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The thing is, Dean grows tall like a damn weed.

His first real growth spurts hit at fifteen and by seventeen he's tall and already filing in, sleek but muscular in the way that makes the highschool girls fall all over him. Dean flirts, winks, and smirks and he gets himself a reputation for it, he takes the idea and builds himself an image. It's easier to go from place to place when it's more of a game, no one really knew him so why should he care when they eventually pack up and leave?

And they always do.

But Dean is a good soldier and he knows exactly what he should be; cocky in his youth, distracted by pretty girls, ok grades. For his father specifically, he's a crack shot and can run five miles without warning. He does as he's told and doesn't snap back or bulk at orders. Dean's the good son and he shaped that image over the years until he is everything that his family and society expect of him.

Whatever might exist under that he keeps to himself for the most part.

With a few exceptions of course.

He plays his role and then when no one's looking he sneaks off and relaxes for a bit. Usually while getting laid.

Dean's not ashamed that he has a preference for other guys. It's just something he knows his dad won't be keen on and that in general people won't like him for. It'll draw attention to him and if nothing else, Dean knows attention is never a good thing. People glance and then move on when there’s nothing interesting. If there is something worth a second look it means people are doing a double take, lingering, and they might see something Dean doesn't want them seeing. It's why he makes his grades lackluster, dressed like every bad boy his age and it’s why he doesn't make it obvious he digs men.

The whole point of this rant though is that growth thing.

For a long time Dean was small, petite and light, the whole nine yards of delicate. While being smaller was nothing but annoying for hunting and dealing with high school bullshit, there were certain perks about it.

Mainly, Dean's got himself a wee bit of a kink.

Guys his own age used to tow the line just fine, athletes and the like, larger builds that used their bulk to push him around. But after he hit his growth spurt Dean's as tall as most of them and usually he's got more muscle. It's a weird thing to be disappointed about, to hear Sammy bitch about his own size and feel a tinge of jealousy. His brother is compact; he doesn't catch attention and the majority of guys around the school loom over him. It's such a screwy reason to be jealous, but Dean can't help it any less.

So he finds men. Not boys his age but men. Older men who work labor or are just that fit. Typically these men have their own kinks and like fucking Dean hard and rough, making him beg for it. Dean gets used to it and even learns to like it, to want men to humiliate him while they pound into him.

Part of it ties into the fact the Dean doesn't get to be weak.

His little brother needs him strong, his dad demands it and essentially everyone else in their lives has come to expect it. So Dean carries the weight and grits his teeth and bares it.

The idea of being delicate or needing a gentle touch is ridiculous. Dean imagines that if someone ever tried to treat him like that he'd be freaked out. But having some huge guy over him, in total control of Dean feel good in a base way. For a few hours, Dean doesn’t have to think. There are no worries circling his head about his dad’s hunt or where their next meal will come from.

The more humiliating it is for him, the more in the moment Dean is. The more demanding the guy is, the less Dean feels like he needs to be the one running the show.

He’s not dumb, even in his most desperate moments Dean’s got a measure of control. A hunter can’t afford not too. Dean doesn’t let himself get tied up unless he knows he can get out. When he meets men in shady places Dean knows all the exits. Little things that might save his life but at the same time keep Dean from that final edge.

But Dean knows he can’t trust strangers.

So it becomes a twisted fantasy, of some guy making him, forcing him to give up control. In reality, Dean would never let himself get into that situation but in fantasy no one can judge him.

So to wrap this up, the main thing to take is that Dean likes feeling small and helpless sometimes. Not in a hand holding sappy way but something baser, something instinctual and feral. But after he shot up in height and started to bulk up from training, he doesn't feel that way much these days.

Dean misses it.

The next thing is Hellhounds, which are supposedly some of the meanest motherfuckers out there.

From what Dean can make of the respectable lore they seem on par with demons, even the weakest of them are capable of creating havoc akin to demon’s special brand of crazy. Thing is though, they don't cross hunter paths very often. Unlike demons who are drawn to evil and have a tendency to pop up to make a hunt that much worse or are off killing innocent people for the hell of it, Hellhounds have an actual mission statement of sorts.

They're responsible for the souls that have been sold to demons and the souls of the damned. Soul selling isn't something Dean knows a lot of, he's heard rumors of hunters desperate enough to do it and regular people messing in the wrong shit. But the thing is, if someone sells his or her soul there isn’t much to be done. You might fight off one Hellhound, but another will come, on and on until the job is done. They bring the souls to hell, done deal. Damned souls are the really fucked up people, not monsters but actual humans, the kind that go into a coffee shop and shoot twelve people just because they could. Serial killers and the like that aren't influenced by the supernatural but are actually just that evil all on their own. Hellhounds come for them too.

