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Into the Dark Around Us

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He woke to darkness and a pounding head. He lay motionless for a moment, trying to allow his senses to adjust and to ignore that ache near his temple. He started as he felt movement beside him and fully opened his eyes.

When his eyes had taken precious seconds to adjust, Sam’s gaze fell on Dean. His brother was kneeling beside him, a contemplative expression on his face. He blinked, eyes shifting to take in his surroundings – small room of some type, corrugated metal walls, dust motes flooding the sunlight shining in through an open door. Concrete floor, some kind of fluorescent lighting flickering overhead. His eyes returned to his brother, and the other man shot him a tight smile.

“Dean,” he tried to sit up, wincing as a stab of pain raced through his head, “What – what’s going on? Where have you been? What - “

“Easy, now,” Dean grasped his elbow and helped him sit up, “You took a hard crack to the head there, little brother.”

Sam blinked at the older man, took in his features to make certain he was alright, before asking, “Where are we?”

Instead of answering his question, his brother pushed himself to his feet. He watched as Dean began to pace, boots giving off a muffled echo on the concrete floor. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone,” the other man said, running a hand through his short-cropped hair, “I told you not to look for me, Sam, but you couldn’t listen, could you?”

Sam frowned, brows furrowing in pain as his head continued to throb. He reached a hand up to brush his fingers against his temple: they came away slightly sticky with blood. The injury was probably the source of his confusion and his weariness. Concussion, maybe? He glanced around again, attempting to focus. “Dean, I –“

“Just be quiet, Sam,” his brother halted in front of him and stared down at him, and Sam bit his bottom lip. He didn’t miss the anger tracing his brother’s voice, etching his features.

“Why can’t you ever just do what I tell you to do?”

Sam jerked back, startled, as his brother’s eyes flashed black for an instant, before returning to their usual, vibrant green. He remembered, then, why he had been searching for his brother. His brother, whom was now a demon. His brother, whom had been the one to hit him before everything had gone black and he had waken here.

Dean’s lips curled into a slight smirk as realization flashed across Sam’s face. “Coming back to you, is it?” the other questioned, his voice almost a taunt.

“Dean –“

Before he could scrape his aching brain for anything to say beyond his brother’s name, Dean was exiting through the only door, and it slammed shut with a resounding echo behind him. Sam cringed at the noise, which was followed by the sound of a lock clicking into place. He blinked against the dust that had been thrown up and was swirling through the air at the closing of the door, before running a hand over his face. Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes again. He would figure out what to do soon. In a minute. He just needed the ache in his head to ease, just a little, first.

 

Hours passed, and Sam was alone. That was, if the watch on his wrist was still correctly ticking away time, in spite of its broken face. He had searched for a way out, but the walls were solid and the door hadn’t budged, even when he had thrown his weight against it. He was hot – it was stifling in this enclosure, which he surmised was some type of outdoor storage unit, given the size and type of metal making up the walls. The unit was empty (other than him), and as waterless as it was hot. He was soaked with sweat, his thirst was becoming a concern, and his freaking head was still aching.

Sam opened his eyes with a start – when had he dozed off? – as he heard footsteps. He was a bit startled to see Dean in front of him, standing only several feet away: he hadn’t heard the unit’s door being unlocked or opened.

“You look hot, Sammy,” his brother smirked down at him, eyes falling to his sweat-soaked shirt, “Bit warm in here for you?”

Sam frowned and unconsciously plucked at his shirt with his fingertips. “Need some water,” his voice cracked on the last syllable, and he tried to clear his throat. It did little good, as he was dehydrated. The smirk that touched Dean’s mouth at his words made him uneasy, though he wasn’t certain why.

“Tell you what,” there was amusement tracing the other man’s voice, “You suck my dick and I’ll give you some water.”

“I – what? No!” Sam stared, stunned at the unexpected words and unnerved by the look on Dean’s face, “What the hell, Dean? Just – just give me some damn water.” He didn’t realize he was scooting back, against the unit’s wall, as his brother moved several steps closer.

“That’s the deal, Sammy,” Dean retorted, smirk still on his mouth and voice low in that way it got when he was flirting with some girl he found hot, “Suck my dick, get your water.”

Sam swallowed and shook his head no, confusion (and a trace of fear, though he would never admit that aloud) rushing through him. Dean shrugged a shoulder; Sam watched as his brother turned and left the storage unit, shutting and locking the door behind him.

