Alright, so I realize I'm a complete ass and have not updated this story in months. I'm ALWAYS saying how I hate it when fanfic authors take forever to update and leave their readers waiting. Total hypocrite, right?

Well, good news. I've been working on this for a while, and I've officially updated and COMPLETED this entire story. This is now the last chapter I will be adding to this story.

WARNINGS: Disturbing images, Rape, Generally sad scenes, Intoxication.

So without further ado, I hope you enjoy, for the last time, The Agonizing Redemption.

A booming knock on the door sounded sent Sam and Dean jumping spastically out of their seats, Dean immediately scrambling to his feet and pushing Sam behind him. Dean's gun was trained on the door, his finger hovering over the trigger as he slowly walked toward the door, heart pounding heavily against his chest. Something scraped against the other side of the door, like a key grating through the hole, and a moment later the door was opening, a figure stepping through the threshold.

Dean breathed a huge sigh of relief as John stepped into the room and he wiped the accumulated sweat off his forehead, utter elation flooding through him.

John looked at them and immediately checked each over for injuries. "Everything okay?" he asked.

The adrenaline left Dean in a rush as he tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants. "Yes sir, everything's fine."

"Nothing suspicious?"

"Nothing."

John nodded. He looked antsy, like he wanted to do something but was afraid of his sons' reactions. Then something seemed to light in John's eyes as he made a decision, and surprised both Winchesters by bringing them both into a crushing hug, Dean first. "I was so fucking worried." Dean's eyes widened, his mouth forming into a happy smile. Finally, someone else to help protect Sammy. God, he was so fucking relieved.

John released him and went on to Sam, throwing his arms around the boy's waist as Sam flinched, his arms coming to hesitantly wrap around John's upper torso. John's forehead was laying on the nape of Sam's neck, and Dean was smiling so fucking wide and tears were spilling down his cheeks he almost missed it. He almost goddamn missed it.

But he didn't.

At first Dean thought he was just seeing things, that all the ecstasy at seeing everyone alive and generally safe made him jittery and happy. But then John was opening his mouth, and Dean thought he was going to say something along the lines of, "I'm glad you're okay, son".

Instead of words of comfort, John bit down hard on Sam's neck, his teeth slicing through the flesh as his arms tightened around the kid's bony hips, imprisoning the boy in his grasp.

Sam flailed against his father, and not even a second later Dean had taken the few necessary steps forward. Violently, he shoved John off his baby brother and punched him viciously in the jaw, flinging the older man backward on his ass. Dean immediately turned back to his brother, terrified as he watched red drip down Sam's neck and onto his shirt. The kid was panting, holding a hand to the wound, the viscous liquid dribbling in between his fingers as he wobbled on weak legs toward Dean, away from their father. Dean stepped protectively in front of Sam, his eyes focused on his father's figure.

John got on his feet and turned around to face the brothers, his mouth in the form of a wide, mocking grin, his eyes flickering deep yellow, covering the whites of his eyes, before turning back to the normal brown. "Long time no see, Deano." He turned to Sam. "It's been a long while since I've seen you, Sammy. I sure have missed your pretty face."

Dean pushed Sam further behind him, mainly just to make sure his brother was still there. And thank fucking God he was. "What the hell do you want?"

The demon cocked an eyebrow. "You got my letter, didn't you?" He smirked. "Deano, you know exactly what I want. Joe's been quite the impatient one and I'm here to provide."

Dean's eyes squinted in barely contained anger and he suddenly berated himself. How did he not know? How did he not know? Of course Joe would be out for fucking vengeance after Larry died.

God, he was so fucking stupid.

Dean lifted the gun, it's direction fixed on the demon's head.

The demon wagged his finger. "Not a good idea, Deano. I'm still Daddy, remember?"

Dean hissed, his gun wavering. It was a demon, so it wouldn't fucking help anyway. "You can't have my brother."

The demon's smirk widened, the expression wrong and twisted on their father's face. "And that's where you're wrong because, you see, I can do anything I want. Including Sammy."

Dean grit his teeth together tightly and he brought the gun back up to his head. "Shut the hell up! Don't talk about my brother like that."

The demon, Dad, walked forward with his hands behind his back, arrogant and smug. "Whatcha gonna do, Deano? Shoot me?" He put his arms up at his side, as if in self-admiration. "Not like it'd do any good anyway, so let's forget the pretense." He put a hand out, more serious this time. "Now give him to me."

Dean shook his head fervently, Sam's burning presence behind him the sole reason for him to continue fighting, to continue living. "No. Make that a hell no." Not again, not again, this can't happen to my baby brother, not again.

The demon nodded like he was expecting it, grinning like he wanted it that way. "Alright, then…" he shrugged nonchalantly, smile widening. "I guess I'll just have to take both of you."

The demon suddenly vanished, and Dean's head swiveled back and forth violently, his heart beating irregularly, too fast as his gun erratically changed directions as he waited for it to reappear. He felt Sam grip the material of his shirt tightly, urgently, and a small gasp elicited from the boy.

Before Dean could turn around, save Sammy, his hand holding the gun felt suddenly lighter, empty, and a cold metal hit the back of his head, sending him to his knees. He groaned, barely conscious as he heard a thump on the ground come from behind him. Sammy. Dean's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he landed on the cool carpet, unconscious and defenseless.

_0o0o0o0o_

Dean was awoken when something hard jabbed into his side, and he moaned, trying to roll away from the touch but finding his limbs stuck, locked tightly in place.

His eyes shot open, and he looked down to see manacles attaching his ankles to the floor, and his wrists to the wall.

The room was skinny and long…and, aside from the damn demon that had kicked him, empty. He cursed, pulling hard on the chains, not caring if it was a useless attempt at escape. Where the hell was his brother, goddamn it?

The demon tsked him. "Now now, Dean, don't be so spiteful like last time. It's unhealthy."

Last time. The demon was talking about the first damn time he'd been chained up by this bastard.

"Where's Sam?" he asked, noticing the demon was no longer possessing his father's body, but a thinner, younger man with dirty blond hair.

Just then, the door at the end closest to Dean burst open, and Sam was being forcefully dragged into the room before being flung into Dean, his head bumping against his chest.

Dean wanted so bad to bring Sam's face to his, read his expression, see what had happened while he was out, but the manacles around his wrist were persistent if nothing else, and he brought his chin to poke at the top of Sam's head. "Hey, Sammy. Sammy? What happened? Look at me."

Sam nodded with a gruff "I'm fine" but ignored his brother's gaze, keeping his eyes on the floor with his hair acting as a thick curtain. Dean leaned his head forward a bit, and grimaced when he saw the bite mark on Sam's neck. The bleeding had stopped, but it was still ugly and red, the teeth indentions distinctly imprinted into his skin.

Sam grunted as he got his hands under him and pushed himself off Dean to lean against the wall.

The man that had brought Sam in took a step forward, and Dean threw him a menacing glare, the man's tall and muscular form making Dean's stomach ache in fear for his brother.

Joe.

The man's grin was wide as he eyed Sam a long moment before his gaze flickered to Dean. "This the brother?" he asked, looking at the demon.

The demon nodded, bringing a leg out to toe Dean's foot. "He's quite the protective one, really." He grinned. "Cute little thing."

Dean hissed, pulling at his chains, veins popping out of his arms.

But Joe seemed surprised, hmming like it was something interesting. He went over to Sam, bending over and straddling the kid's legs, grinning as he bent down to put his lips to his neck, his eyes watching Dean.

Dean worked frantically against his restraints, his fists clenched in tight fists. "Goddamn it, get the fuck off my brother, you bastard. Don't you fucking touch him."

Sam's neck was strained, but the rest of his body was stiff, his eyes moving wildly, and Dean knew the demon was keeping him physically in place.

And then Joe was leaning back, off Sam's neck but still on the kid's thighs. He put a finger to the boy's cheek, petting the thin skin lightly. "You're so beautiful." He smiled carnally, and suddenly lifted himself off Sam, moving over to stand directly in front of Dean, watching him interestedly before kneeling, their gaze at eye-level. "So you're protective of little Sammy, huh? You're pretty hot, too, you know that?"

Dean growled as Joe reached a hand out, gathering up saliva in his mouth and spitting into Joe's face.

Joe sneered, wiping the saliva off his cheek with a vindictive grimace. He turned to the demon expectantly as Dean was preparing for another spitball, and his body was suddenly seized up, frozen. He fought against it, and cursed when the demon's grip tightened. Dean tried for a snarl, but his mouth stayed clamped shut, his jaw twitching.

Joe climbed onto Dean's lap, and Dean tried to throw him off. He cursed himself loudly, still immobile.

Joe slapped Dean hard across the face. "Your disobedience is unwelcome here," Joe said, his face serious. "For every act of defiance you make, Sammy will be punished."

Dean hissed and the demon's influence seemed to wash away from his body, but he didn't act on it. So easily he could've head-butted Joe, threw him off his lap, but he didn't. He didn't move a damn muscle. He gulped audibly, watching as Joe's mouth widen into a grin as the man's hands came up to Dean's chest, stroking his nipples. Distantly, he heard Sam struggling against his unseen restrictions, but he ignored it, his attention solely on Joe.

