“Sammy, we have to go.” Dean’s fingers curled around Sam’s wrist in a deadly grip as he pulled his brother away from the rapidly cooling corpse on the apartment floor.

 

“No, Jess, Jess!” Sam screamed, fighting to get back into the apartment, fighting Dean with all he had. He shoved against Dean, tried to break Dean’s hold of his wrist, dug his nails into Dean’s shoulders as he tried to scale the barrier Dean had become.

 

But the elder brother was relentless, showing no remorse as he steeled his brother away from his apartment, ignoring as his brother begged for his girlfriend, his girlfriend murdered in their apartment, his girlfriend still bleeding out.

 

But that didn’t matter. Jessica didn’t matter. All that mattered was his brother. Dean had to get him away. Pulling Sam against his chest, he bodily pushed his brother out the door, Sam’s pitiful cries ringing in his ears. Finally snapping at his brother’s antics, Dean gave Sam an angry shove, pushing him out of the apartment and causing both of them to lose their balance and tumble down the steps. They landed in a tangled heap on the lawn.

 

Recovering first, Dean looked at Sam with murder in his eyes. “Don’t be a brat. She’s dead now and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Sam’s eyes were full of such intense sorrow and agonising pain that Dean had to look away, unable to stand it.

 

“Jess,” Sam whispered, as if saying her name would magically bring her back to him. Making no move to rise, Sam turned his head towards the apartment, hoping that maybe it had all been a simple mistake and Jessica would come down those steps to ask him what he was doing on the ground. But instead, Sam was a prisoner in his own mind, a slave to the repetitive images flooding him of Jess broken and bleeding on their bedroom floor. He was unable to keep his bottom lip from quivering against the sob threatening to escape him.

 

Dean roughly turned Sam’s face to look at him. “Forget her,” Dean snarled. “She was a bitch anyway.” Ignoring his brother’s sobs and breathless denials, he commanded “C’mon. We’re leaving.”

 

Loss and longing and a sudden loneliness paralysed Sam’s tongue, so overwhelming no words could encompass them and he could only follow numbly as Dean led him away with an emptiness gnawing at his heart.

 

***

 

The motel where they’d agreed to meet was about an hour out of town. It had been a deliberate choice; after all, they hadn’t wanted Sammy to get any forewarning of their presence. Dean let the two of them in, giving Sam a slight push in the back when he appeared reluctant to enter. Then leaning causally against the closed door, he watched Sam appraisingly, as if he was expecting to see a good show unfold.

 

Before Sam could ask him what was going on, a new voice rang out. “Welcome home Sammy.” It had been four years since Sam had heard that voice in person, but between his nightly sojourns down the memory lane he’d rather forget and the small trill of fear in his stomach, Sam immediately knew that it was his father. His breathing hitched as his mind flashed back to his terrifying childhood, cataloguing in painfully vivid detail each traumatic event over the years.

 

No, not again. He thought he had managed to get out, to leave his past behind and put himself in the present. To leave behind the murders and depravity for a real chance at a normal life. And for a few blissful moments in time, he had. He had had it all. A full ride to Stanford, a beautiful and loving girlfriend on his arm, and an exciting opportunity to enter law school. Sam couldn’t have asked for anything more, nor had he wanted to. He had learned from a very young age to take whatever he could get. But with his past life refusing to let him go, throwing chains around him as they tried to drag him back, Sam should’ve known it was too good to be true. That it had been too much to hope for.

 

“D-Dad?” Sam watched as his father skulked around in the shadows, suddenly all too aware that Dean had planted himself directly behind him, ready to grab him the instant his body turned from violent shaking to panicked flight. Sam tried to calm his frazzled nerves, knowing it wouldn’t go well for him if he tried to bolt. Instead, Sam kept his eyes on his father (he had learned never to turn his back on his father) but addressed his brother “I thought you said that Dad was missing?”

 

“Did I?” Dean asked breezily.

 

“You said you wanted me to help you find him.” Sam’s stomach was dropping further and further as a small but persistent nagging suspicion began niggling at the back of his mind.

 

John finally came into view. “We just missed you Sammy.”

 

Breathing heavily at finally seeing that face again, the face of his nightmares and the cause of half of his pain growing up (Dean being the cause of the other half), Sam took an involuntary step backwards, inadvertently stepping into Dean’s hold. Sam tried desperately to calm his rapidly beating heart. He looked away from John’s face only to see the blood coating his father’s hands and clothes, confirming his worst fears.

 

“My god… you… J-Jess?” He almost didn’t recognise his own voice. It sounded hoarse and crushed. A far cry from the jovial tone when he and Jess had celebrated, as Jess had put it, ‘his awesome LSAT victory’. And to think Sam would never hear her sweet voice ever again. He idly wondered if Jessica would still have been alive if he had agreed to go with Dean that fateful day, agreed to leave her behind when Dean asked it of him.

