John entered a room, might stutter when or IF he talked to him. All this passed his mind, but if it were the case, he couldn't blame him.

It was over in minutes, and the only one who noticed how short it had been was Azazel. To the others it had been a fucking decade. The demon's over exaggerated cry of pleasure told everyone, even the half conscious Dean, that it was done. Finished. Azazel let go of Dean's hair and watched him fall face first into the dusty floor, smirking as he took a moment to study the mess he'd made of him. Now he'd seriously need a doctor, and how pleasant that would be for Sam and John to try to explain.

Sam finally opened his eyes, having been weeping like the 'bitch' Dean often called him. His chest rose and fell with tears he couldn't stop running down his face. It only worsted when he saw the state Dean was in. Azazel raised his eyes to Sam, and smirked.

"I'll leave you boys to clean up, shall I?"

With that, John's body arched, facing skyward as the demon smoke roared from his mouth, vanishing off through the cracks in the walls. Azazel had done more than enough damage to all of them, and there was no point in killing them before they had time to really appreciate the mess he'd made of Dean. John's eyes faded back to his natural brown as his consciousness was given back the control of his body. He blinked a second as he picked the reigns back up, and looked down to his son. His sobs were instant...He fell backwards away from Dean, starring in shock.

Sam plucked himself from the wall as soon as he was free and bolted to Dean, skidding to his knees and picking him up, half-slapping his face repeatedly, trying to keep Dean conscious and focused on something. If he let Dean pass out there were great chances he wouldn't wake back up.

"Come on Dean...DEAN! You have to stay awake, stay with me, Dean!"

Dean lulled in Sam's arms, barely awake and certainly not strong enough to stand on his own feet. Sam glanced to their father, aware it must be horrifying for him but if Dean was going to survive he needed John up and moving.

"Get the car running. Move It!"

Sam picked his brother up, grabbing the colt too as John rushed off to start the car up. He pocketed the now useless hand gun and carried Dean out to the car, putting him in the back and sliding into the front seat. They sped down the high way towards the nearest town, the nearest hospital and probably breaking the speed limit...none of them noticed the oncoming truck.