Burning

Burning ~ from the outside

I can barely stand to look at him. Dean, my brother that I haven’t seen in too long, there’s so much pain in his eyes. He’s finally sleeping, but it’s anything but restful, he’s tossing and turning, fighting some invisible foe, whimpering and crying out for help. This isn’t a son worried about his father, no this is a man broken by his lover’s abandonment.


I don’t know how to comfort him, it’s not like I can tell him I understand, not when he’s got no idea that I know about them. They went to so much trouble to hide themselves, sneaking around and making sure I never found out. At least that’s what they think, but the truth is I’ve known for a very long time.


My first memories are of them being close; Dean was Dad’s favourite little soldier, the apple of his eye. Then something happened, I’ll probably never know what. I just remember that Dad turned cold and harsh, picking at Dean, pushing him away at every turn. While Dean shoved back, partying like it was going out of fashion, a different man or woman every night.


Then suddenly it all changed again, and I was so relieved that the fighting had stopped, that I never thought to question why. Dad was back to treating Dean well, and he’d lost the cruelty and bitterness that had haunted him for almost two years. Sometimes Dean would still act up, he’d get jittery and fractious; so on edge that I thought he’d snap. It scared me a little, but after weeks of worry, he’d just snap back into place, be my Dean again and everything would be right with my world.


But one time, around the time Dean turned nineteen, it was worse than usual. Dean acted so strange, so antsy, that I thought we might lose him. Dad didn’t seem to notice, or maybe I thought he just didn’t care. Then he decided we should separate, said he’d found a hunt that was too dangerous to take us on. So he sent me to Pastor Jim, and said he was going to drop Dean off with Missouri.


I couldn’t get the way Dean had been acting out of my head, couldn’t lose the thought that there was something very wrong with him. So I snuck back to where Dad was staying, thinking I could talk to him, maybe get him to actually speak to Dean. But when I got there I hesitated, I knew I was going to be in trouble for not staying where he’d put me. So I pottered round the motel lot, trying to pick up the courage to confront him.


Standing in the bushes by the back lot, keeping myself hidden from passers-by, I found myself near an open window. And that’s when I heard it, the thing that has shaped every second of my life since.


“Daddy.” That single word, drifting through the open window of their motel room, froze me in my tracks.


My father was Sir to his face, and behind his back was Dad, or more often bastard. Not daddy, even when we were kids I can’t remember either of us saying that.


“Daddy, please!” Dean’s voice again, I’d never heard him sound like that before, high and reedy, like a man desperate and in pain. I remember thinking that something was very wrong, so instead of heading straight in the door, I edged closer to the window, to try to get some idea of what was happening inside.


I could barely suppress the gasp of surprise I made at my first glimpse of the people in the room, and I pulled back into the shadows so they wouldn’t see me. Looking for the second time I realised I needn’t have bothered, they were in their own world, too lost in each other to notice anything else.


Dean was splayed out on the bed, naked and sweating, his lean form writhing and twisting on the covers. His arms were stretched taut above his head, tied to the rails of the bed. He pulled against the rope, making every muscle in his torso stand out in stark relief.


The other man was bent over my brother, his face hidden by one of Dean’s raised legs. As I watched I saw the man move further up the bed, saw a lit candle in his hand and that tiny light finally let me get a look at his face. My father’s face, and I couldn’t begin to get my head around it.


My mind raced as I tried to figure out what the hell was going on, had John Winchester finally flipped, or had some demon forced its way inside him? Because this couldn’t be happening, my father couldn’t be hurting his son like this. All I knew was that I needed a plan, needed to find some way to rescue Dean and fix our dad; but I couldn’t begin to think where to start.


My eyes were drawn back to the bed when I heard a pained whimper from Dean; and I watched in something akin to horror, as John raised up the candle, tilted it slightly and let hot wax spill down onto my brother’s chest.


Dean’s eyes snapped open and he arched up from the bed, mouth stretched wide in a wordless scream. I started to panic then, started cataloguing weapons and distances in my mind, trying to figure out the best way to get to Dean before he got hurt too badly.


“Feel good baby, do you want some more? Want daddy to make you burn? You’re doing so well baby, making daddy so proud.” I was so sure it had to be a demon because there was just no way that my Father would ever talk like that.


I wanted to rush in, to pull the monster away from my brother and wrap him in my arms. I wanted to cover his bruises and promise that everything would be okay. Then I heard him again. “Please daddy, need you. and I watched in a whole different kind of horror as he raised his head and kissed his tormentor.


I couldn’t tear my eyes away as realisation shot through me, this wasn’t a demon, and Dean wasn’t suffering; at least not in any way he didn’t want to. That really was my father and my brother, and everything I thought I knew about them disappeared in the wake of that terrible knowledge.