 

“She was keeping you away from us. Your family.” Dean explained, putting his chin on his shoulder in what he clearly thought was a comforting gesture.

 

Sam shrugged him off angrily. “You bastards!” In retrospect, he would always question this moment as being the point in time he lost his sanity – launching himself at his father with no plan in mind, only pain and fury dictating his actions. But the elder Winchesters moved as one, forcing Sam to his knees and flanking him, preventing any chance of escape.

 

“Turning on your own family,” John clucked disappointingly, raising his hand and slapping his youngest.

 

Sam saw stars, his teeth instinctively closing over his tongue and filling his mouth with blood. He didn’t bother trying to keep in the whimper of pain that escaped him. He knew his father and brother liked to hear the sounds he made. Knew that if they didn’t hear his screams and wails, they’d just keep going and going until they did. Maybe this way, things might go better for him and they wouldn’t hurt him as much. He was still having nightmares from the last time. Sam remembered not being able to move for an entire month. Who knew his brother and father could come up with so many inventive ways to use a blindfold, whip, dildo, butt plug, cock ring, and a set of chains?

 

“Just like your mother.” John breathed heavily, leaving a smear of blood – Jessica’s blood – as he rubbed his hand against the red mark on Sam’s cheek.

 

Sam closed his eyes briefly as he felt a pang in his heart. The same pang he always felt whenever his mother was mentioned. Sam vaguely remembered hearing the story on a night of drunken debauchery, a story his father had enjoyed recounting to him as Sam had been tormented by John’s invading phallus. His parents had been childhood sweethearts, his mother marrying his father as soon as he returned from Vietnam. But reading between the lines of his father’s account, Sam guessed that Mary hadn’t known that the war had changed John, that her new husband had become as twisted and damaged as surely as the sky was blue. Because why else would Mary have tried to leave John? Tried to take her sons away to safety? Why his father hadn’t allowed it. “Goodbye mummy,” John had told him gleefully as he began twisting and squeezing Sam’s genitals. And as Sam had cried and begged John (his father wilfully misunderstanding Sam’s pleas to stop as encouragement to continue), John had assured him that Sam was flesh and blood, and because of that John would never allow Sam to go the same way as his mother. Sam wondered if Mary was still alive today, would she have been able to protect him from this debasement and degradation.

 

“So what now?” Sam asked in a small voice that shivered and shook, as if he honestly did not want to know the answer.

 

Bending, Dean lifted the shaggy brown hair covering Sam’s neck, trailing soft kisses along the supple white skin of his neck, moving to his ear where he nibbled gently at the lobe. “Things go back to the way they were before,” he said seductively, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Nausea swirled up from his middle, wrapping around his throat and threatening to choke him. “What if I don’t want it to?” Still with the whisper. Where was that strong and confident voice that Jess had fallen in love with?

 

Sam howled as John put his foot in his stomach, clearly disliking Sam’s response. His cry was immediately silenced when Dean knelt behind him, clamping his hand over Sam’s mouth and pulling him tightly against his chest, preventing any movement from his brother. “You belong with us. You belong to us.” With his free hand, Dean pulled at Sam’s shirt, tongue exploring the exposed skin with eager fascination.

 

“Your brother’s right Sammy.” John joined his sons kneeling on the floor, pushing Dean’s hand away from Sam’s mouth and replacing it with his lips. The kiss was hard and hungry as John nipped at his youngest’s lips, swiping his tongue across them in a quick taste before suckling gently.  

 

Sam broke away. “No Daddy, please don’t.” Sam was surprised how quickly he had fallen back into the old conversations. How quickly his brother and father had reduced him back to the four year old shaking in his proverbial boots at the first time. Oh God. Hadn’t eighteen years of abuse been enough? To think of how close he had been to being free from all of this just left a bitter aftertaste in his throat.

 

John’s lips pressed together in a hard line. But his angry face was contradicted by the tenderness with which he stroked Sam’s hair. “It’s the family business.”

 

Strangely enough, it was the tenderness that had Sam more worried, had his skin crawling.

 

“What you’re doing isn’t a family business,” Sam whispered brokenly. “You can’t just go around killing whoever you want.” You can’t just keep on raping me.

 

“Of course we can,” Dean replied easily as his hands began to caress Sam’s chest, paying special attention to his nipples. Even with his shirt still on, Sam reacted easily to the stimulation (Dean had always loved his brother’s responsiveness). “It’s fun.” Then as if knowing what Sam had been thinking, Dean added “All of it.”

 

“I told you when I left, I don’t want to do this anymore,” Sam pleaded, resuming his attempt to free himself from his brother’s hold. He wasn’t four years old anymore. He was no longer a victim. Jess had taught him that.