So a maximum security prison that has its own mental ward with all the worst of humanity tucked in it is going to have a few Hellhounds around. Most of the prisoners are on life sentences or on the chopping block so death is regular around there. It's essentially one of the best places to go looking for a Hellhound.

The other thing with Hellhounds?

Magic won’t stop them. Won’t even put a dent in them. You want to take a Hellhound down you got to do with brute force. Guns and knives in close range, there not easy to kill and the fact that they repel most magic makes it that much harder. But they can walk over wards and seals like their nothing, curses never affect them and pretty much every magic based monster gives them a wide birth.

The power they carry is notable, desirable even. So it’s a long-standing belief that a Hellhound’s blood can grant anyone similar abilities, the same magic immunity. Dean’s never seen any hard proof of it, Bobby said it was bullshit and there isn’t much he doesn’t know, but John Winchester wanted to check anyway.

So they’re camped out beside a maximum-security prison for the criminally insane trying to hunt and trap a Hellhound.

Dean is the good son and he plays his role but even he can see all the ways this is a terrible idea. He’s just grateful they left Sammy back with Bobby. The last thing he needed was having to try and keep an eye on the boy and help his dad stalk something that is very likely going to hunt them right back.

Hellhounds are impervious to most magic but it doesn’t mean all magic. There a few spells that work, but mainly those that will just let you see them. So they’ve got a thick coating of some magic mix crap under their eyes and Dean can feel it drying and pulling it at his skin uncomfortably. Still he sits tight, leaning against a tree, crouched low and watching a path that cuts through the forest line. The trees are spaced thin and the green belt is small, it’s a patch of forest the leads to a clearing and then fields in all directions. Dean imagines though that if anyone were to escape the prison they’d try to run here, thinking the forest would help hide them and go on longer than it does. He wonders idly if it was left intentionally just for that, to draw would be escapees in, unknowing their trapping themselves.

The EMF reader spiked along this path, signaling it's likely the place the Hellhounds travel by so John has Dean watching it throughout the day. Come night his dad takes over and waits for a Hellhound to show up. They’ve loaded the rifle with high caliber iron bullets and there are iron traps all over the woods. Between that John is hoping to bag a Hellhound. Dean is following orders, but none of it sits well with him. Nothing in the lore suggests that their mindless beasts. It does underline that they are vicious and primal but not dumb. If anything there are a few mentions of their intellect being potentially on par with demons, with humans.

Essentially Dean figures the entire thing is a bad idea but he keeps his mouth shut and follows orders. John wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say anyway. They've done dumber things and managed to make it out, this will just be another.


A crunch of dirt and leaves to his right makes him tense up.

It’s the middle of the day, the sun is out and everything. There was no ambulance rushing to the prison, no sirens going off. They’ve avoided the prison guards, kept a good distance away from the actual prison. Besides, Dean would have heard someone walking up. The woods have a thick floor made up of dirt, twigs, and leaves. You can’t walk in any careful fashion or light step and not make noise.

Dean had actually been having a good day too. He’d hooked up with a prison guard last night via a nearby bar, a massive guy that had fucked Dean into the mattress and left him panting for more. With his dad out all night, Dean had been looking forward to another round with the guy. He’d left faint bruises around Dean’s throat and every swallow ached and that in turn left Dean turned on.

He was clearly a messed up guy, but we've established that.

The birds aren’t singing anymore Dean notes absently with a soundless sigh. The squirrels are gone and there is a certain stillness in the woods that only a malicious presence can bring. No way is it not something supernatural. Dean hadn’t lived this long as a hunter to not know when some monster was lurking.

His phone is in his pocket, his father on speed dial. Likely though John’s sleeping, catching a few hours before coming to the site with Dean. During the high sun they figured there was no chance of a Hellhound coming around so Dean’s essentially just sitting around keeping an eye on the traps more than anything.

A low, inhuman growl sounds; it’s deep and gravelly with a strange echo to it, something fundamentally supernatural.

Slowly, Dean peeks over his shoulder and the area is clear but he doesn’t doubt for a second something is there. His rifle is loaded, but the safety is on, it’ll take a few seconds to flip it off and then get the rifle up to aim it at the invisible monster. The crap under his eyes is irritating and it doesn’t seem to be working, Dean can’t see anything but he knows it's there.