What the hell had just happened?

By morning (or so he assumed, if he was to go by his watch and the way the heat index progressively increased in the small space), he had shed his shirt, attempting to cool himself down. The metal walls were hot to the touch so he was lying on his back on the concrete floor. He felt like hell. His head was pounding (he was certain, at this point, that he was concussed), his throat was parched, his mouth felt like a desert. He tried to swallow but failed - he was too dehydrated.

Sam heard the unit’s door open with a rusty rasp but didn't open his eyes; they remained closed as footsteps echoed in the room, then stopped. He slowly opened them, his hazel gaze shifting upward to stare at first his brothers legs, then face, as Dean instructed,

"Rise and shine, Samantha."

The age-old tease – being called a girl’s name by his brother - sent a stab of hurt through his chest. “Why are you doing this?” his voice was raspy, throat dry, as his glassy gaze feel on his brother’s face.

“Entertainment,” the harsh retort sent another stab of pain through his chest, and he closed his eyes again. He might have teared up, if not for the dehydration. His brother had him locked in here like this for fun?

“Dean,” Sam whispered the other’s name as he pushed himself into a seated position, inwardly cringing at how desperate he sounded, at the fact that he was practically begging. He raised his hazel gaze to his brother and continued, “Please, I need water.”

His brother seemed to almost hesitate for a second; his eyes flashed black suddenly and his smirk returned, a mirthless laugh escaping him, “Nice try, Sam. You and those puppy eyes. I told you –“ The man stepped closer, eyes green again, “ – you suck me off, you’ll get your water.”

The words stunned Sam as much now as they had the first time Dean had spoken them. “Why? I don’t – why would you -?” He fell silent suddenly as the other revealed his left hand, which had been behind his back until now. In it he held a bottle of water. Sam swallowed, eyes flicking to Dean’s face, and his brother shot him an enticing smile as he gently shook the water bottle.

Confusion and exhaustion hit him again and he whispered, “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand,” Dean moved forward, halting mere inches from Sam, whose seated position had him eye level with his brother’s groin. Sam watched almost in a daze as Dean undid his jeans with one hand, shoved them and his briefs down a bit to free his half-hard cock. His brother reached out then to grasp his jaw; his voice was almost a purr as he finished, “You just have to do as I say, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes fell from his brother’s face to the man’s now-hard shaft, inches from his mouth. He felt his brother’s fingers tightening on his jaw and his lips parted almost of their own violation. His eyes returned to Dean’s face as the man murmured in approval, “Good, baby boy. Come here.”

Sam flinched, a sound that was very close to a whimper escaping his throat, as the head of Dean’s cock brushed his lips. “Ssh,” his brother made a soothing sound, fingers grasping his face to pull him forward: a moment later, Dean’s dick was sliding between his lips. He could feel the smooth head of it against his dry tongue and he couldn’t hold back his startled cough as he tried to pull away.

“Your tongue’s like sandpaper, Sammy,” his brother chuckled darkly as the man pulled himself free of Sam’s mouth, "Really do need that water, hmm?" The man released his hold on him to twist the cap off the water bottle he held; he tossed the cap aside before grasping Sam’s chin and raising it slightly. Moments later, water was pouring over his lips, into his mouth and down his chin, and a whimper of desperation escaped him. The sound made him inwardly cringe but, at the same time, he didn’t care: he needed the water. After only several mouthfuls and swallows, Dean pulled the bottle away. A sound of protest escaped his still-parched throat, and his brother let out a dark chuckle.

“More?”

His whispered, “Please,” filled him with shame, but he couldn’t stop the plea from leaving his lips. “Gotta earn it, Sammy,” his brother murmured, leaning down to take hold of his jaw again in strong fingers. The man squeezed and his mouth fell open in pained protest. Seconds later, Dean was spitting in his mouth – spitting – and Sam tried to recoil. The older man held him in place – Sam was weakened from dehydration, exhaustion and a concussion – and repeated the action. He tried to jerk away again but Dean’s hold was firm.

“Swallow,” the man instructed, one finger shifting to brush over his cracked lips. He tried to shake his head no, only to have a finger slide between his lips and press against his tongue. Sam whimpered in protest, jerked back, but swallowed as his brother repeated the command to do so.

He was shaking when Dean’s fingers slid from his face into his hair.