 

Sam yelped as Dean gave his nipples a particularly vicious squeeze, stopping his resistance. Dean spoke over Sam’s mewls as he looked towards his father. “I told you it was a bad idea, letting him go to school.”

 

Sam could hear the shrug in his father’s voice. “I thought he’d fall flat on his ass so fast that he’d be crawling back to us before the first semester was up. Begging us to take him back. How was I supposed to know he’d last this long? Besides, it would’ve been sweet if it’d worked.”

 

Dean scoffed at his father’s words before licking Sam’s bare shoulder, letting him know that his next words were directed at him. “Poor little Jessica. Gutted. Bleeding. In fear. In pain.”

 

Sam let out a guttural scream as he renewed his efforts to free himself. Adrenaline mixed with rage as he shoved backwards, trying to push Dean off balance. John delivered another swift kick to his son’s stomach and Sam quickly sank back into Dean’s hold, spent.

 

“Sammy, when will you learn?” Dean asked him sternly, like a parent scolding a child. Even though Sam couldn’t see him, Dean still shook his head disapprovingly. “Jessica may be dead but there are still billions of people out there in the world.” Dean let the threat sink in.

 

“Won’t stop you from killing, will it?” Sam asked bitterly as he recovered from the pain, the horror of what was happening to him, what was going to happen to him, still flooding through him in increasing waves.

 

“No,” John answered matter of factly. “But you wouldn’t have to watch.”

 

Of its own accord, Sam’s mind took him back to one of his most painful childhood memories. He had been five years old at the time and he had been trying to run away. He hadn’t gotten very far, only to the bus stop around the block, but when his father and brother caught up with him, John’s fury had been a sight to behold. After taking Sam back into the privacy of their own home, John had grabbed Sam by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up, shaking him so hard Sam was afraid his neck would snap. Then still keeping Sam lifted with one hand, John used the other to punch Sam in the stomach as hard as he could, as many times as he could. Sam remembered his voice growing hoarser with each fist connecting with his abdomen. It was Dean who had stopped John’s abuse, reasoning with John and convincing him that “Sammy wouldn’t be much fun if you killed him. I don’t like doing it to dead bodies.” They had left Sam lying on the floor curled up in a ball, waves of massive pain rushing over him as every breath threatened to be his last.

 

But John Winchester’s wrath had not been over that day. He and Dean had returned home an hour later with Mr Simmons – the kindergarten teacher who was always so nice to him – in tow. And they had forced Sam to watch as they ritually extracted Mr Simmon’s innards before him, hitting him if he turned his head away or dared to close his eyes. “You watch when you’re taken,” (back then, Sam hadn’t understood what it meant to be ‘taken’) “and you watch every minute now.” Sam had screamed and cried and carried on, but it had only served to fuel his father and brother’s excitement and fervour. Then dragging Sam by his throat to his bed, they had used the man’s blood as lubricant and to paint Sam’s hole, taking turns holding Sam and moving him for the other, all the while threatening that the next time, it would be one of Sammy’s little friends.

 

It had been a painful but effective lesson. Because except for the slight reprieve at Stanford (he had always wondered why his father had decided to let him go; after all, he had been kept on a very short leash for most of his life), Sam had never tried to run away again. Nor had he ever dared to tell anyone what went on behind closed doors at the Winchester home. Not when he knew the consequences. He just said yes every time his father and brother asked him that dreaded question “Would you like to play a game with us Sammy?” But sometimes they hadn’t even waited until Sam misbehaved to punish him. They were unpredictable like that. Leaving him one minute terrified about when the next punishment session would be, then turning around the next and being kind and gentle with him. They had thoroughly enjoyed their little mind games, and as Sam grew older and understood more, they had begun a new game between themselves on who could force Sam to lose control of his own body faster, loving how Sam would wallow pathetically in self-hatred as his own body betrayed him.

 

John’s harsh grasp on his chin brought Sam back to the present as John turned his head so Sam had no choice but to look straight at him. His face only inches from him, his breath was uncomfortably moist and warm on Sam’s skin. “Are you going to behave now?”

 

Sam didn’t even need to answer. The defeat was evident in his eyes. As was the delicious horror blooming in those soft brown eyes. John smiled, letting Dean know that they had won.

 

A matching grin stole across Dean’s face. Standing, he brought his brother with him, pleased that Sam was compliant and unresisting. He brought Sam’s body as close to his chest as he could, guiding Sam’s head down to rest on his shoulder. “Good boy Sammy.” Removing a small knife from his back pocket, he began cutting Sam’s clothes from him.