Another crunch of leaves sounds from his other side and Dean swears internally because of course there's more than one. There had been a few theories of pack mentality but no certain proof. Dean feels like the reason is because no one is dumb enough to go looking for Hellhounds and if they are they don’t come back.

“Hey puppy,” Dean croons at the empty air and figures he might as well go out fighting.

In a smooth practiced motion, he flips the safety and brings the rifle up to aim. There is a shifting of leaves a few meters to his right so he shoots at it. The gun cracks like thunder and Dean is certain the prison heard that. He spares a second of guilt for the guard who will be sent out to check, unaware that the place has bear traps set up everywhere, the painful kind.

Another movement to his left makes him swing the rifle like a bat and he actually connects with something. The weight of it knocks him back, but the unseen beast drops as well. Dean gets the barrel of the gun up and quickly fires a second shot.

He hears the whine of the monster and sees the leaves scatter as it falls; injured or dead Dean has no idea.

Technically he’s done what his father wanted. One Hellhound served up. If not dead then certainly hurt. But the reality is that Dean can hear the rustling of movement coming from three different directions and in the background he can hear the siren from the prison going. Despite the no-win scenario, he knows his dad will be pissed at him for leaving the prize but Dean wants to live so he takes off. He swings the gun to try and keep the Hellhounds away as he runs. The Impala is with his dad so Dean’s got no real mode of transportation or escape plan. There is nothing that can stop a Hellhound once its decided to chase and Dean’s willing to bet hurting and potentially killing a pack member merits a chase.

Sure enough, he can hear something following him and gaining steadily. The forest line is going to end in a few yards and then it's nothing but wheat fields. If he crosses that then there is an old farm house with an unsuspecting family. Dean figures if they don’t shoot him, a man running full tilt from a maximum prison for whack jobs, then he’ll bring death upon them via the Hellhounds who kill pretty freely when riled up. Dean can't bring that on them. More so when no one will survive either way.

With a curse and a prayer, Dean stops hard and yanks himself to face backward. He gets the rifle up and shoots at the closet movement. Two more bullets go before something hits him hard from the side. It’s like a brick wall in motion and it hurts as Dean goes down. The earth is soft but not enough that he isn't winded. The rifle is ripped from his hands and Dean can see it being picked up and crushed by an invisible force. Despite the lack of oxygen in his lungs, his hand jumps to the knife on his belt and he pulls it out, slashing at the air. It connects and Dean can see a black red splatter of blood before his forearm explodes in pain. He can see the gashes as they open, feeling teeth digging and biting into his arm. Something lands on his chest and slams him back into the ground. Dean grits his teeth and tries to buck the monster off but his best shove doesn’t even move it an inch. He’s pinned down but he reaches with his free hand, pulling the knife he keeps in his boot out and slamming it into the body he can’t see. The Hellhound snarls but doesn’t let his arm go, it’s jaw is grinding Dean’s bones and he swears out as pain floods his body. He can feel his bones starting to give under that bite’s pressure.

He doesn’t expect the monster to let go so when it does Dean jerks away. In a second he feels those same teeth close around his neck. Head tilted back he can feel the heat of breath and the slime of saliva on his exposed throat. Immediately he goes still and then sags after a moment. The teeth begin to dig down to bite and Dean knows it’s done. He lets the fight in him die out as he waits for the Hellhound to tear his throat out.

Part of him always knew he'd go out this way, a monster killing him.

But as Dean remains slack the monster doesn’t finish him. After what feels like an eternity, the teeth on his throat stop digging in. The hellhound releases Dean and he can feel its breath panting on his wet skin. In the distance the jail siren is ringing and the hellhound growls at Dean. He feels something push his shoulder and nip at his arm. The hellhound herds him to his feet and gets him moving. Dean is completely confused but if it means he gets to live Dean’s willing to play the sheep. The hellhound steers him past the house and the other hounds soon join, biting at his heels to keep him going and running at his side to control where he goes. Soon Dean’s running hard again, crossing farmer’s fields and thick woods. There’s a cliff edge with large exposed rocks that comes up unexpectedly and before Dean can stop he’s shoved over.