Joe cocked his head, watching Dean's eyes as his fingers played with Dean's nipples. "Are you willing? Are you willing to take Sam's place as my slave?"

Dean nodded fiercely, his throat aching so much he didn't trust his voice. "Yes," he tried anyway, his voice hoarse and throaty. "Yes."

"No, don't. Take me. I'll make it good, just take me," Sam begged, the demon's restraints evidently released enough that he could speak. The other physical restraints seemed in place enough, though, his arms held tight above his head, similar to how Dean was.

Joe turned to the demon wryly, but anyone could tell the man was turned on. "Seems to me like they're both protective. It's hot."

Dean shook his head, ignoring the man's amusement. He needed to produce lust, not humor. "Don't take him." He lifted his hips off the ground and pressed his groin against Joe's. "I'm older, better. Just have me."

Joe moaned as Dean shoved himself harder against him, but his gaze was focused on Sam. "You want me to have him, Sammy?," he asked, cupping Dean in his hand

Sam shook his head frantically. "No, take me, just take me."

"So you want me to have you?"

Sam nodded and, as an afterthought, licked his lips seductively. "Leave him alone so we can have some real fun."

"No," Dean growled, reaching uselessly for Joe as he lifted himself off his lap. "No, take me, goddamn it." Tears blurred his vision and he blinked, letting them drip carelessly down his cheeks. "Please."

But his pleas went unnoticed as Joe went to kneel beside Sam, his eyes darkened in lust. "Whatcha gonna do to me, baby boy, whatcha gonna do?"

Sam smiled lustfully. "Oh, so many things. I could show you," he said, gesturing to the invisible shackles. "Just gotta lemme go."

Joe nodded frantically, looking to the demon, impatience evident on his face. "Let him go."

The demon seemed uncertain, then shrugged, releasing Sam with a careless wave of his hand.

Sam wasted no time as he pounced on Joe, wrapping his legs around his waist and his hands cupping the older man's face. "Take me."

Joe slammed Sam into the wall, and he gripped the back of Sam's thighs, bringing them closer to his crotch. "And what if I wanted Dean back? Whatcha gonna do to make sure I don't go back to your bro?"

Sam crushed his lips to Joe's, disregarding Dean's shouts as he used his hips to press himself flush against Joe, eliciting a loud groan from the older man. "Ah, God."

Joe moaned again into the boy's mouth, and he seemed overwhelmed, like his brain was overloading with the essence of Sam.

Dean's screams were filling the room now, hysterical and feverish, but both Sam and Joe ignored them as Joe brought one hand to wrap around Sam's ass, his hand snug between Sam and the wall. "Mmm, so good. No wonder Larry kept ya for so long," he said into Sam's mouth.

Sam parted from the kiss as the two shared the same air, their exhales flowing into the other's mouth. For the smallest of seconds, he turned to see his brother. His brother who was in pain. Sam turned back to the older man. "L-let's go. So-somewhere we can…"

Joe nodded furiously, immediately releasing Sam from the pressure of being pushed into the wall and lifted him, the boy's legs still wrapped around his waist. Half-delirious on the adrenaline, he turned to the demon. "Keep watch over Dean for me. I wanna keep him here."

Before the demon could respond Joe was already stumbling out of the room, Sam tight in his clutches.

Dean screamed until his throat burned. His baby brother, taken again, this time by some fucking Joe. Tears ruined his vision, but that didn't stop him from hitting his head hard against the wall behind him, roaring in agony. So what if he sounded weak? That fucking pervert bastard whore dead fucker took his brother. Dean had been so convinced he could get Joe to take him instead, that his usual acts of persuasion would work on males too, but…but that asshole. He took Sam, took his only brother, his already damaged brother.

The demon wasn't as arrogant and bitchy and smug and fucking infuriating as usual, and just slid silently along the wall across from Dean, vigil. He didn't look particularly happy doing guard duty, but neither did it look like he was going to save Dean anytime soon, or at all for that matter. Dean grit his teeth, ignoring the pain at the way the chains grated against his flesh. Sam was gone, gone, and any physical pain was so trivial compared to that.

_0o0o0o0_

A now naked Sam was laid out flat on his back, the harsh memories of rough fucks into the mattress once again rushing back to him as Joe immediately pounced on top of him, expression lustful and greedy.

"God, Sammy, you're so fucking sexy," he purred, tracing one of Sam's long scars running down his chest. "And these scars just make you even sexier." He grinned, removing his hand and suddenly flipping Sam over, bringing the boy to rest on his knees. Unsure of what he should be doing or how Joe liked it, Sam began to lean back only to be forcefully pushed forward, his face pressed flush against the sheets. He gasped, heaving for oxygen.

Joe was positioned behind him, and he grabbed Sam's hands, bringing them and guiding them to his own, uplifted ass. Joe put the fingers near his entrance, pushing the cheeks apart. "Hold your hands there, Sammy. Don't move."

Sam gulped as Joe released his hands, his face red with shame as he kept himself open and inviting for the man. He heard shuffling behind him and gasped loudly as he felt something wet brush against his entrance. A tongue? His hands trembled, tears blurred his vision, and he barely resisted the intrinsic urge to push Joe away. It was so tempting…

But that wouldn't save Dean, would it?

After a few more licks and wet plunges into his entrance, the tongue was removed and Joe greedily seized the boy's hips, his fingers digging harshly into the soft flesh. Sam could only grunt as Joe immediately thrust into the welcoming heat, moaning his name.

_0o0o0o0_

Dean didn't know how long he'd been sitting chained to the wall, how long he'd been waiting for his brother to come through that door and laugh at him for worrying so fucking much, tell Dean he was just fine with dignity and self-worth intact. And not Sam's definition of fine, which easily consisted of broken bones, a concussion, and a collapsed lung.

Dean turned his gaze to the demon, who had been sitting so fucking calm the whole fucking time, just watching Dean's angry hysterics and tearful outbursts with indifference and maybe a little curiosity.

"Where's my dad?" Dean asked, his dull eyes watching the demon. He'd worn himself out, screaming and pulling against his chains long enough to leave thin, red lines along his wrists and ankles. They hurt, but it was a pain he didn't acknowledge.

The demon looked at him in surprise, smirking. "Finally noticed I wasn't using Daddy as a pretty puppet?" Dean had noticed the moment he saw the bastard, but he had neither the energy nor the care to correct him. The demon's face grew somber, starkly contrasting his usual arrogance. "Joe let your father go a while back." He shrugged, like it was the dumbest idea he'd ever heard but didn't care otherwise. "Decided he didn't want anyone except you and Sam."

Dean looked at him drearily. "Why would he want me?" When he can just brutally use my baby brother instead?

"He wants to give little Sammy a reason to continue having sex with him." He smirked then. "Basically, if your bro suddenly gets rebellious and tries to escape, he's got you to fall back on as incentive for Sammy to keep fucking at his finest."

_0o0o0o0_

The thrusts were getting faster, deeper, and Sam had long ago seen these as the telltale signs of nearing climax. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, enduring the brutal pain resonating inside him. His hands were still clinging to his own ass, his body arched so that it jutted out, into the air.

The thrusts continued, but he was surprised when Joe gradually slowed down until, after another moment, stopped altogether. He was panting heavily, and he pulled out, his large hands seized Sam's shoulders and jerking them around, heaving the boy onto his back.

Sam's eyes widened, cringing at the maniacal grin blatant on Joe's face. The older man held tightly onto his own dick, disallowing climax, and crawled up Sam's legs and stopped above his torso. Sam's body shuddered violently, his stomach rumbling in apprehension.

The grin never left Joe's face, his fingers still firm around his cock. "I thought we'd try something a little more fun, pretty Sammy," he chuckled. "I wonder if Larry ever did this to ya," he said as he scooted closer, until he was directly in front of Sam's face.

He released his grip, only having to stroke himself a few more times before he groaned headily, expression displaying pure ecstasy as cum spurted from his dick.

Sam could only watch in horror as it splattered messily onto his face and hair, the white clumps of seed plastered on him like a second layer of skin.

Joe cackled deafeningly, throwing his head back as his face turned red from laughter. "Ah, Sammy, you should have seen the look on your face when I sprayed you. It was so fucking priceless."

Sam could only sit there, dumbfounded. Hesitantly, the limb shaking, he brought a hand to his cheek, staring at the now sticky substance coating his fingers.

Sam's eyes began to swell with tears.

He felt so overwhelmed; he felt so humiliated.

After his laughter finally died down, Joe jumped off the bed, gathering his clothes and putting them on. "Clean yourself up, pretty boy." He looked up from sliding on his boxers, gaze thoughtful as he smirked at Sam. "That is, if you want to. I think you look maddening sexy the way you are now, with my seed all over you, but you can do whatever you want." As if unable to resist the site of the naked, sticky boy, he grabbed Sam's chin roughly and planted a hard kiss on the boy's pink lips. "Mm," he said when he released him, "I love the taste of me inside you."

Joe's smirk widened, the boy not seeming to realize that cum had fallen into his open mouth.

