(Tw: noncon, knife play, drugging)
Wincest Unhinged #8 "You walk out that door, dont you ever come back!" John Winchester's voice echoed in his own head. Sam had always been the type to run away, and honestly, John had been the same way at that age, full of rage at his own father who had abandoned him.
'I never abandoned them, I've always been there.' He told himself. 'Sort of…'
John sighed, finishing his beer as the bartender called for last rounds. Maybe there was a chance he could catch up to Sam. He was sure he couldn't convince his youngest to come back, once he had made his mind up about something, that's all there was to it, but he could at least make sure they parted on better terms.
John drove back to the motel, cursing as he fumbled with the key, the light mist of rain clouding his vision as he tried to get the key into the door, and then finally opened the door, and stepped into darkness.
He could hear muffled crying.
'Shit' John thought. Dean had been a wreck since Sam had left, had yelled, thrown everything he could get his hands on, John was certain Dean was gonna throw a punch.
Maybe he deserved it.
John flipped on the overhead light, steeling himself to see his son, and instead saw a naked man tied to the bed Sam had been using the night before, a gag in his mouth.
The man, couldn't be older than 20, looked so much like Sam that John almost yelled out his youngest's name. He turned towards John, eyes wide with terror. He pulled at the restraints.
John tried to shush him, looking around for Dean while bringing his knife out to cut at the ropes. The man screamed into the gag at the sight of the knife, flinched as he was accidentally nicked.
"Fuck, hold still!" John growled, grabbing the man's arm. He felt something warm and wet on his fingers. Slowly he glanced down.
Carved into the guys flesh was a single word; Dean's.
John stumbled back, slamming into the wall, and this time, he actually looked at the scene before him. The bed was covered in blood, the smell of sex and cum in the air, and this guy, who looked exactly Sam, had Dean's name, his fucking claim carved into him atleast a dozen times.
"I didnt think you'd be back yet."
Before he could react to Dean's voice, something slammed into his head, and he was thrown into darkness.
He was tied to a chair. He knew it before he opened his eyes.
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…" He could hear Dean's breathy moans.Â
"Stop!" Another voice yelled; "Please…please I wanna go- ngh!"Â
John's eyes flew open, watching as the man struggled under Dean, struggled as a wet rag was placed over his mouth and nose, until his eyes rolled back and closed, his whole body going limp on the bed.
"Shh…not going anywhere." Dean said. He looked at his father. "He's not going anywhere…" There was a warning in his voice.
"Dean." John spoke low, trying to not sound disgusted at what he was seeing; "Son, what are you doing?"
"Fucking my brother."Â
John wondered if Dean had meant for it to sound like he was just asked a stupid question.
The man squirmed, as Dean gave a slow deep thrust, letting out a groan; "Fuck Sammy, always knew youd be tight." John tried not to pay too much attention to the filth Dean was saying as he was fucking, raping, his brother's look alike.
Dean was fucking insane, there was no doubt in John's mind, and maybe he was to blame for it. John had made Sam Dean's entire world, his purpose, and then had shattered it.
A wave of guilt and relief washed over him. "Knew you'd be tight.."
Dean hadn't fucked Sam. Hadn't done this to him.Â
John Winchester had failed his sons, this was entirely his fault. Taking a deep breath, trying to work past the throb in his head, he worked at the knots.
Dean didnt seem to care one way or the other, the blade in his hand working on tender flesh as he carved. The man's body jerked instinctively at the pain.
"Good, so good." Dean crooned, kissing one of the cuts, his tongue swiping over it. "Gonna wake up with my cum dripping out of you, Sammy, gonna get you a nice plug, use you whenever I want…"
The man's eyes fluttered open, clouded and pained.
Dean kissed him; "There's my boy, my baby brother, love you so much…"
The man looked at John for help.
Finally, the rope gave, and John stumbled forward, catching himself, and straightening.
Silently, John picked up one of the guns off the table beside him, and pointed it at the man's head. "What's your name?" He asked.
"Collin…" He groaned, whimpering as Dean's pace quickened. "Please…please…"
"Wrong."
John grabbed the rag Dean had used before with his other hand, pushing it to Collin's mouth and nose, keeping the barrel of the gun against his skull. "Your name's Sam."
John knew he would burn for this, but at least he could keep the real Sam safe by letting Dean indulge into this sick fantasy.
But more importantly, he thought, as he checked into another room on the other side of the motel, maybe in a couple of days Dean would be ready to hunt again…Â