Dean comes to on the ground and the first thing he notices is the heat. Sitting up slowly he realizes he’s not where he fell. It's not grey stone and green plants around him. It's shadows of rocky cliffs and red dirt that’s warm to the touch surround him. The sky is pitch black with a strange red moon casting an eerie light. His head hurts but beyond that he feels fine, no aches from falling off a cliff which seems odd. His arm is still bleeding sluggishly, but it's not something that requires immediate attention.

He’s got no weapons save a tiny knife and no idea where he is.

The cliffs around him are jagged with caves throughout them, encircling Dean. There’s a narrow opening in one spot and the cliffs go up for ages, rivaling mountains with perilous drops. It’s an ominous and creepy place but Dean can see the tactic right away. There’s only one clear way in or out that’s highly visible and the caves offer shelter. The lowlight casts dark shadows and Dean can’t see into any of the caves, he has no idea what’s watching him beyond the certainty that something is. Dean’s in the main ground area where the cliffs all meet, a large oblong circle that’s made up of dirt rather than jagged rock. It’s a red clay type and Dean’s never seen anything like it remotely near the prison. He can’t think of any mountains nearby either. Wherever he is, it’s a hell of a ways from where his father is. Dean checks his phone but there's no signal.

A growl echoes from the shadows and Dean starts as something comes from the dark of one of the larger caves, a massive monster stalks towards him. The growl is familiar and Dean realizes he’s looking at a hellhound. It’s enormous, bigger then a bear and its skin is exposed, muscle and bone. It’s grotesque looking and terrifying with its red demon eyes locked on him. Long canines gleam as it circles him and Dean stays perfectly still, watching the monster watch him.

Dean slowly pulls his pocket knife out, a last ditch weapon. The hellhound snarls once at Dean and then charged him. Diving out of the way, Dean curses when more hellhounds start appearing, snarling at him. They hang back though, watching Dean and the big bad boss hellhound. So Dean throws himself at it, his knife isn’t much but it’s still a knife. The beast is scarred all over and Dean adds to it, getting a few slashes on its side and back.

But getting close enough means the hellhound can retaliate and it grabs Dean’s leg, teeth biting into his thigh as it yanks him off his feet and tosses him in the dirt.

Dean keeps his grip on the knife and when the hellhound comes close he swipes at it, going for its eyes. He gets a long jagged slice in, right down its face, but he misses the eye. The monster darts in and grabs Dean by the throat, shaking him once hard. The motion cracks Dean’s head on the dirt and it stuns him enough that he loses his grip on the knife, his one chance.

The hellhound’s tongue is lapping Dean’s blood from his neck, even as it bites down, slowly choking him. Panicking won’t help him, Dean has no time as the beast watches his face with its crimson eye. Going slack again Dean gives in. The hellhound bites harder and Dean gasps weakly for air, closing his eyes to block out this last sight before he dies.

When he closes his eyes the hellhound stops crushing his throat. It holds Dean there, waiting for a drawn out moment before dropping him. Dean crumbles to the ground gasping for air as the bites bleed sluggishly. Thankfully none of them are deep enough to cause serious bleeding. He can’t help but think it has to be intentional. There was just no way that a hellhound didn’t know the power of it’s own bite.

The boss hellhound circles, watching him keenly and when Dean looks at him, it lunges for him, grabbing his shoulder and shaking Dean, nearly pulling his arm from the joint.

Laid out on the ground, Dean rolls onto his stomach and struggles to rally his body for another attack. When it doesn’t come Dean looks at the hellhound again, this time it’s long teeth catch his gaze and the beast doesn’t attack.

Dean glances at its eyes and it charges.

Looking down, Dean knows enough about animals to realize he can’t meet its gaze. That every time he does he’s challenging it

Submission, he figures is what’s going to get him out of this alive, if there’s any chance of that. Dean’s more used to being cocky but this isn’t like the normal hunt. These are feral monsters more then anything and he knows he’s on borrowed time, that he should be dead already.

It’s unnerving when the beast walks right up to Dean but he keeps his gaze down. The hellhound circles him again as the others pace around them, watching the whole thing keenly.

It’s hard not to look when the hellhound moves out his sight and Dean can’t help but jerk when hot breath pants on his neck for a moment.

The first wet sound confuses him and then Dean feels the heat seeping into his coat and shirt.

“Oh fuck no,” he snarls and jerks away as the hellhound pisses on him.

Freaking pisses on him.

In an instant Dean’s throat is snapped up right under his chin, painfully tight again as he feels teeth dig into his already abused skin. Dean wants to fight, he wants to just be done with it, but more then that, he wants to live.