"Alright, well I'll see you outside," he said before heading for the exit. His voice grew more stern. "You've got two minutes."

The door closed, and Sam immediately threw his head over the side of the bed, vomiting up food and cum.

_0o0o0o0_

Dean twitched violently at the demon's cruel words, tears blurring his vision. And damn if he wasn't crying all the fucking time these days.

"W—," Dean swallowed, his voice hoarse. "W-why are you doing this? Why are y-you working for Joe?" His eyebrows crunched in malicious consideration. "What's in it for you?"

The demon watched him for a long moment. That attitude that pissed Dean off so much lit up in his face, and Dean realized that, if the demon did tell him the truth, it'd be because he knew Dean couldn't escape, couldn't do anything with the information anyway.

The demon smirked, looking at Dean with an odd twinkle in his eyes, "Why, Sammy, of course."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed. "Wha…" He did a double take. "What?"

"I've been watching your brother for a long time," the demon continued, enjoying the horrified expression on Dean's face. Fucking priceless. "He'll be able to put a few things in motion for me, but I need to make sure he's strong enough for the task. As such, I'm using Joe as a…test of sorts, as I did before, with Larry."

Dean pushed forcefully against his chains, the manacles crushing against his wrists. His face was blood red in anger, veins sticking out like thick cords. "You mean you made these perverts do this to him? Goddamn it, it was you?"

The demon shook his head, his smirk wide and amused as he put his hands up in front of him, shaking them for emphasis. "No no no, I just helped them…expedite their plans a bit. It wasn't me that made them so attracted to Sammy, that was all him. Maybe if little brother wasn't so slutty people like Larry and Joe wouldn't try it on him all the time."

Dean growled and pulled harder at his chains. "If your implying my brother did anything to deserve this, I swear—."

The demon shrugged casually. "Had to have done something."

"You bastard—."

Just then the door was opened, and Joe entered the long room, hair disheveled and fully clothed. His cheeks were red with exertion and he was breathing audibly, catching his breath.

Joe turned to Dean, grinning wickedly, and Dean jerked his head away from the sight, his gaze focused solely on the dirty tile below his left foot. The tile began to melt into others as his vision grew hazy, but he was obstinate in keeping his gaze frozen and in place. He didn't want to see Joe, see his own worst nightmare in the flesh. It was too much.

But Joe seemed to have other ideas, dropping onto his knees in front of Dean and grabbing his chin, jerking it to face him. Dean cringed as he smiled carnally, licking his lips. "You won't believe what amazing sex I just had."

"You're disgusting," Dean spat, his nose scrunching in repugnance and horror at the distinct smells radiating from Joe's body.

Joe laughed, his hand still holding Dean firmly in place. "If I'm disgusting then what is Sammy?"

Dean went to speak, but Joe shushed him. "Maybe we should have a threesome, get to know each other better," he mused. "That'd be a lot of fun, yeah?"

Dean sneered, "You're just a sick fucking pervert that can't keep his lust to himself."

"You know, for someone that's being so judgmental right now, you sure were vibrantly throwing yourself at me not too long ago." Joe waggled his eyebrows.

Dean snarled. "I was trying to get you away from my brother."

Joe shook his head. "No no, I know for a fact that you're interested in me, if your previous actions are any indication. You want some of this, too, don't you?" He shrugged. "It's okay, I don't judge you as you judge me. I'm nice like that."

Dean jerked on the chains holding him in place, the viscous liquid dripping down his wrists going unnoticed. He didn't have time for something as insignificant as pain when his baby brother was in trouble.

And maybe even lost forever in a nightmare that didn't end.

One hand still holding Dean in place, Joe glanced at the watch on his wrist. Dean's breath caught in his throat as the door suddenly opened, and Sam, clad in only boxers, was dragged through the door, his knees scraping against the coarse floor as he was brought to kneel before Joe.

Joe grinned. "There's my boy," he said as he gripped the boy's thin shoulders, maneuvering Sam safely into his lap.

Dean gulped as he analyzed Sam's sullen expression. His face was bright red, its appearance almost like a carpet burn. Had he rubbed his face too hard?

Dean let out a loud hiss, and Joe shook his head. "Already complaining and we haven't even started yet."

The man that had brought Sam in was older, wrinkled eyes wide with terror as he waited for Joe's next orders. With the genuine fear in his eyes Dean couldn't help but think he'd been threatened to do Joe's dirty work. Just another innocent bystander used to get what Joe wanted.

Joe glanced at the man fleetingly before turning to the demon. "Just kill him."

The older man's eyes went wide before the demon's hand lifted and death warmed over the man in an instant, his body hitting the ground in a cold heap.

Both Winchesters twitched, horrified. Joe turned back to them, sporting a pondering gaze as he petted Sam's dark locks. "As I was saying, I think I've decided I do want to carry out my idea of a threesome. In some aspect, at least." Joe laughed to himself. "It'll be a threesome, per say, but only two will be in the main act."

Sam stiffened in his arms, having not been made aware of this before, and sent his brother a fearful, uncertain gaze.

Dean swallowed, trying to look reassuring for his baby brother, he who needed it now more than ever.

Joe grabbed a strand of Sam's hair, bringing it up to his mouth. He bit it, Dean's face distorting in disgust as he saw a flash of tongue. After a few moments, he turned Sam's head to crush his lips against Sam's, ravaging the boy's mouth. Joe smirked into the kiss, and when he released Sam he kept their faces mere inches apart, both breathing heavily. He whispered into Sam's mouth, and Dean could only catch, "Still taste like me." Dean shuddered.

Joe released his grip on Sam's hair and put his hands on the boy's hips, pushing him onto the floor near Dean. "You will do as I say, yes?"

Hesitant, Sam said nothing. But, after flashing a look in Dean's direction, his will seemed to have been rejuvenated, and he nodded.

Joe nodded in satisfaction. "Alright. Kiss him. On the mouth."

Sam spun around to face Joe now, his mouth opening and closing in shock.

Joe lifted a hand above his head and slammed it onto Sam's cheek. "You will not question my authority. Understood?"

Sam put a hand to his cheek, nodding.

"Now go kiss him," Joe said before adding, "And make it messy. You don't want me dissatisfied."

Sam swallowed, getting onto his hands and knees and crawling toward Dean's frozen state, his eyes wide and hands still chained and unmoving.

Without thought, Sam pressed his lips flush against Dean's, pushing his tongue against Dean's lips for entrance.

Dean seems to gag at his brother's taste, fighting the urge to turn away and throw up from the mysterious flavor.

He acutely ignored the taste, instead focusing on making this already horrible situation easier on his baby brother.

Dean opened his mouth for Sam in understanding, both willingly deepening the kiss, and Sam swallowed his sigh of relief.

It was hard, kissing his brother, even harder knowing your tongue was floating around in his it was for that same brother that Sam was doing this, once again shedding his dignity to keep Dean safe.

And that's what made it so damn worth it.

Sam forgot the humiliation he'd felt when Joe's oppressive seed drenched his skin, instead focusing on making this horrible situation easier for his brother. He allowed Dean a moment of reprieve, moving to bite at the older man's bottom lip.

Joe's purr of approval could be heard from behind them as he ordered huskily, "Straddle his hips."

Without breaking the kiss, Sam did so, lifting one leg over both of Dean's until his knees were pressed against the wall and their crotches were uncomfortably close together.

Sam's lungs were screaming at him to break the kiss, to fucking breathe, and he quickly removed his lips from Dean's, their faces inches apart, both loudly pulling in much-needed oxygen.

"Take off Dean's shackles," they heard Joe say to the demon, the man's voice sounding desperate and eager.

A moment later, Dean's hands were freed and the next order was produced. "Play with each other." His voice darkened. "Don't disappoint me. I don't like any G-rated shit."

Knowing Dean would be more uncomfortable having sexual relations with a male, something Sam has had far too much experience with, Sam made the first move, lips making a trail down the man's neck. Dean made a show of groaning in pleasure, arching his neck back.

After several moments, Sam released his mouth, pulling Dean's shirt off before lightly playing with a nipple, pinching it hard. Dean hissed before Sam resumed his previous ministrations, pressing his lips securely to Dean's neck, sucking at the flesh.

Dean knew he had to interact, to do something; he couldn't let his brother take the brunt of the burden. But what if Dean's touches just hurt Sammy more?

"Get on with it already," they heard Joe hiss.

Decision made, Dean warily brought his arms around Sam's thin body to rest his hands on the kid's ass, hesitantly squeezing lightly. Sam didn't outwardly respond, instead releasing Dean's nipples as he moved his own hands to rest over Dean's, pushing them further onto his own boxer-clad ass.

Sam writhed his body into the larger hands, sweating and panting, fucking groaning just to make it believable to Joe that they really were fucking into this kind of shit.

Sam continued panting, resting his head on Dean's strong shoulder as he lunged into the hands, ignoring all the unwanted sensations that came with the act.

A tear fell down Dean's cheek; it hurt like he couldn't believe to know he was doing this to his brother, his brother who, by all means, should never have had to deal with this again. What if the only way to save him was to quite possibly have sex with him? And even then, who was to say Joe and the fucking demon wouldn't just want to keep them anyway?