When Dean pressed the opening of the bottle against his lips again, Sam wanted to pull away. He wanted to knock it out of his brother’s hand and tell him to fuck off. He wanted to, but his body was desperate for hydration. Instead, he swallowed down the mouthful his brother allowed him before pulling the bottle away.

“Have to earn the rest, sweetheart,” Dean pulled him close so that Sam’s head was resting against his thigh, his fingers tangled in his longish hair. Sam let his eyes slip closed as nails scratched lightly at his scalp for a moment. He opened them with reluctance as Dean tugged his hair, pulling his head back.

“Open.”

Sam stared at a spot on the ceiling, avoiding his brother’s green gaze, and shook his head. The fingers in his hair tightened and, with a rough jerk, his head was pulled back and he found himself gazing into Dean’s eyes. The green gaze (one he had always admired, Sam loved the color of his brother’s eyes) flicked to black for an instance before returning to their natural colour.

“Open, Samantha,” came the repeated instruction.

Sam swallowed and whispered, “No,” and his brother smirked.

“Need some enticement?” amusement in Dean’s features again; he wanted to hit him. He wanted to hit him and scream at him for his cruelty and run. Instead, he remained silent.

Sam winced as Dean jerked him by the hair, forcing his head down; he started as he found Dean’s hard shaft in front of his face. He watched, unable to look away, as the other tipped the water bottle, pouring out the liquid.. onto his hard cock. The man hissed slightly as the almost-cold water trickled down his hard flesh; he out-and-out grinned as Sam involuntarily licked his dry lips.

“Come on, Sammy. Come get it.”

Sam’s head was pulled forward roughly and, half a moment later, the head of his brother’s dick was pressing against his lips. Dean’s fingers wrapped in his hair, pulling, as the man shoved his shaft between his lips and past his teeth.

“Don’t fucking bite me,” the older man warned as he shoved into his mouth; Sam could only whimper in protest. The water that had trickled over his brother’s shaft wet his tongue slightly, and he found himself lapping at it, trying to get more.

“Good,” Dean groaned in approval, voice husky and deep, “Good boy, Sammy. That’s my good boy.”

The remainder of Sam’s willpower to resist what was happening here broke at the words. He was too desperate for water; too exhausted; too confused and even afraid, to continue fighting. Dean realized it the moment Sam went lax in his grip and stopped fighting; the man let out a growl of approval and thrust into his mouth.

When Dean began to come several minutes later, after using his mouth as he wanted (and thrusting his way through Sam’s gag reflex), the younger Winchester tried to jerk away. He whined softly as his brother jerked him close again to shoot into his mouth.

“Swallow, Sammy,” Dean’s growl left little room for argument, eyes flashing black, and Sam obeyed with a sob. He swallowed down what he could, gagging slightly in the process, come and spit trickling out of his mouth to run down his chin. The older Winchester gave several more thrusts before pulling out of Sam’s mouth with an obscene pop. Sam cringed, tears trickling from his eyes, as Dean ran two fingers down his chin, swiping up the come and spit and shoving it back into his mouth. He sucked his brother’s fingers clean with reluctance, guessing it was what Dean wanted; his brother hummed in approval.

When Dean grasped hold of his jaw and raised his chin, Sam opened his eyes with reluctance. His brother was staring down at him, eyes green again and a satisfied smile touching his lips. The man traced his thumb across Sam’s mouth before raising the water bottle and pressing against his lips; he allowed Sam to finish it this time.

When the water was gone and Dean had released him, his gaze dropped to the floor. He started in fear as Dean knelt beside him suddenly; a moment later, the other man was holding him against him, mouth claiming his own. The kiss was possessive, claiming, and unexpectedly sent a shockwave of lust through him. His brother's nails scraped down his bare back as the man owned his mouth, and his gasp wasn’t missed by Dean. The other man chuckled against his mouth before pulling back slightly.

“Mine, Sammy,” the other growled, brushing fingers down his cheek, “You’re mine.”

“Dean –“

“You’ve always been mine and you’ll always be mine.”

Before he had a chance to form a response – any kind of response beyond staring helplessly – Dean was on his feet and pulling Sam up with him. As the other guided him toward the unit’s half-open door, Sam tried to halt as he asked, “Where are you taking me?”

“Home,” came the simple response.

Sam could respond only with a sudden sob of both relief and despair, and his brother pressed his lips against his collar bone and held him close.