So he swallows once, its painful, and then goes completely slack. The hellhound shakes him hard, teeth tearing Dean’s skin and he can feel his blood running down his neck, but once again it's not a dangerous amount. When it lets him go it stands over him and Dean keeps his eyes down and throat bared. After a long pause the hellhound moves over him and lifts it’s leg again.

Dean’s on his back now and he flinches but stays there and let’s the monster piss on him. It’s searing hot, seeping into his shirt and the heat of it feels like it could burn him. Dean tries to focus on the feeling of it, the pungent stink, rather then the utter humiliation of the act.

Either one cause a stirring in his groin and Dean kind of hates himself for it.

Once it’s done the other hellhounds start to get excited. All of them are massive like grizzly bears but the first hellhound is the dominant and largest of them. They fight amongst each other but none of them growl at the boss hellhound, none of them meet its gaze either.

They come up close to Dean, sniffing and snarling at him as he stares at the ground and tries not to flinch. The main hellhound stalks around them and Dean can feel it watching him as the others sniff at Dean, nipping at him as they circle. One of them humps at his leg, hips rolling, and before Dean can recoil the boss hellhound has the other one off him and laid flat. A snarl and bite puts him in his place and the boss paces around Dean again, closer now, growling at the others. The bite he’s given the hound is a gaping thing that makes the other one limp and Dean knows for certainty now that a single bite like that could kill him. He also realizes he’s being kept alive for a reason.

It’s fucked up and Dean should be freaking out and planning a way out of this mess but something in him, some sick part of him reacts. Dean can feel the thrill course through him at the boss hellhounds utter dominance and he wants to be sick.

The hellhound shoves at him, moving Dean until he’s up on his hands and knees.

It’s obvious what it wants and Dean doesn’t know what to do as the monster sniffs at him. His chest is wet with its piss and he’s shoved forward when it noses his ass, pressing hard against Dean’s body. The first bite makes him yelp and the boss hellhound lifts a paw to hold him still. His teeth catch in Dean’s back pocket and he tears the denim with one hard shake. It shows the power in the beast that his pants rip like tissue paper, exposing Dean’s ass.

It’s claws rake down, tearing his jeans and briefs wider so that his skin is exposed, his ass and thighs are on display now. Dean flinches in pain, stinging scratches welling with blood along his ass and thigh. The boss hellhound snarls at him when he tries to reach back and check the new wounds and Dean goes still, he stays up on his hands and knees with his ass offered out.

The hellhound sniffs him again, nose pushing and Dean swears as the feral monster licks him. The wide tongue lapping over his hole and it’s fucked up that Dean likes it immediately. The hellhound’s tongue presses into his ass and Dean swears softly as it pushes into him. He’s still open and loose from the fucking he got last night and the hellhound's tongue is inside him because of it.

The other hellhounds are panting and pacing as the boss steps over Dean. It’s massive and loom over him, it’s underbelly brushing his back. It’s beyond fucked up that Dean’s excited, that his dick is filling out with what’s about the happen.

The hellhound jabs at him, a hard dick hitting his thigh. It’s huge and thick, slimy all over and Dean winces each time the beast shoves at him. It fucking hurts.

A hot sticky substance is drooling from the cock and it’s getting all over Dean. It’s slimy and he supposed he should be thankful for it. Because when the hellhound hit his asshole it slams into Dean viciously without warning, the slime is probably the only thing that kept Dean from tearing.

A choked cry is all he can manage as the beast proceeds to fuck Dean mercilessly, pounding without let up. The cock in his ass it too big and it hurts. It feels scorching and the slime all over it is running down his skin, over his balls and down his own cock.

Dean feels a well of shame when he realizes he’s hard.

The hound uses him; fucking Dean like it’s the only reason Dean exists and he’s on hands and knees under it getting off. He can feel every jarring thrust inside him, his ass clenching down as Dean swore and gritted his teeth. The power behind the slamming is throwing Dean forward, forcing himself to brace on his arms for every lunge to keep him from being fucked to the ground.

The boss hellhound grabs at his neck, teeth biting as it pulls Dean back and up. Forcing him to arch from the ground. His fingers barely touch the dirt as all his weight in on his knees and in the bite the hellhound has on him. Dean can feel blood dripping and he feel tears of humiliation burning as the monster keeps its brutal pace the whole time, bouncing Dean on its cock. It feels like the monster is exposing him, showing all the others how hard Dean is, that his own dick is drooling.