Sam pressed his palm firmly against Dean's crotch, bringing Dean abruptly out of his reverie. Sam eyed him apologetically, gaze filled with pain and regret, and Dean wanted to slap himself. Sam had just been raped, raped, not ten minutes ago by fucking Joe, and here he was trying to make him feel better?

Oh, fuck no.

Dean released his grip on Sam's ass and pressed his hands heavily onto Sam's chest, pushing him down onto his back until Dean towered over him, their bodies flush together from chest to feet. He resumed the heated kiss from before, ignoring the tangy taste as his tongue intertwined with Sam's.

"God, yes, yes," they heard Joe pant in ecstasy, the man watching the spectacle with underwear at his ankles and hand clenched around his hardened member.

Dean trembled as he rubbed against Sam's body, their bare chests causing endless friction. Dean brought a hand up to lightly brush Sam's dark hair from his forehead, while the other went to rest on Sam's arm, his finger tracing the lengthy scar starting at Sam's wrist.

This time it was Sam who brought his hands up to cup Dean's ass, his palms resting lightly and hesitantly on the jeans pockets. The kid seemed uncertain, as if scared he'd break Dean if he pushed too hard.

And it hurt. Sam didn't think Dean could handle it because he'd never gone through sexual activities that he didn't want to have; he'd never been raped.

Maybe Sam had a right to question him, though. After all, Sam was never one to patronize a person; he was damn well too kind for that. Sam knew what it was like, knew how damaging it felt to go through something so horrible, so he was just trying to save Dean from that harsh reality. Sam just wanted to keep his brother safe, in the dark. Ignorant.

Ignorant of his own pain, as well.

Dean growled at the thought but, before he could do anything more, a gunshot was heard from another room, echoing loudly through the long chamber. Both of the Winchester's heads jerked to the direction of the sound, gaze instantly on the wooden door where Sam had been dragged from. Dean's heart pounded in his chest, the anticipation making his heart heavy. If their dad had been let go, no longer used by the demon as a host, then…could that be him?

Their shared, unspoken question was soon answered as the door was heaved open in a flurry, John Winchester's angry, devilish gaze landing on the two boys, one on top of the other.

Both boy's cheeks were colored with exertion, skin engulfed in each other's sweat, hands still frozen on body parts brothers wouldn't usually be investigating, and it didn't take long for John's face to contort with unadulterated fury, his mouth morphing into a chaotic, enraged contortion as he turned toward Joe, whose hand was still on his swollen member.

Joe removed his hand, feeling his mind fill with both fear and anger. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" the man said, fury in his gaze as he stared at John. He reached into his pocket hurriedly, but before he'd gotten a grip around his weapon a bullet was lodged into his arm. Joe let out a squeal of pain, his other hand immediately thrown over the welling blood. Another gunshot went off, and Joe fell to his knees with a scream as it whizzed through his thigh, red liquid spurting wildly from the wound.

Dean and Sam had separated by now, both now kneeling side-by-side and avoiding any physical contact. It was then Dean realized the demon was gone, wasn't where he'd seen him last, and Dean looked up to see the other, more antique gun in John's hand, the weapon held in a tight grasp.

The Colt.

As it dawned on him, Dean's mouth transformed into a smile, looking at his dad with exhilaration he'd never felt before. To his surprise, a gruff but genuine laugh escaped him, his white teeth gleaming beneath the low-lighted ceiling.

The feeling of elated eagerness continued to flood through him, but he said nothing as Joe got to his feet, seething. "You think you can just take what's mine, huh? You think you can just take Sammy away from his rightful owner?"

The smile on Dean's face was ripped off like it was never there, and he got to his feet to stand beside Joe. In one fluid motion, he cocked his arm back and punched the bastard hard in the jaw, relishing in the crack of bone and the man's cry of pain as he was knocked back onto the floor. "You fucking bastard." Dean knew he wanted to say something more, wanted to say how Sam didn't belong to him, how much of a sick son of a bitch he was, how he'd fucking love to see him rot in hell.

But Dean was passed words now as Joe spoke, smirking through clenched teeth despite his injuries, "Sam will always belong to me. He knows that, don't you Sammy?" he asked turning his gaze to the kneeling boy for a moment before looking back to the seething older brother. "I have permanently left my mark inside that boy, and there's nothing he or anyone else can do to change that."

Before Dean's fist could make contact again, John raised the hand holding his usual shotgun, blasting it through the man's chest.

"Serves you right, fucker," Dean heard John mutter, eyes watery, watching as the man's body collided with the hard floor.

For a few seconds, everyone was still as they all stared at the corpse. Dean didn't feel one ounce of pity, knew he probably should have. It was a human, after all.

But, then again, what defined a human? By anyone's standards, this man would be seen as nothing but a fucking monster. Dean's eyes traced Joe's body, the body that had moments ago been so lively and animated as he watched Dean and Sam's cruel performance.

To Dean's surprise, his eyes began glistening with tears of joy. Joe was dead. He was dead. Sammy was finally safe from both him and the demon; they could finally live in peace, put all this behind them.

Right?

Without warning, Dean fell to his knees and vomited, what little food he had in his stomach now splattered haphazardly onto the gray floor.

He was so stupid. So so fucking stupid. How could he possibly think they could ever overlook this? Give it a few days then say it never happened, that everything was just peachy on the Winchester wagon?

Dean unconsciously let out a mewl of pain. Sammy…Sammy, his baby brother, brutally raped. Again. And worse yet, he'd had to play with Dean, too. Because Dean couldn't protect him.

What kind of brother was he to allow this to continue happening? Dean's eyes glinted with something far from joy now, his body shivering and mouth pursed. There was a weird taste in his mouth, not from the vomit, and his nerves felt hypersensitive, and he felt horribly violated. It was as though the full control he'd thought he had over his body was merely a show, that his body recognized that what he'd done with Sam wasn't something he'd wanted, wasn't something he'd wanted to consent to.

It…it felt like he was dying.

Dean swallowed an aggrieved moan. Was this how Sam felt?

If so, then Dean didn't know how his baby brother had survived it. After all, Dean had only gotten the smallest of portions of what rape felt like and, even then, it had been for his brother, it had been with a purpose. To keep them both safe, and Dean would make that decision time and time again if it meant protecting Sam.

But what had happened to Sam…no, that was so fucking different. That wasn't for the greater good, to protect a loved one; it was being used and degraded for someone else's disgusting pleasure. Sam didn't have a choice.

Dean threw up again.

A thin hand was soothing his bare back, lighting rubbing circles into the tense muscles. Dean turned to see Sam kneeling beside him, a small smile on his features. Dean only cried more, putting a hand to the back of the boy's neck and bringing their foreheads to press together, the tips of their noses barely touching.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Sam's eyes were the most beautiful blue-green Dean had ever seen, and he was thoroughly convinced he could look into their depths forever.

"Please," Sam barely whispered, "please, don't say that."

Dean's mouth tightened and he tried to keep the sobs at bay. Of course Sammy wouldn't accept his apologies. The only blame Sam would place is on himself.

John knelt down beside the two boys, his cheeks overflowing with spilt tears. "I think we best get out of here."

Reluctantly, Dean nodded and released his grip on his brother's neck. Standing up, he took Sam's hand, pulling the boy easily to his feet.

Sam's hand felt cold to the touch, and Dean instantly took a survey of the room. Not finding what he was looking for, he turned back to his brother. "Hey, Sammy, where are your clothes?"

Sam turned his head to the open door where John had burst through. "Back in the bedroom."

Dean took a step forward in pursuit before a restraining hand grabbed his wrist, gently pulling him back.

"Maybe…" Sam began, licking his lips. "Maybe I should go alone. It'll only be a moment."

Dean shook his head fervently. "Hell no. I'm not letting you out of my sight." Never fucking again.

Sam shifted on his feet, looking like he wanted to say more. After an awkward moment, he finally nodded, waiting for Dean to pick up his own shirt before leading him and John through the wooden door. They took a short moment to gratefully admire the dead demon in the middle of the hall, a bullet hole distinctly driven into his forehead. Sam grinned lightly. John's accuracy was as good as ever.

Stepping gracefully over the body, Sam led them down a short hall to stand before the room he'd once again fallen from grace.

Opening the door, a stench was released from the room that even Sam scrunched his nose to. The aftermaths of fucking were always particularly gruesome, in his opinion.

Sam walked into the dark room and quickly gathered his clothes, which Joe had very hastily thrown off his body while in the deep throes of ecstasy. Pulling his legs through his jeans, Sam turned to notice Dean and John still standing at the entrance of the room, staring with wide, disbelieving and, most prominently, vehement eyes, the intensity of their gazes unnerving as they eyed the disheveled bed sheets and telling liquids spread across the bed.

Sam cleared his throat, hoping the two would get out of their reveries. He just wanted this behind him.

Dean locked eyes with Sam, and his mouth trembled, his lips dry. "Sammy…" His voice was husky and gruff, and, at that point, Sam wished he could physically wipe that pitying look off Dean's face.

