Rated: M for language and implied rape. VERY dark, much darker than what I usually write. But also one of my better written pieces. Alternate ending for DT. Basically, John doesn't get free from the demon. And this is what happens.
Should be three chapters.
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
"Dad—"
"Does that hurt, Dean? Just say it. Say it hurts. Say it."
"Dad, stop him, please—"
"Say it hurts, Dean—" John's face twists into a smirk.
"Fuck—you," Dean grinds out through clenched teeth.
"Now that's the Dean we know and love. Come on, Dean baby, say it hurts."
"My daddy told me not to tell lies," Dean grins viciously, and Sam feels a mixture of relief that his brother is still hanging in and renewed fear. Fucking smart mouth… The demon blinks, and Dean almost gasps as the pain momentarily ceases.
"Right, I forgot—you like it rough." Dean pales slightly, but manages a half-ass smile.
"Did your daughter tell you that?" John's face tightens for a second, and then he continues on like nothing happened.
"He knew, you know," the demon lifts Dean's head up, forcing him to meet his eyes.
"Knew what?"
"Knew how you got that money. He saw it all that first night; saw how you couldn't fight them—"
"Like your son?"
"John helps those who help themselves—"
"You need help—"
"It felt good, didn't it—"
"Not as good as your dau—"
"You beat 'em at pool, and then they decided to take their loss outta your skin—"
"You just love the sound of your—"
"They let you keep the money, though, and that ran through fast—"
"Like your mother—"
"John saw you the first time, and he didn't stop them, didn't stop you later—"
"Sammy needed it!" Dean grinds out, voice strained. Sam's eyes darken as he stares in disbelief, and the demon laughs in delight.
"And you wonder why he's the favorite."
"At least he's alive," Dean growls half-defiantly. The demon chuckles at that, as well.
"Yes, poor unappreciated Dean who'd do anything for his family—"
"Don't mock him!" Sam yells, at last finding his voice.
"Why would I mock a whore with no life beyond a family that doesn't need him?" John's face slid into a wry smile. "Oops."
"Leave him the fuck alone!" Sam snarls.
"Sammy didn't know, though, did he? That first time, when Sammy was sick—cursed—and that witch said she'd take it off—for a price—and John's arm was broken—"
"Sammy needed it," Dean whispers, blood still running down his shirt.
"'Go make the money, Dean,'" the demon mocks John. "'Be a fucking man, Dean, Sammy needs it—'"
"Fuck off!" Dean yells, eyes haunted. The demon grins at Dean's pale face, and then slides John's hand down to grab the front of Dean's pants.
"How rough you want it, son?" Dean's skin turns whiter, if possible, a sharp contrast to the slow trickle of blood down his lips.
"Oh fuck, no," he whispers. "Dad, don't!"
"You or Sammy, son, and you know Sammy's always been my favorite—"
"Fuck no!" Dean yells.
"Dean, don't!" Sam yells simultaneously, suddenly realizing what the demon is trying to do.
"Got something to say, Sammy? You know, you're such a pretty boy…" Dean's fists clench with strength that should already have been drained from the beating he'd been taking.
"Yo!" he yells, grabbing the demon's attention. Behind John, Sam's head jerks up, eyes screaming no. "Get the fuck away from my baby brother!" The demon, who'd been clutching Sam's chin, grins at him and then turns to stalk back to Dean.
"Dean, he's playing y—" Sam begins, but with a flick of John's wrist Sam's mouth is forced shut.
"Y'understand, you're gonna have to cooperate with me." Dean grunts. "I expect an answer, son."
"Yes," Dean snarls.
"Yes, dad," the demon corrects. Dean manages a bitter half-smile.
"Yes, dad."
"Better." The demon gestures again, and Dean's hands snap together in front of him as if they were handcuffed, and then he slumps back against the wall, almost falling, as the demon removes the force.
"Shit," Dean breathes, face tightening against the pain. The demon backhands him, snapping his face to the side and causing him to sag another foot.
"I didn't raise you to speak like that! Get on your knees, boy."
"You didn't raise me at all, Dad," Dean snarls, before letting himself fall to his knees. The demon grabs his chin.
"You're gonna pay for every smart-ass comment out of that mouth, son." Dean looks down, almost cowering, before throwing all his weight into John's legs, knocking him over. A painful roll, and he reaches up to grab the gun—and is thrown back into the wall, a rib cracking in the process, and the wind knocked from his lungs.
"That's m'boy," the demon grins ruefully, watching with satisfaction defeat slowly cross Dean's face.
"Let him go," he coughs out.
"Sammy?"
"And John. Let them go."
"John stays."
"Let Sam go, then."
"So he can come after me?"
"Damnit, don't' make him watch this!" Dean yells. The demon shakes John's head softly.
"You just can't fucking help yourself, can you? You always have to be everybody's fucking hero."
"Fuck," Dean whispers. "Please."
"I like that," the demon grins, John's hands reaching up to caress Dean's chin. "Let's hear that pretty mouth say that again."
"Dad, please let him go." The demon smiles ironically, before lifting up John's head and burrowing deep into Dean's chest once again. Unprepared, Dean lets out a strangled cry.
"Beg me for your life, Dean."
"Please..."
"Ask your dad to stop…"
"Fuck! Dad, please stop…"
"Ask me to take Sammy instead." Sam closes his eyes in defeat. Dean lifts his own to meet John's.
"Go to hell, you son of a—" he bit off the rest as the pain in his chest increases. Beyond all seeming probability, he forces his eyes open once more and spits in John's face. "…Fucking son of a bitch," he corrects with a blood-thirsty smile. The demon shakes his head softly in something akin to amazement.
"You little bastard," he breathes. "You little fucker."