It’s not even done and Dean knows it’s the best sex he’s ever had.

When it lets his neck go, Dean drops to the ground. A paw on his back forces him to go flat, his chest pressed to the dirt while his ass is high. The hellhound just keeps going, even as his cock seems to grow. Dean winces as the discomfort and then chokes out a breath when the hellhound jams itself deep, pressing itself hilted into Dean’s ass.

It’s a whole new level of degradation as the hellhound rides him. The others are pacing and watching avidly, locked onto Dean as he’s violently fucked.

The base of the cock pounding into him was steadily growing and Dean winces as his hole starts to stretch too far. The paw on his shoulder is pinning him tightly and Dean couldn’t get away as the hellhound starts slamming itself intently, short jabs that are going deeper and deeper somehow. The thick cock is pressing and forcing its way into him and Dean can’t muffle a cry.

Dean can feel it stretching his insides, inflating within him until there was no room left to move. The hellhound pulls back to thrust and Dean cries out, struggles to shove back with him when it burns painfully. There was no more room for friction, they were locked together.

He can feel the pressure building up, something in his guts twisting as Dean clawed at the dirt. The hellhound was panting over him, holding still as its cock twitches in Dean’s asshole, pumping into him. It feels too hot and Dean’s sweating with it, groaning out as the hellhound looms over him, claiming and dominating him as it empty’s its load in his ass.

It feels too long until the monster pulls off. His body hurts, his abdomen feels like its pressing out of his skin, overfilled and near bursting. Dean cries out as the sudden yank, the cock inside him coming free after a second of painful resistance. It feels like Dean’s insides are going as well, his hole stretching too wide to let the massive thing out of him. In a sloppy smooth pull it comes free and Dean can feel a gush of seed pour after it, the pressure inside him letting up as the excess is pushed out. It feels scalding and Dean hates himself for how hard it makes him come. Ropes of his own seed hit the dirt and the hellhounds seem to sense it, pacing eagerly now.

Come that feels too hot begins to seep from his hole steadily, it’s thicker now and white lines make their way down Dean’s thighs. He feels like he’s gaping wide as he slumps to the ground on his side, panting for air and feel light headed and over heated.

A hot sensation hits his thigh and Dean blinks to see the boss hellhound standing over Dean, it’s leg raised up again. It’s pissing on him once more, a heavy stench filling the air as it urinated all over Dean’s thighs and ass. Part of Dean is just too drained to move but he knows a larger twisted part of him wants to stay right there and let it happen.

Tears blur his eyes in mortification as the hellhound pisses on Dean and then kicks up dirt like a dog, clumps of wet, blood and semen soaked muck raining on his body.

The boss hellhound looks down at Dean, red eyes boring into him and Dean doesn’t meet the gaze. He keeps his eyes down, feeling broken and hating that he likes the emotion.

The beast walks away a few feet and settles, lying out with a satiated grumble.

Dean jerks when teeth bite at him, not deep but little nips that are more startling then anything. The other hellhounds of the group bite at him and it makes Dean move, getting up to avoid them. Dean stumbles a few shake steps but his leg is torn up and giving out, making him fall.

The boss hellhound watches as Dean struggles to get up, pulling himself up against a boulder. Dean realized he’s bent over on knees a second too late when a hellhound mounts him.

It’s smaller then the boss hellhound but still a massive monster, the size of a bear with the powerful muscle. Dean hisses out when the cock pieces him, sliding right into his wet hole, sloppy seconds.

The monster’s dick is fat and it fucked Dean just as hard, giving nothing up as Dean grunted and struggles not to fall. His arms gave out quickly and Dean braces himself against the rock, half laid over it now as the hellhounds paws hold his hips, keeping him right there for every lunge.

The position made the beast’s cock hit Dean’s prostate right on and he jerked with every motion. The hellhound on him whined and the too hot spill started inside Dean. It felt overly full and Dean curses weakly as the hellhound holds him in place, making him take it.

Its cock is inflated like the first one but not as massively. It doesn’t stay like the boss hounds and when the hellhound lets go of Dean and jumps off his back the cock inside him comes free with a wet slurp and stinging burn. He immediately slumps down and slides to the dirt. The hellhound sniffs his ass and then trots off. It seconds before Dean feels the sting of another hellhound nipping at his hip.