Sam threw on his shirt, merely tossing the hoody over his shoulder as he walked back to stand before his family, blocking their view of the bed.

Numbly, John took a step forward, raising a shaking hand in Sam's direction. He hesitantly pulled the boy's collar down, revealing the inflamed bite mark. John's lips began to tremble fiercely. "I…I…" John gulped, blinking hard. "I did this?"

Dean stepped in. "No, Dad, it wasn't you; it was that damn demon. You had no control."

John didn't seem too certain, but allowed a small nod.

As much as Sam wanted to reassure their father, as well, he was getting itchy staying in this room longer than necessary. It almost felt blasphemous, standing with his family in the same room he'd gotten fucked in.

"Shall we?" Sam asked, trying to conceal his eagerness.

Dully, the two nodded, John leading them all to the exit, lost in thought.

XxXxXxXxXx

They all filed into the motel room, each Winchester silent with the memories of hideous occurrences haunting their every step.

Dean plopped onto the tarnished, discolored sofa, exhaling as he hunched his back, his head in his hands.

Sam sat down more gingerly beside his brother, slightly wincing as his sore ass made contact with the lumpy cushion.

He licked his lips, wondering if there were any words of comfort he could offer Dean. The man was suffering, and it brought a terrible ache to Sam's heart knowing that he was the cause. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, Sam resorted to rubbing Dean's back, hoping to sooth some of the man's stiffness.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Dean took his head from his hands, turning to catch Sam's eye, smiling at him when he did.

Having fully unpacked the weapons, John went to sit beside Sam, and the boy squishing further against Dean to give his father space to sit. Taking the offer he sat, all three Winchesters packed on a two-seater sofa. None seemed to mind, though, content to finally, at last, rest.

In the hopes of easing some of the discomfort situated firmly in his backside, Sam slouched in his seat, legs laid out limply in front of him. He threw a glance briefly to his right and, if he tilted his head just so, it could come to rest lightly on his father's strong shoulder.

Not allowing himself to give in to the weakness he stayed put, fiddling with a hole in the thigh of his jeans.

Dean's face was now pulled tight and taut, and Sam wondered when he was going to speak whatever was on his mind.

Soon enough, Dean was turning fully to his brother, his gaze cautious and uncertain. "Sammy, c-can I…May I ask you a question?" Anger was still fluttering on the surface of Dean's voice and in the depths of his eyes, and Sam was now certain which topic Dean had picked.

"Anything," he said without hesitation.

"Was he…was Joe talking about a-anything in particular when he said…that he m-marked you?"

"He came inside me. Isn't that marking enough?" Sam looked away immediately after the words left his mouth, hating himself for putting these things so bluntly. He should've been more considerate, kept everything in the children's version.

Dean flinched, and Sam tried to retract the damage, his voice imploring. "But it was only once, Dean, and it wasn't even that painful. Joe's dick was nearly half the size of my pinky finger," he said, aiming for humor. Unfortunately, that had been not the case at all, but that was hardly something Dean or his father deserved to know.

Despite his—or what he thought was—humorous statement, Sam's smile slid off his face as Dean's own grew redder, more furious.

"What'd I say?" Sam asked hesitantly, almost afraid as Dean's face turned a darker shade and his hands clenched tightly on the sofa cushions. "Dean, what's wrong? Please, I don't understand."

Dean shook his head, finally taking a deep, long breath, hopefully expelling most of his anger with it. "I, I just…" He shook his head again, mouth pursed, portraying both furious anger and bitter melancholy. "I just can't fucking believe it. I let…it happen to you again."Dean leaned back against the sofa with a hand over his face.

Self-conscious of his own faults now, Sam awkwardly patted Dean's knee, unsure. "You did nothing wrong, Dean; none of this is your fault."

Dean snorted, but said nothing, drowning in his self-ridicule.

Sam held in a sad sigh. "Dean…"

Dean didn't look up or show he was being attentive to Sam's near plea. Instead, he brought his other hand to cover his face, trapped in his mind.

Sam gave up the effort, and soon the silence once again permeated through the room, awkward and uncomfortable for the youngest Winchester.

It wasn't long until fatigue took hold on Sam's small physique. It had been a while since he'd gotten fucked, and this one had taken out a lot of his stamina. After all, Dean's life had been at the mercy of how good a fuck Joe deemed it.

Sam's eyes began slowly drooping shut and, after numerous failed attempts at opening them, his head unwillingly found it's way to his father's shoulder, resting against the warm leather of his jacket.

More than pleasantly surprised, John beamed as he wrapped his arm comfortably around Sam's thin shoulders, gently drawing him close.

Dean's hands were now resting limply on the sofa cushions, his mouth still drawn in a frown. After brief contemplation, Sam lifted his legs from the floor and placed them firmly on Dean's thighs, abruptly breaking the man out of his dark reverie.

Sam lifted a foot pointedly. "Massage. Now."

Dean stared at Sam a moment, his distracted mind taking time to process the simple demand. Sam watched approvingly as Dean's eyes suddenly lightened and, after another second, he laughed, his teeth gleaming white. It wasn't some bullshit, half-hearted, ridiculously fake laugh, and Sam's heart jumped at the unexpected sound, pleased to know he'd been the one to instigate it.

Dean only shook his head, still smirking as he worked Sam's shoes off. "Crazy kid. I swear, gonna be the death of me someday."
Sam only smiled in return, lazily closing his eyes. Maybe they'd deal just fine, after all.

2 Weeks Later

"Up, Up, Sammy," Dean said, tapping at the bare foot hanging off the side of the bed. He absently looked up, his gaze trailing to Sam's arms, which were leaning against the headboard as the rest of him was piled beneath the covers. Dean shook away his darkening mood, instead lightly hitting the lump under the thin sheets. Sam let out a small squeak, moving his arms down to pull the covers more tightly around him. Several strands of brown hair were splayed across the pillow, sticking out from beneath the sheets, and Sam scooted to the other side of the bed, away from his brother's reach.

Dean's mouth twisted into a small frown. He knew Sam was playing around, avoiding Dean out of jest, but still he regretted deliberately disturbing Sam's sleep; this was one of the few occurrences where Sam had been able to sleep through the entire night, nightmare-free and painless. But Sam had requested they get up early today, ready to venture out into the world.

Dean's thoughts strayed as he contemplated the day ahead of them. It'd be hard, but maybe it'd turn out for the better. After another moment of consideration, Dean lifted his hand, playfully ruffling Sam's hair before getting a tight grip on the top of the covers and heaving.

The sheets fell off Sam's body in a rush, and he yelped as the cold air hit him in full force, his body only clad in boxers and a thin undershirt. "Damn, Dean," he said, shivering. After a moment of recuperation, he slung his legs over the edge of the bed, absently glancing at the clock. "Seven in the morning," Sam groaned lightly. "What an ungodly hour."

Dean only smiled, knowing better than to think such an early hour was unfamiliar to Sam. "It was your idea, little brother."

Sam smiled at Dean, his eyes betraying how nervous he was. "Yeah, I know." Getting to his feet, he yawned, stretching his arms over his head. "But it needs to be done."

Dean implicitly disagreed, had said as much before, but remained silent as Sam took the few steps to his duffel bag and went shuffling for clothes.

The boxers Sam was wearing were beginning to slide precariously down his hips, and Sam seized the waistband before they'd managed to fall altogether.

Dean frowned, recognizing this to be something Sam has had to do quite frequently since escaping Larry. The kid had yet to gain back the weight he'd lost and, at this rate, with his brother still eating so little, Dean wasn't expecting any miracles.

Which, of course, was why they were going shopping.

Dressing in a pair of baggy jeans and a thin t-shirt, Sam threw his dirty shirt into the pile in the corner of the room, the area gradually accumulating more and more of Sam's clothes.

And that was something that bothered Dean, too. It was as if Sam's experience with Larry had changed his genetic wiring entirely. Sam wasn't as curious, was even more reserved in speech, way less shy with his body, more skeptical and observant of others, carelessly threw things to the ground when he used to clean up after himself fucking immaculately.

But, Dean conceded, there were a lot of worse things that could've changed in his brother, things that just thinking about made Dean's skin crawl. Considering everything Sammy's been through, he pulled through with flying colors and booming fireworks. Sure, he still didn't eat much, and consequently needed a whole new wardrobe, but still…

Dean smiled with light amusement. Sam noticed this, an eyebrow rising, but Dean just shook his head. "Ready, kid?"

Sam let it go, bouncing on one foot as he slid on a sock. "Two seconds."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Dean said, eyeing his watch.

Two seconds later with only two socks and a shoe on Sam's feet, Dean rushed the kid, picking him up and tossing him onto the bed. Dean snatched the shoe off the floor, grabbed Sam's foot, and put it on himself.

Sam watched him with amusement. "Now that you're there, you wanna tie it, too?"

Dean headed for the door. "No."

Sam huffed, tying it himself before heading after Dean.

John was waiting in the kitchen, a hot cup of coffee in his hand, and he watched as his two boys arrived in the small room. Draining the last of the coffee, he put the cup in the sink, turning to Sam and Dean. "We ready?"