 

Smirking slightly, John’s nimble fingers massaged Sam’s inner thighs, slowly working his way up. Sam let out an involuntary moan as John popped open the button on his pants and pulled down the zipper, reaching his hand in and teasingly massaging Sam’s limp member. Falling quickly into the sensations, Sam vaguely heard the sound of another zipper being undone behind him.

 

“You see, you do like this,” John gloated as Sam’s sex slowly but surely hardened, “I don’t know why you even bother pretending like you don’t want it.”

 

“What a little slut,” Dean agreed, then adopting a mock baby voice, he whispered in Sam’s ear “You’re so willing to play whenever we want, aren’t you? Whore.”

 

“Our whore,” John corrected, “Our slut. Our little bitch.” He hooked his fingers under the waistband of Sam’s jeans and underwear, pulling both down in one shot. Without needing to be told, Dean lifted his brother a few centimetres off the ground, allowing John to untangle the pants and briefs from Sam’s ankles.

 

Sam blushed as he was stripped naked for his brother and father’s pleasure, surprised that after all he had been put through, he could still feel embarrassment. The fact that the other two remained mostly clothed did not escape him either. Sam knew it for what it was – a power play.

 

Once Sam’s feet had touched the ground again, Dean took the opportunity to lower Sam slightly down onto his massive cock in one long hard thrust. The invading cock was so overwhelming – Sam hadn’t had something this large in him since he had left for Stanford – that he struggled to get off. But Dean held firm, burying himself even further into his brother’s tight heat and igniting every nerve ending until his entire body was roaring its delight.

 

Dean could barely think in complete sentences as he began pumping slowly in and out of Sam. He had missed this in all the time they had been apart – sex with Sammy was one of the few things, apart from killing, that the three of them had done together as a family – and they certainly had a lot of catching up to do.

 

As Sam was stretched and burned with each of Dean’s intrusive movements, John took Sam in his mouth, beginning by wrapping his lips around the head and gently sucking. As Sam cried tears of pain and helplessness, his breathing deteriorating to something ragged and broken, John wrapped his hand around the base of Sam’s cock, working it up and down as he slowly took more of Sam in his mouth, tongue swirling around the shaft as he continued. Unwanted need, bliss and hunger shot through his body, and Sam cursed himself for being as weak and helpless as a baby in its mother’s arms, powerless to defend himself against the perversions being done to him.

 

Sam closed his eyes, trying to imagine it wasn’t his brother and father currently sending him through the throes of passion. But then remembering the rules – “Your eyes never leave the face of the man taking you” – Sam’s eyes flew open again, catching John’s lecherous and lust filled gaze looking up at him. He clenched his fists and bit his lips as he felt his orgasm drawing nearer. He would not cry out as if he had enjoyed this.

 

As if sensing he was getting close, John slid his hand up the inside of Sam’s thigh and cupped his testicles. A couple of strokes and Sam’s hips were bucking as he shot into John’s mouth who swallowed every drop greedily. The sudden movement also bringing Dean over the edge, Sam felt hot liquid pump into his ass, marking him as his brother’s.

 

Dean whispered in Sam’s ear. “Ours Sammy, you’re ours. All of you, every part of you is ours. And we’ll never let you go again.”

 

“Yes, yours. I’m yours,” Sam sobbed, telling his family exactly what they wanted to hear, hoping that now they would just leave him to his humiliation but in his heart knowing that they never would. Telling them what they want to hear is survival, but you know you’re not property, you’re not! he consoled himself. If only he could believe it.

 

Releasing Sam, John slumped back, watching the limp and beautifully flushed body being lowered to the ground by his eldest. He was thrilled that Dean remembered to lay Sam spreadeagled on the floor, his legs opened wide for their viewing pleasure before reaching up to caress Sam’s cheek. But he was even more thrilled to see Sam shivering uncontrollably as the aftershocks of the orgasm ran through him in waves and overriding any pain he may have felt at their extremely enthusiastic reunion festivities. John crawled over to Sam, alternating between stroking Sam’s penis and tickling his groin region (Sam’s now overly sensitised body reacted easily to the intense electric pleasure, shivering deliciously) before trailing his hands through the dense fur. John looked into his youngest’s dazed eyes as if seeing someone else. “You’re beautiful Sammy, such a good fuck. Just like your mother.” He smiled, helping him to stand as he turned to Dean. “Take him to bed.”

 

Dean looked as if all his dreams had just come true. Sam let out a gasp when Dean grabbed his cock, using it like a lead on a dog as he pulled Sam towards the bedroom.

 

John followed behind them, still keeping a hold of his fuck toy in light of Sam’s unsteady gait (poor boy was always so worn out and hopeless post-orgasm – just the way John liked him) and all the while still talking to Dean. “This time, you suck. I get to fuck him.”

 

They could keep this up all night. And John couldn’t wait.

THE END
*A/N - Ok people, I'll try to make my next story happier *ducks for cover