“Fuck off,” Dean growls but the nipping turns into actual bites and Dean is forced to get up to avoid the pain of it. Weakly, he leans over the stone again and gets to his knees, knowing what the hellhound wanted. The beast is on him instantaneously and it thrusts at him, missing every time. Each lunge hurt and Dean swears out.

The boss hellhound was watching him still, staring Dean down as he tries to steel himself. Reaching back he grabs the hellhound’s cock and just lines him up. Better to just get it over with then the pain of every missed thrust.

The beast fucks Dean, dragging him back and forth on the ground as it enthusiastically pounds into his ass. He felt like a mess, like his asshole was a little more than a loose dripping hole. Dean tries to clench himself, but it only makes the hellhound on him slam harder. Dean cries out when it yanks its dick out of him and with humiliation Dean’s own cock jerks and come at the ache of it. The hellhound whines and tried to mount again but another snarl and chased it off before climbing on Dean himself.

The fucked up thing was it felt good. The air was getting cold now and the hellhounds were hot, warm skin and their come hot splatters that chased away the chill. When the next hellhound fucks him, its body is unbelievably warm and Dean finds himself struggling to press back against it for the body heat.

The monster was holding on tight, although there was no chance of Dean getting away from it. Maybe it didn’t want the others to push it off before it was done. Either way it was jackhammering into him relentlessly.

Dean can’t swallow a weak moan at the furious onslaught, which seemed to excite the hellhound more. After a good solid pounding the hellhound pulls off Dean, come running down his thighs in a slimy heap as another hurried in to mount him.
Hellhound after hellhound fuck Dean.

Eventually, he couldn’t get up anymore. No matter how hard they bit at him Dean just couldn’t move, he was barely conscious and covered in semen, dripping and drenched. With the last of the strength in him, Dean fumbled up on the boulder and rolled onto his back, laid out on the stone with his legs over the edge of it, spread wide in submission.

Everything felt hazy and Dean knew he wasn’t all there as another monster crawled onto him and he let it, felt the burn of it sliding into him and liked it.

The hellhounds seemed to come nonstop and Dean only remembered bits and pieces of the hours that followed. The emptiness and slick gush when one of them pulled off and then the hurried jabs of the next one. Dean recalled arching his back at one point, feeling stung out as he came, his own dick drooling only dribbles of come and because of the degradation Dean was suffering.

That he was reveling in.

He could feel their come running down his legs, soaking into his torn jeans.

Two more hellhounds mount him and Dean can feel something in him giving way.

Three more and he’s whining out with every shove. He’s half numb to what’s happening, but the rest of him is basking in it. Dean wraps his arm around the hellhound on him and hugs it close, encouraging it to use him.

“F-fuck,” his voice was hoarse and sounds strange among the growling of the hellhound pack. The boss hellhound is still watching Dean, keen eyes peering at him as Dean looks over at it but doesn’t meet its eyes.

Another hound mounts him and Dean cries out, he’s a bulky male and Dean can feel him inside his sore hole. It’s a painful burn that makes Dean want to come.

“Fuck m-me.”

The next hellhound mounts him.

Dean arches his back and comes dry with a sob.

And then the next.

He’s barely conscious as the monster slams over and over into him.

And then the next.

Dean has long lost count of how many have fucked him and he’s laid out on the stone, legs spread and dazed.

He finally loses consciousness while a hellhound is riding him.

Dean comes too with a hellhound on him and in him. It’s fucking him in lazy thrusts and when Dean blinks, looking around in a haze the boss hellhound growls. The one inside Dean pulls out and jumps off him. The sharp motion makes Dean slide down, his back against the boulder as he sags to the dirt. There’s a disgusting mess of slime and semen running down the side of the stone and it’s all over Dean’s ass, back and head now. Not that it matters since it’s long soaked into his jeans and shirt. The material is stiff and hard with it and Dean can feel his abused hole seeping with more.

His head sways as he struggles to hold it up and look at the beast. But even then, Dean doesn’t meet its gaze. If it were a demon or some more humanoid monster he would. But something about the animalist nature of the hellhounds has Dean reacting. Even as exhausted and fucked out as he is, what else can they do to him beyond death, he doesn’t look the boss dead on.

It sniffs at him; it’s long canines right by Dean’s face as it peers at him, he can feel it’s gaze.

Dean’s disoriented and everything is surreal to him. Blinking tiredly he barely finches when the boss hellhound turns and lifts its leg, pissing on Dean’s chest. When he’s done he walks away and Dean slumps to the ground, curling up and welcoming the bliss of exhaustion. He was a disgusting mess of hellhound come and piss, his body was covered in scratches, bruises, and blood. Dean’s exhausted passed any point he can recall and every part of him aches.