Both nodded, and the three headed out for an adventure.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Here, try these on," Dean said, handing Sam a pair of jeans before shoeing him back into the dressing room. Sam huffed in response, courteous enough to shut the door this time as he undressed.

Dean rubbed a calloused hand over his mouth as he sat beside John in one of the small chairs provided. Walking into the mall had been treacherously difficult. Why ordinary people saw this as some sort of haven he had no idea, but it was certainly nothing but Winchester hell.

The place was ridiculously crowded, people milling about in wild search for sales and the latest trends. They'd pushed and shoved at the innocent bystanders deemed as obstacles, and Sam had had a mild panic attack when someone unintentionally brushed a hand across his backside.

But that had been the worst of it, thankfully, and they were finally getting down to the main purpose of coming here: new clothes for Sammy.

Sam opened the door, stepping out of the room to allow his audience of two to inspect the outfit. The shirt was a green and white flannel, not even a full size too big, and the jeans were dark, nearly black in color.
Dean made a hmm sound, putting his thumb and forefinger to his chin in mock consideration. After a moment of solemnity, he nodded, "Not bad at all; I approve."

Sam's eyebrow twitched, but said nothing as he turned to John.

John nodded in agreement, giving a thumbs-up.

Sam nodded with a faint, unenthused, "Awesome" before turning back into the dressing room. Before he could close the door, Dean threw a hand between the space, holding out another pair of jeans.

Sam opened the door fully and leaned on it, his expression exasperated. "Dean, I've tried on nearly this entire store."

Dean gave him an impish look. "I dunno, Sammy, I sure saw a lot of dresses back there. We could have you try those on too if you'd like."

Sam flushed furiously, his expression not at all the amused yet annoyed look Dean had been seemed more somber, sad.

"I…" Sam looked away, down at his shoes. "I'd rather not if you don't mind."

Dean felt dizzy, and he temporarily wondered if his lunch was going to make an appearance in the very near future. Why was Sam reacting like this?

Had Larry made his baby brother wear dresses?

John no longer acted as a bystander, walking to stand beside his youngest. Lightly and gently, like handling a fragile butterfly, he lifted Sam's face to meet his own. "Sammy," he started, licking his lips, trying to remain composed. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

Sam's eyes gazed deep into his father's, and his bottom lip trembled lightly. John looked so willing, so loving, that the confession almost spilled from Sam's mouth without his consent.

But no, they couldn't know, couldn't know he was even more disgusting than they'd suspected, so he shook his head, his voice barely audible as he whispered a small, "No."

After a long, tense moment, John reluctantly nodded. "Alright, son." John let go of Sam's chin, and the boy immediately looked away, instead taking the jeans from Dean's lax hand.

Dean shook his head, still shaking from Sam's previous reaction to his comment. "No, don't worry about it, Sammy—."

Sam shook his head sternly, taking the jeans and disappearing behind the door. Dean and John's gazes met, eyes blazing, speaking volumes of the shock and grief they both shared

After another moment, Sam emerged from the dressing room, his hand gripping the waistband of the jeans.

"I don't think these are going to work," Sam said, trying to sound amused as he tugged at the waistband, several inches of space between the denim and his hip. The still haunted look he carried ruined the effect, though, and Dean's face further contorted in guilt.

"I'm in full agreement," Dean said, trying to smile.

Sam toed a speck of dust on the floor. "Am I done now?" he asked timidly.

Dean nodded immediately. "Yeah, kid, you're done. Get back into your old clothes and we'll get out of here."

Sam nodded eagerly.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

John slung the finally paid-for bags of clothing over his shoulder, turning to see Sam and Dean standing side-by-side behind him, waiting for orders. With both boys accounted for, he searched for an exit.

Escape door finally in sight, he led his boys down the isle, barking out stern orders to bystanders when they didn't step aside or grant them a wide enough girth. John was still paranoid about giving his youngest personal space, knew he wasn't yet ready to be jostled into a huge crowd of people.

With that thought in mind, he shot another glance behind him, watching as Dean put a protective hand to Sam's back. Sam seemed nervous, his shoulders were hunched and his hair in his eyes. He was probably eager to be back in the small confines of their motel room, which only made John more determined to get them out of there. He quickened his pace, taking another glance to make sure his boys followed in suit.

A middle-aged man was standing directly in their path, and the place was too crowded for John to weave his family around him.

"Move," John said harshly when the man continued to stand there, merely staring at him. The man's gaze absently looked over John's shoulder to see Sam, and his eyebrows shot upward.

The man took several steps in Sam's direction. "Hey, kid, are you o—."

John put a firm hand on the man's chest before he could get any further. "He's fine, now go away," John commanded, pushing the man aside and continuing forward, not bothering to look back.

"Hey, buddy," John heard Dean growl out behind him, and he hastily turned to see Dean with a fistful of the man's shirt, his eyes menacing with Sam cringing behind him. "You got a problem?"

Dean asked, shaking the man by the collar.

The man whimpered, seemingly confused, and his gaze flickered from John and Dean then back to Sam. "Of course not. I just, I just…"

"What?"

The man gulped, shaking his head vigorously. His voice shrunk down to a whisper. "N-nothing."

Dean hissed in annoyance, throwing the man several feet away. "Then keep the fuck back."

The man nodded, near hysterics as he spun and swiftly turned a corner, out of sight.

A small crowd had stopped to watch the spectacle, and John quickly wrapped his fingers around Sam's bony wrist, hauling him to the exit.

As predicted, Dean wasn't a second behind them when John turned to glance back and soon they were outside and breathing their own air.

They clamored into the Impala, Dean's hand resting on Sam's back the entire time, hurrying him forward. He turned back to the mall's entrance one more time before sitting in the backseat with Sammy, John already revving up the car.

Time to get the fuck out of there.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sam's lips pursed, his long fingers absently peeling at the crust on his sandwich. "I think we overreacted a bit," he admitted.

Dean rolled his eyes, just moments ago predicting his brother would say something like that. He shook his head, making sure Sam saw the movement before saying, "That man came at us with the intent of touching you," adding the emphasis as if it meant something crazy and senseless. Dean shrugged. "We were just being cautious."

"You two never used to be this easily upset about a harmless situation!"

John shook his head, taking a sip of Coca Cola before saying, "Your brother's right, Sam, we couldn't take any risks."

Sam was silent for a moment, his eyes locked on his already nibbled on sandwich. He tore off one side of the crust. "I think you're both paranoid." I can take care of myself, he wanted to say, but, could he really? Sam pouted sadly. Maybe he himself thought he could handle another human, but that didn't mean anything. Ever since Larry—and especially since Joe—Dean and his father have been suspicious and distrustful of anyone in sight. It wasn't a week ago that they'd gone to a local grocery store and contended with another "predator". Sam had been looking through the large variety of cereals when a man came up to him, asking for directions to the dairy isle. And what surprised Sam was that not even once had the man focused on Sam's scars and, at that moment, it'd made him so genuinely happy he wanted to cry.

But not a word had passed Sam's lips before Dean was shoving the man into the nearest wall, his fist caught tightly in the front of the man's shirt, accusations spilling from his mouth.

To say the man was shaken was an understatement, and Sam didn't doubt that the man at the mall today was just as terrified.

Sam sighed. "Listen, I appreciate your concern on my behalf, but I really don't think we should be accusing people on the groundless assumption that they're all rapists and murderers."

The corner of John's lips curved downward. "It's just a matter of protecting you, son. We can't take the chance of letting something happen to you."

Sam's mouth twitched, and his hands quivered. Incidentally, he tore the sandwich in his grasp completely in half. "I'm not defenseless, Dad," Sam said pointedly, his own irritation rising. Ever since Larry, he'd grown much more subdued in his anger. Everything just seemed so trivial in comparison to everything else he'd been through and was just pointless to show such strong emotions about.

So Sam surprised himself when he detected the level of frustration in his voice. If he had to admit it, it hurt to know his family had such little faith in him. It was as if there was no longer anything he could do himself and that someone always had to come to his rescue.

Dean seemed to notice Sam's uncharacteristic annoyance, and quickly stood, walking behind the small island in the middle of the kitchen to reach the refrigerator. "You want something with your sandwich, Sammy?" he asked, pulling out a Coke.

Sam looked down at the now crustless, ripped sandwich in his hands, putting the two pieces back on his plate. "No thanks, I'm not hungry," he said, sliding off the stool and walking out into the living room.

Dean and John migrated at nearly the same moment, and Sam couldn't help as the twitch of irritation increased. Did they think he'd be attacked in their own motel room? Like someone would burst through the walls and just start ripping his clothes off, fucking Sam right on the damn couch? What, did they think he was too defenseless and weak to stop it in time for his brother and father to get from the kitchen to the crime scene?

Sam sighed.

Both men sat on either side of him on the couch, and he beat down the urge to get up and walk away. Instead, he took his shirt off, the material becoming itchy and uncomfortable on his skin.

He tossed the shirt onto the rickety table in front of them, his torso bare. If they ever needed a reminder to protect little Sammy, his scars were sure as hell a good one.

Dean's mouth twitched. "Still not used to your clothes, Sammy?" he asked his voice laced with sorrow.