More wax splattered down; and as I watched Dean shudder and twist on the covers, it was like I was seeing him for the first time. I’d always known he was too damned pretty for his own good; but right then, in that frozen moment, it dawned on me that he was beautiful. His golden skin glowing in the flickering candlelight, his body stretched out for play, and his voice hoarse with lust; nothing I’ve seen before or since has ever moved me so much.


I watched as Dad put the candle aside and reached down to grab something from the nightstand. I couldn’t see it at first, not ‘til he lowered it to Dean’s chest and started prying off the hardened wax. It was a knife, a fucking silver athame, from what little I could see of it.


As the wax was cleared away, I saw a long line of blood appear on Dean’s chest, glistening in the faint light. It called to me, drew me in, and I hated that I could only watch as my Father leaned in and licked the blood away. The touch of his tongue on heated skin made my brother whimper and moan; and it was almost more than I could stand.


I watched as tongue followed knife all over my brother’s body. Watched blood appear and disappear, heard his pleas get louder and more desperate. Heard my Father’s low growl echo round the room as he abandoned the knife and settled between my brother’s thighs.


I saw him reach down and angle their cocks together; and then he began to move, faster and faster, grinding their bodies together. Frottage is the fancy word for what they did, but it seemed so much dirtier than that. Father and son, moving blindly together, lost in passion and driving need, I couldn’t take my eyes off them.


I didn’t really notice how hard I’d gotten, didn’t notice that my hand had crept inside my pants. Didn’t feel the way I was tugging on my cock, twisting and pulling, desperately trying to match their frantic rhythm. I followed them into release, finding myself sticky and sated and desperately lonely.


Inside the room dad released Dean from his bonds and cleaned them both up, before settling down on the bed. I watched as Dean curled into him, plastering their bodies together again. Listened as Dad whispered to his boy. “You were so good for me baby….so beautiful……love you baby…always love you.” And I felt myself begin to hate him, as Dean whispered back. “ Love you too Daddy….need you….thank you daddy….you take such good care of me…my daddy….mine.”


I finally realised they didn’t need me, didn’t need anyone but each other and I felt jealousy rise up and burn through my body. I stumbled away, headed back to Pastor Jim’s and did my best to forget what I’d seen. But when I closed my eyes it was all I could see, only it wasn’t my Father I saw with Dean, no the hands that touched my brother in my dreams were my own.


I told myself it was just overactive hormones; called myself, and them, every disgusting name in the book; but the next time they headed out alone, I followed close behind. That time I got to see Dad fuck my brother. Got to see Dean on his knees, and listen to him beg to be fucked. Whilst I stood outside, alone again, untouched and angrier than I’d ever been in my life.


That set the pattern for the next couple of years, they’d sneak off and I’d follow. I got to see Dean fucked and sucked and whipped. Got myself a sexual education, porn stars could only dream of. And every time I saw them I hated my Father a little bit more, and every night I closed my eyes and dreamed of Dean. Dreamed of my hands marking that golden skin, my body driving into his, and my name on his lips when he begged.


They didn’t understand, they couldn’t because they’d no idea that I’d discovered their dirty little secret. They just knew I got angrier day by day; that I fought with Dad every chance I got, blaming him for everything, because he had what I wanted. I knew I hurt Dean as much as Dad, he hated the way we were around each other, but I couldn’t control myself at all.


Eventually it got too much, I knew I was on the verge of losing control, of reaching out and just taking what I wanted. So close to telling what I knew, to yelling it out for the world to hear and destroying us all. So I ran, packed up my things and ran away to school.


I threw myself into it, pretending I didn’t care about how much my leaving must have hurt Dean. Pretending I wasn’t still dreaming of him every night, wasn’t still burning for him. I met Jess and tried to drown myself in her. She was sweet and beautiful; but she wasn’t Dean. I tried my best to make her happy, and for the most part I think I did. At least she never had to know what a twisted little fuck I really am.


So here we are together again and I’m just as lost as the day I ran. My brother’s lying on the bed, literally bleeding out from a broken heart, trusting me to help him. My Dad’s missing, off in the night somewhere, tracking down his demon. I buried Jess this afternoon, stood over her remains and cried crocodile tears; as I tried to hide the way I really felt. Not wanting anyone to know that I was happy she was dead because it meant i got have Dean back, or that i was happy to see him so vulnerable and broken; because I knew this might be my best chance to take him for my own.


She’s not even cold in her grave, and all I can think about is getting in my brother’s pants. I’ve dreamed of this, waited years for this moment, for an opportunity to make him mine. Unlike Dad, once I have him crying out for me, I’ll never let him go, never put the damn hunt before his needs. No once he’s mine, it’s going to be forever, and Dad will be the one left out in the cold.


I suppose the way I feel about him, the things I want to do to that luscious body, mean that I’ll burn in Hell some day. I can’t bring myself to care though. If that’s the price for wanting Dean, for owning him, then I’m happy to pay it.