Slumped down in the dirt Dean’s mind tried to process what just happened, that these hellhounds just gang fucked him.

Dean doesn’t know what it meant that some part of him actually liked it.


Sam’s tired from a long day of classes, his psych professor is a dick and it feels like he’s out to get Sam. The lights aren’t on in the house, but he knows Jess is out with friends tonight. Unlocking the door, he steps in and pauses. Something feels off.

Raised by a hunter, even if Sam’s escarped that life, has made him sensitive to certain things. Sam eyes the empty hallway and notes the faintest of creaking from the worn floorboards. Listening intently, he can hear a the soft creaking of something moving around the kitchen. Sam slowly lowers his bag and reaches for the umbrella by the door, the only weapon.

He hears a scuffing sound, like nails from a dog scratching the floor. Creeping steadily, he turns the corner in the dark and sees two figures seated at their little kitchen table. One is slumped over and clearly tied to the chair and the other is relaxed and looking towards him.

Sam hits the lights.

"Fuck," the one figure flinches, shielding his eyes from the light.

Brady, a friend of Jess and Sam, is the other one that's tied up. His face is a mess of blood and gore, it’s clear he’s been beaten and tortured.

The other person lowers his hand and Sam finds himself staring at his dead brother.


“Hey Sammy,” Dean replied, smirking up at him with the same bad boy charm Sam remembers. Except now there’s a dangerous edge to it, it’s not playful anymore. Dean’s just sitting there, but Sam is sure that if he wanted to, he wouldn’t hesitate to gut Sam. There’s something downright feral about him.

His clothing is normal, modern and clean but that’s it. His hair looks like it was cut by a knife and there are scars all over him, long gouges that wind up his arms and peek up the collar of his shirt, jagged marks on his face as well. His neck is scarred over multiple times and there’s a chunk of his right ear missing. The other has a tiny bone pierced through it, spiked ends looking sharp and painful.

Dean just sits there, like its normal, like he hasn’t been dead for years. Sitting there beside Sam’s badly beaten friend.

Part of Sam wants this to be a monster wearing his brother’s form, but something deep in him knows its not. This is Dean.

Nails click again and the floorboards groan but Sam can’t see anything. Still a chair moves as if bumped and Dean looks to his side, raising a hand to rest on something. A growl rumbles and Dean grins at whatever he can see. It’s a vicious looking thing, his smile, like a threat or a dare to come closer.

“Dean…what…what’s going on?”

“I normally ain’t one for gossip but you hear things kicking around in the pit. And you little brother are being set up for one hell of a mess.”

Sam just stared at him, glancing at Brady and wondering if he was even alive. There are endless open cuts on him, long slices on his face and arms.

Dean pats whatever Sam can’t see and he notices the gleam of blood on Dean’s knuckles. There’s something embedded in his skin, scar tissue healed over half inch bits of bone that’s been filed into sharp points. Sam realizes immediately that it makes Dean’s punch that much worse. Four claw like daggers cutting with ever hit.

“I don’t understand, I don’t…Dean you’re supposed to be dead. Dad said…what are you doing here, what mess? What are you…what did you do to Brady?” Sam feels confused and fumbling, not knowing how to react to something so surreal. His big brother is alive, but he's sitting there like nothing is wrong. Like he hasn't severely beat someone tied to a chair, defenceless.

Dean's watching the floor and Sam stares at him as he leans and scoops something up. It's smaller than the others and Sam can hear a low whine. Everything about the situation is bizarre and Sam would swear his brother is holding an invisible puppy?

“Sit your ass down Sammy, I ordered pizza and Chinese food, god I missed take out. Fucking raw meat for years. I would have killed a bitch for seasoning salt,” Dean grins and rolls his shoulders in a fluid motion as his sits forward. Everything about the way he moves screams predator.

“I haven’t cared about topside shit in a long time but you’re my baby bro and I felt like I owed it to you to at least warn you. Bitch boy here,” Dean gestured to Brady. “Is a demon. And he’s getting ready to torch your girl same way mom went out. I’m here to lay it all out for you and see if we can’t get you that happy ending you always dreamed of.”

Dean leaned back and smirked at whatever Sam’s can’t see and his eyes flicker red, a deep crimson that seems lit from within.

“God knows I got mine.”