Sam shrugged. "It used to be worse."

Dean twitched. Used to. As in, back when he and John hadn't been there to protect Sam, had been left with freaking strangers to take care of him. "Maybe we can find some sort of moisturizer that will help."

"Maybe."

There was a moment of silence, and Dean nodded absently, just for something to do.

Licking his lips, Dean felt oddly nervous. He could tell Sam was unhappy, probably felt overindulged by the older Winchesters. But he had to make sure Sammy was safe, right?

Dean scratched awkwardly at the nape of his neck, feeling at a loss. Suddenly, he hung his head limp in front of him, sighing. "God, I wish this had never happened to you."

Sam snorted. "Not like I'm having a pleasurable time with it either."

Dean ran a hand over his face. "Sometimes I think that no other kind of torture could ever compare to…" He paused and swallowed. "Rape."

Sam turned to him incredulously. "Really? I can think of a few things worse than rape. Like being a fucking cripple."

Dean's expression looked horrified. "I'd rather you be a cripple than a rape victim any day of the fucking week."

Sam huffed dubiously. "Speak for your goddamn self. If you were sodomized by a huge-ass pole for an hour, then the next day you'd know how it feels to be a cripple. It ain't too damn fun." Sam muttered under his breath, "Not that I was allowed to move around much anyway. Except when I was taking it through the ass or entertaining him with slutty costumes."

Sam blinked, evidently not realizing until too late that his words had been audible for the other two Winchesters. He slapped himself on the forehead, guilt instantly seeping through him. "I'm sorry; I really, really didn't mean to say that. That was completely out of line."

"No," Dean said promptly, though his color was a bit green. "It's okay, i-it's okay." His mouth puckered, and it looked like he was going to burst into tears at any moment like a ticking time bomb nearing detonation. His eyes were glazed, and his jaw was set tight to stop the coming onslaught.

"S-son." Sam turned to see John's just as pained expression, and the guilt Sam felt grew tenfold. How could he so easily allow himself to say those vulgar things? Dean and John hadn't been through what he had, leaving them ignorant of the warped, twisted mind Sam had adopted while Larry was using him.

John put a calloused hand on Sam's cheek, his thumb rubbing along his smooth jaw.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Sam said shamefully. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay, Sammy, you did nothing wrong." John licked his lips, just as much a ticking time bomb as Dean right now. "I feel like your brother and I are…a-are widely ignorant of how much you went through...before." From behind, Dean put a strong hand on Sam's shoulder. "If you…if you w-want to…talk about it," John shivered, ignoring the tears building in his eyes. "W-we would really like to hear it."

Sam blinked, stupefied as he observed his father with wide eyes. He wanted to know what had happened to his youngest son? He wanted to hear all the gory, disgusting details of what that kinky fucker made him do? Should Sam allow his family to witness his pain so freely? What if it only caused them more pain? It would only shame Sam, bruise his self-confidence and plummet any credibility he had with his brother and father.

"We love you, Sammy. Despite what you think, we could never find you gross or unworthy." Startled, Sam spun around, finding Dean with a grim, yet heartwarming smile. "After all, you've always been your own biggest critic."

Dean's atypical verbal emotion stunned Sam into silence, and he could only gulp at the air in response. He sounded so genuine and sincere, so open to Sam's pain.

"I don't understand why you would want to listen to something so disgusting. Larry was a bigger pervert than you could imagine."

Dean's hand on Sam's shoulder tightened. "Help us realize. Help us understand your pain."

Sam put a hand to his eye, shaking his head. "You don't know what you're asking."

"You don't have to, Sam…" Dean looked down in thought. "In fact, you never have to. But…if you ever need someone to talk to, if you ever want to get this off your chest," Dean's smile grew more genuine, "Father and I will always be waiting for you on the sidelines."

With that, Dean stood, and John did the same, following his oldest back into the kitchen, leaving Sam to stew in his thoughts. The words were bouncing around in his head, echoing ever louder until it felt like he would burst. His family was…so inviting.

That night, Sam approached his brother and father, hesitantly nearing them as they watched television on the couch. They were always so good at bonding with each other; their relationship was so effortless, and Sam couldn't help the pang of envy that ran through him.

He shook off the thoughts, standing beside the edge of the sofa until the two Winchesters looked up.

Probably because of Sam's odd expression, both men stood, eyeing him with concern.

Dean spoke first. "Is everything okay, Sammy?" He put his hand to his forehead. "You look pale. Do you feel sick?"

Sam shooed away the hand. Swallowing, he removed the other hand from behind his back, producing an envelope.

Dean and John watched in obvious bewilderment as it was held out in front of them, and Dean took the white envelope, looking at it dubiously.

"The contents contain every detail of what Larry did to me while I was with him. I…" Sam looked away. "I don't want to be there when you…find out, when you realize all the things that I…" He spun on his feet and turned around, walking back to his room. "Do with it as you please." He closed the door behind him, not once looking back.

2 hours later

A knock resounded through Sam's room, and he turned his head in the direction of the source, a light knocking on the door. A request for permission to enter, obviously.

Sam nestled further into his covers on the bed. Should he act like he's asleep? Dean and John will probably lose the intensity of whatever emotions they had if he waited until morning to hear what they had to say. Maybe it'd be for the best if he just didn't respond.

So it surprised him when he called out a confident, if somewhat apprehensive, "Come in."

The door opened, revealing two red-faced Winchesters as they entered and closed the door quietly behind them. Their faces showed the remnants of tears and smeared snot, leaving a thin gleam on their otherwise flawless skin. Had they been tears of sorrow, or disgust?

"So, uhh…" Sam ran a shaky hand through his hair, attempting an amused chuckle. "Pretty gross, right?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed emotionlessly, and Sam flinched. So they were tears of disgust.

From his peripheral vision, Sam watched Dean cross the space between them and kneel in front of him on the bed, John standing behind him. Sam stole a peek at Dean's expression, shocked to see his eyes suddenly blazing, solemn and determined.

"What Larry did was really fucking sick, and I hope he's rotting in hell for it."

Sam twitched, looking away as a humorless grin spread across his mouth. "There have to be two people to have sex, Dean. It's not just him that would be rotting."

Dean shook his head fervently. "You're wrong, Sammy. How can you not see that? You did nothing wrong."

"Dean, I'm sixteen and have had more sex than people thrice my age. Not to mention sex that is extremely fucked up."

"What, and that's somehow your fault? You were chained to a bed against your will and forced to participate in actions you wanted no part of." Dean's hands were moving wildly to get his point across. "Sam, you're the victim."

Sam's gaze lowered, and he muttered darkly, "Yeah, well my body responded to it like it was having a blast."

"That's not your fault," Dean said, desperation leaking through his words.

John added to the conversation, speaking solemnly. "That's just the way the male anatomy works, Sam. It has nothing to do with whether or not you enjoyed it."

Sam said nothing, keeping his gaze on the wall behind the older Winchesters, and Dean sighed, fighting the tears. "Please, Sammy," he begged. "Don't throw all of this pain on your shoulders and not let us help you."

Sam looked directly to Dean and his father. "I want to get drunk."

Dean's mouth stopped mid-movement, and he blinked, the words slowing processing in his mind. He blinked again, now gaping at his little brother. "W-Wha…"

What?

"Uh…," he began astutely, eyeing Sam's expression carefully. "Do you, uh, do you really think that's a good idea, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "You two will be there to make sure I don't get myself into trouble; there'd be nothing to worry about."

John sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch Sam's legs that hid beneath the sheets. He licked his lips, gaze solely on his youngest. "Sam, what's this really all about? Why do you want to get drunk?" He wanted to add as an afterthought, "You're not even of age," but he knew Dean had been drinking long before he hit 21. It seemed unfair to not allow Sam to do the same.

John suppressed a sigh. While that was indeed the case, the two situations were…astronomically different.

Sam discreetly avoided their gazes, repositioning his legs to pull his knees to his chest, his arms hanging limply by his sides. "There were lots of times Larry would come back to the room drunk and, when he did, he just acted a lot…different."

"Sammy, I don't think that's a very good reason," Dean said immediately. "I see where you're going with this, and you shouldn't want to get drunk just to justify Larry's actions. Sammy, I've been drunk but I've never wanted to hurt someone like he hurt you. Larry did it because he was a sadistic bastard, not because he liked beer."

Sam's eyes twitched. "I, I know that."

"Then…what?" John prodded. "In what way was Larry different from usual?"

"…He was, uh…" Sam stopped, and a light shade of pink tinted his cheeks. "Hornier."

Dean looked at him with squinted eyes. "So you're telling me you want to get drunk so you can get horny?"

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring the twinge of hurt that had emerged from Dean's comment. Did Dean really think that little of him?

"Come on, Dean…you know me better than that." He looked down, playing with the sheets spread across his legs. "I just…I just feel like because he was hornier he didn't have such heavy burdens on his shoulders, like he forgot all about them."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Dean said, anger filling his voice. "Sam, are you sympathizing with that bastard because he had a lot of shit to deal with? Seriously?"

"No, Dean, that's not what I'm saying at all." Sam huffed loudly. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Please stop making these baseless assumptions." It was starting to edge on Sam's nerves. "Larry was…sloppier, more careless, and, consequently, had a better time when we…" Sam barely stopped himself in time. "You know, so I feel like, if I got drunk, it'd help me forget all the bad things that happened to me, too." He shrugged, voice quieter. "Temporarily, at least."

The older men were eerily silent now, and Sam squirmed under the suddenly surprised, sympathizing eyes.

John swallowed loudly. They should've known better; Sam didn't want to get drunk to get horny, and he didn't want to get drunk just to be rebellious. He wanted to feel normal again.

Dean licked his lips, scratching shamefully at his head. "I…I'm sorry, I, uh, hadn't considered…that." He hung his head in shame.

"It's okay, really." Sam shrugged, head also low. "I didn't articulate myself very well, so…" He let the rest go unsaid, and John placed a comforting hand on his bent knee, squeezing lightly.

"I think we could get you something, Sammy."

Sam allowed a small smile. "Thank you."

XxXxXxXxXxX

True to his word, John had driven over to a nearby supermarket to purchase a six-pack. Both he and Dean had nearly instantaneously agreed going to a bar was completely out of the question and, with all three of them alone in their little motel room, the elder Winchesters were significantly less nervous about Sam's safety.

Albeit, that's not to say Sam was completely off Death's door.

Sam abruptly dipped forward in his seat on the couch, nearly falling to the floor if it hadn't been for Dean's strong arms keeping him upright.

"Holy fucckkk," he slurred, clutching at his head.

It was barely noon and Sam was sitting beside a mere three empty beer cans, drunk off his ass.

"Whoa there, tiger," Dean said, easing Sam back onto the cushion.

"N-No, I wa-wanna," he hiccupped, "e-explore."

John chuckled heartily from where he sat at the table, watching as Sam stood on unsteady, wobbly legs. "Careful there, Sammy; you don't want to fall."

Sam put one foot in front of the other, shooting his father a glare. "O-Obvi-iousl-ly."

Sam took another step, tripping on the empty space at his foot. Dean's arm shot out and wrapped around his thin waist, just in time before he became airborne.

Dean laughed as he pulled Sam back onto his feet, holding his shoulders before certain the boy could stand on his own.

"Uhhh," Sam stayed standing, not making another attempt to walk. Hiccupping, he giggled, smacking a hand over his mouth.

Dean swallowed, his throat dry. Despite the intoxicated Sam's both humorous and extremely adorable antics, his stomach was rumbling with anxiety. How was this for Sam? Did it relieve some of his pain, some of his burden?

The questions in his head were overpowering, and he let a question slip. "So Sammy, how you feeling?" He eyed his brother carefully. "Doing okay?"

"I f-feel real-ly, uhhh." Sam stumbled again, this time catching himself on an armchair. His head was spinning, he couldn't think straight, and the entire room was a blur. "I ne-ne-need to s-sit down."

At his side, Dean took most of Sam's weight and carried him, sitting him in a chair beside John. Dean knelt in front of him, a hand on Sam's knee.

Sam hiccupped again, and he had a slightly miserable expression on his face. "I do-don't like th-this."

Dean slumped. He'd been hoping Sam would find the temporary reprieve he'd been hoping for. He allowed a small, partly genuinely laugh to pass his lips though, Sam's usually artful speech atypically slurred and messy.

"What do you not like about it?" He asked as Sam rested his head on his palm.

"Uhhh…" Sam began. "Well, I s-see a-a-at lea-ast th-three-ee Dean's at the mo-moment and th-they ea-each have…" Sam's eyes were following an erratic pattern on Dean's face, and he could only guess at what the kid saw. "Tw-twelve eyes."

Dean snorted with a grin. "Well, that's a new record." He stood and grabbed a nearby chair, flipping it around and sitting on it backwards. "Anything else you don't like?"

Sam's lips were puckered in a grimace. "Y-yeah. I…" He let some of his hair fall into his eyes, the one characteristic thing he's done while drunk. "I j-just fe-feel ki-kinda…vuln…vulner…" Sam pouted, scrunching his nose as his tongue failed him.

"Vulnerable?" John aided.

"Y-Yeah, th-that's the o-one."

Dean nodded with a sad expression. "Alcohol can do that to you, kid. Thankfully, you're only home, so there's no harm in it, but…" Without his consent, his mind filled with images of an exposed, drunken Sam, defenseless at a party, and all the vile things that could come of it. Dean shook his head, ridding himself of the thoughts. "You don't know what kind of people would take advantage of that kind of weakness."

Sam looked at him with a tilt in his head, his face almost appearing sober. "I don't?"

Dean caught the mistake he'd made, feeling suddenly queasy. "Well…" he said in a small voice, "I may be mistaken on that part."

John also looked particularly despondent at that, head facing down at the table.

Any sobriety that had emerged on Sam's face vanished, and he sat up straighter in his chair.

"However," Sam began, holding up a finger as he referred back to a previous conversation. "On the b-bright side, de-despite my un-unfort-tunate-te in-intox-cation, I do n-not feel the urge to-to," he hiccupped, "h-have ho-horny s-sex with bo-boys."

Dean cringed, and he suddenly needed to reach out to Sam, feel him by his side, remind himself he was here.

He patted Sam's knee, squeezing. "Yeah, Sammy, that's definitely a good thing."

Sam nodded vigorously, obviously in agreement.

Despite his excitement, he was beginning to demonstrate signs of sluggishness, and he rested his head on the table, sighing loudly. "Be-being dr-runk is re-re-real-ly t-t-ti..." Sam grunted.

"Tiring?"

"Yes."

John chuckled, running a hand through Sam's hair. "So it's safe to assume you won't be doing this again anytime in the near future?"

Sam's finger went up again, head still resting. "Y-you, my-my go-ood man, a-are co-correct."

Sam's hand came back down, instead scratching absently at his stomach and chest.

Dean winced. "Shirt starting to feel itchy?"

Sam groaned in complaint. "Fu-Fuck y-yes." He stopped scratching, instead holding out a limp arm to Dean.

Quickly reading his intent, Dean grabbed the hem of his shirt and slipped it smoothly off his torso, pulling the holes out of his head and arms.

Shirt removed, Sam's head fell instantly back on the table, eyes shut. He sighed in contentment. "M-much be-bett-tter."

"Glad to hear baby brother," Dean said. A few moments later and a light snore was heard, and Dean had to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh. John did the same, his grin wide and happy.

John stood. "Guess we gotta get him in bed."

Dean nodded, easily positioning Sam into his arms, letting the boy's head rest in the nape of his neck. He barely contained another chuckle, smirking at John. "We should've taken pictures."

John could only laugh.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Next Morning

"I think I'm dying, for real this time."

Sam knelt directly over the toilet, having just finished another bout of vomiting. His voice was still shaky, his expression appearing groggy and pained.

"Like you were the past four times you said that?" Dean asked with a smile, a large hand rubbing circles into Sam's back.

"Those were false alarms; this one is genuine. Call the police."

Dean grimaced sympathetically. He'd had his own experience of hangovers here and there. He knew the pain. "Sorry, Sammy, no can do. Once the meds kick in, it'll be more bearable. Just be patient."

Sam groaned, finally confident enough to lean back, resting against the wall opposite the toilet. John was watching sympathetically from the entrance, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pocket.

Dean grinned, knocking his knuckles against Sam's limp ones. "So, do you remember anything from last night."

Sam looked pensive, taking it under consideration. His eyebrows drew downward, and he looked to Dean. "Aside from the fact I actually started getting drunk in the daytime, yet slept all night?"

Dean snickered. "Yeah, you're a real lightweight."

Sam groaned, probably both from embarrassment and the constant gunfire going off in his head. After a moment, his face went back to looking pensive. Another moment later, and he shook his head, shrugging. "Sorry, I really don't remember anything. Was I that bad?"

Dean sniggered, ruffling Sam's hair. "You were hilarious, dude. Couldn't put one foot in front of the other to save your ass."

Sam flushed, hiding behind his long bangs in embarrassment. "I'm definitely never doing that again," he muttered.

Dean smiled lightly then, sympathetic, and he glanced at John to see he held the same expression.

John stepped foot into the small bedroom, kneeling in front of Sam's seated figure. "You know, Sammy…we realize that getting you drunk didn't accomplish what we wanted it to, but…" Sam was watching John with a curious, powerful gaze. "If there's ever anything else we can do to make you feel more comfortable in your own skin, just tell us. We…we just want you well again, Sammy." John's gaze was desperate, imploring Sam with his uncharacteristically kind and heartfelt words.

Dean nodded vigorously in agreement, and Sam offered a small smile, nodding. "I, I will." His smile grew as he considered both John and Dean's words. "Th-Than…" He paused, his eyes meeting both elder Winchesters' intense, determined gazes. They would go to the ends of the Earth for him. They were willing to bleed and die for him just to keep him happy. It almost made Sam forget that people like Larry and Joe even existed. When Sam had a family like this, what else could he really want?

A tear fell from Sam's eye. "Thank you."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX