
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13095912.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Rape/Non-con_Elements, Rape, Assault, Abuse, Child_Abuse, Violence
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-22 Completed: 2017-12-23 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 3335
****** Black Flies ******
by HalfwayToHell
Summary
     Sam had never been afraid of John--not really--but after he catches
     Sam and Dean in a compromising situation one night, he quickly learns
     that John intends to punish him--in the most horrid way imaginable.
Notes
     *** This work has explicit violence and rape towards a minor. Reader
     discretion is advised. ***
***** Chapter 1 *****
===============================================================================
 
Sam hadn’t meant for them to get caught.
 
Since he and Dean had first started their nights of sinful pleasures, they had
always been careful--sometimes too careful. They had always made sure that John
wouldn’t be home for a few hours and when it was one of the days that both of
them were too riled up to wait for John to be gone hunting, the boys had made
sure that they could hear the low rumble of the Impala down the road from their
various hotel rooms. Dean had always been meticulous in where he had left his
teeth marks and purple flowers against Sam’s skin and the youngest had been
sure that his nails only dug into his brother’s thighs and the middle of his
back.
 
But Sam had always known that deep down--one day--John would find out, but Sam
had never expected John to lash out the way that he had. The way that their
father had looked at them as Sam quickly scrambled off of his brother’s lap,
grabbing the sheets to cover his naked body and he had felt the sick settle
into his stomach, his heart pounding so hard in his chest, that he swore he
would die right then--if John wouldn’t kill him first, that is. At the time,
Dean had shifted his body closer to Sam’s in order to protect him from the
danger that John possessed and even though John hadn’t done anything then--Sam
didn’t feel safe.
 
All week he had felt he couldn’t be in John’s presence without feeling a wave
of nausea crash over him and each night when he could hear the Impala rolling
into the hotel parking lot, Sam’s heart would flutter like a canary trapped in
a cage. He would always hold his breath until John laid down in the other bed
across from his own and even after the older man’s breath would grow shallow
and succumb to sleep, Sam couldn’t bring himself to be lured in--not with the
impending doom looming over him.
 
And that was the same feeling that had come over the younger Winchester as he
sat at the small table in the hotel room, his school books laid out with their
pages exposed. Sam’s eyes slowly lifted from the pages of his book when he
heard the low rumble of the Impala pulling into the hotel parking lot. His
chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his heart beating rapidly in
anticipation at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door. John’s body
swayed as he walked into the hotel room, slamming the door hard enough to cause
Sam to jump.
 
Drunkenly, John stumbled towards his bed, plopping himself down on the edge.
Sam watches him nervously out of the corner of his eye, worrying his bottom lip
between his teeth and at first, he thinks that John isn’t going to say
anything--like he had been since he caught them--but the notion is short lived.
 
“Where’s your brother?” John grunts and he leans over, untying his boots.
 
Sam swallowed thickly before he replied softly, “At the store. He said he would
be back soon.”
 
His father didn’t respond right away, instead giving him a grunt of
acknowledgment and once again, Sam assumes John isn’t going to say anything
else until he does.
 
“Do me a favor, Sam,” John says as he digs into his pocket, pulling out a five
dollar bill. “Go to the vending machine and get me a soda, will you? You can by
yourself one too.”
 
Carefully, Sam took the money from his father, pocketing it. “Okay,” He said
softly before turning to leave.
 
He hadn’t made it far before he felt a heavy hand on his back, shoving him
forward. Sam slammed into the table, toppling over it, landing hard on the
ground. Pain shot through his side where it had slammed into the edge of the
table and he hissed, placing his hands on his side. The youngest Winchester
rolled onto his other side to look up at his father and fear grips hold of him,
eyes wide. Sam had never been afraid of John--not really--but staring up at him
as he loomed over him, a nasty growl plastered on his father’s lips, Sam was
terrified.
 
“Dad--”
 
The words had barely made it past Sam’s lips before his father was on him
again. His hand lashed out, grabbing hold of the boy’s hair and the hold he had
on Sam’s chestnut hair caused tears to come to the corners of his eyes as John
hauled him up by his hair. A cry came from the younger Winchester as his nails
dug into his father’s hands that hurt him.
 
“Dad,” Sam choked out, digging his nails hard into the flesh of his father’s
hand. “Stop. You’re hurting me--”
 
Pain bloomed across his face when the flat part of John’s other hand hit the
side of Sam’s cheek and the pain of it caused him to cry out. Sam thrashed in
John’s hold on his hair, trying to get away from the older man, but he was much
stronger than Sam’s teenage body. John didn’t hit Sam once in the face, but
two, three, four, five, six times, each smack harder than the last. With each
smack to the side of his face, Sam could taste copper in his mouth from where
his gums had started to bleed from the impact and from biting his tongue.
 
The blows to his face stopped as soon as they had come and even John’s grip on
Sam’s hair had released, only for John’s hands to clamp painfully around Sam’s
small biceps, forcing the younger Winchester to look up at him. A whimper
escaped from Sam’s throat, his face stinging and tears rolling down his cheeks
as he looked up into the rage-filled gaze of his father’s eyes.
 
“I’ll do more than just hurt you, Samuel,” John hissed and the venom in his
tone caused Sam to flinch away from him. “You don’t think what you and your
brother did hurt me? So now what? You think you’re big enough to make the
decision to fuck?” He seethed, the grip on Sam’s arms tightening until he gave
a small cry of pain, the tears continuing to roll down his cheeks.
 
“I’m sorry!” Sam cried, trying to writhe his way out of his father’s grip,
wanting nothing more than to get away from the older man. “I’m sorry, Dad. Let
me go. You’re hurting me!”
 
“When I’m done with you, boy, you’ll know what sorry is!” John spat, the scent
of alcohol heavy on his breath.
 
He shoved Sam away from him, the younger Winchester toppling backward onto the
bed that he and Dean normally shared. The second his back hit the mattress, Sam
tried to roll off of it to get away, but he wasn’t quick enough. John was on
him in an instant, his body heavy against Sam’s as he pinned him down beneath
him. He tried to pry Sam’s legs apart and the realization of what John had
meant to do to him, caused Sam to scream at the top of his lungs.
 
“I’m sorry! It won’t happen again! Get off of me! Dean! Dean--”
 
Pain bloomed across Sam’s face again, this time, radiating from his nose. Blood
trickled down the back of his throat, causing him to gag and cough, gasping for
breath from the crushing weight of his father’s body on top of his and from the
blood steadily trickling down the back of his throat. Sam could barely pull in
a breath, before his father’s closed fist connected with his nose again,
causing blood to gush from his nostrils. Sam put his arms up to block his face,
which he quickly realized was a grave mistake as John only continued to hit him
that much harder, landing fist after fist into his arms.
 
By the time John had stopped beating him, it was not just Sam’s arms that hurt,
but his entire body radiated in excruciating pain. The younger Winchester
sobbed, holding his horribly bruised arms against his chest, shielding his face
with his hands from his father as he cried, the salt of his tears mixing in
with the iron of his blood. It wasn’t until he felt his father ripping his
jeans from his bruised legs, that Sam had tried to fight back against him, but
his body hurt far too much for him to give much of a fight and when John had
forced Sam onto his stomach, he had accepted what was going to happen then.
 
Pain like nothing Sam had ever experience ripped through his body as John
forcefully pushed his cock into Sam’s entrance, his body immediately rejecting
the intrusion and the sensitive flesh of his hole tore from it, blood trickling
down slowly between Sam’s inner thighs. He screamed into the sheets, fingers
gripping bone white onto the fabric. It felt as though someone had jammed a
white-hot iron inside of him and Sam screamed himself hoarse. Each thrust was
harder and more unforgiving than the last and the youngest Winchester sobbed,
biting back the cries of pain that threatened to fall from his purple and red
lips.
 
Slowly, Sam’s eyes wandered to the window, where two black flies crawled
against the windowpane. He watched them--watched their fat, ugly bodies move
against the glass, fluttering their iridescent wings. Gradually, Sam’s body
grew limp beneath John’s as he focused solely on the two insects in the window.
It was not long--or perhaps, it was an eternity, Sam couldn’t have been sure--
before he felt hot, thick liquid fill him.
 
He didn’t dare move--nor did he think he could--after John clambered off of
him. Sam could faintly hear John zip up his pants, but Sam couldn’t be sure, as
his subconscious kept himself focused on the black flies that danced and chased
each other across the glass. Only when he had felt the soft fabric of the hotel
towel against his bare backside, did Sam even so much as take a deep breath.
 
“Get yourself cleaned up before your brother gets home,” John said, the
coldness of his tone reaching Sam in his trance-like state and the fact that
there had been no remorse for what his father had done to him, caused a piece
inside of Sam to shatter.
 
===============================================================================
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Sam would never lie to Dean--not unless he felt it was absolutely
     necessary--and after being beaten and horribly raped by his own
     father, Sam doesn't ever want Dean to know because he couldn't live
     with the thought of what it would do to his big brother.
Chapter Notes
     *** This work has explicit violence and rape towards a minor. Reader
     discretion is advised. ***
===============================================================================
 
Breathe.
 
Sam’s chest heaved as air filled his lungs, the sound like sandpaper rubbing
against the oxygen flowing in. His throat closed around the crisp air, causing
him to cough and the motion of it caused Sam to clench his teeth against the
pain that wracked through his whole body. Just breathing felt as though his
entire soul was being ripped from his body and the thought of actually trying
to move any part of his body caused fresh tears to prick in his eyes.
 
But the youngest Winchester knew he had to move, to get away from John, to get
cleaned up as his father had commanded of him because the idea of John
punishing him again was something he couldn’t physically handle--or mentally,
for that matter.
 
Slowly, Sam pushed himself up onto his knees. Pain rippled through his body so
violently, that Sam almost buckled under the weight of it and a gasp fell pass
his lips and the youngest Winchester quickly bit his bottom lip to keep from
making another sound--no matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t let John know
just the severity of what he had done.
 
Clinging to the hotel wall, Sam walked towards the bathroom--each step more
painful than the last. He kept his head down and his shoulders hunched, making
himself appear so small in hopes that John wouldn’t take any notice of him from
where he sat on his own bed, smoking a cigarette. If John had his sight set on
the boy, he didn’t make any notion that he did as Sam finally made it to the
bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
 
Sam stumbled over to the bathroom sink, clutching tightly onto the counter as
he fully took in the damage of what his father had done to his face in the
mirror. His lips were purple and red and his bottom lip was puffy from his
teeth biting into it. The rest of his face had ballooned up from the trauma
that had been inflicted upon it and dark half-moon bruises bloomed underneath
Sam’s eyes--extending out from his nose. Carefully, Sam reached up and felt
along the bridge of his nose, tears immediately prickling in his eyes from the
faintest pressure he applied to it. The cartilage of his nose was still intact-
-surprisingly--so John hadn’t broken his nose, just caused enough damage to
make his nose swell and bruise.
 
Sam dropped the towel his father had thrown on him onto the toilet lid before
he removed his shirt--which he was finding to be quite difficult because of how
bruised his arms were. Standing naked in the bathtub, Sam turned on the
showerhead. Warm water pelted down onto the violent flowers on his skin and
even just the sensation of water against the bruises caused more tears to
prickle in his eyes.
 
Oh so carefully, Sam lowered himself into a seated position inside of the
bathtub, pulling his knees up to his chest and he leaned his head against the
tile wall, allowing the warm water to wash away the evidence of what John had
done--but it would do nothing for the physical evidence, Sam knew. He wiped the
dried blood from his nose and his face, careful of the swollen sensitive flesh.
Preparing himself for the pain he knew was to come, Sam bit onto the knuckles
of his hand as another traveled down between his legs to gingerly clean the
dried blood and come from his thighs and ass. A pained whimper passed through
his lips as his fingers brushed against his torn hole and Sam bit harder down
onto his knuckle to stifle the sound.
 
When Sam had found the strength, he slowly rose from his spot from where he had
been sitting to turn the water off. He carefully clambered out of the tub and
he barely wrapped the towel around his waist before he heard knuckles rapping
against the door.
 
“Sam?” Dean called through the wood, the sound of his brother’s voice making
panic sweep through him. “You almost done in there, man? I gotta take a leak.”
 
“Just a second!” Sam called back, his tone edging on panic as he stumbled
toward the sink, looking through the cabinets to find something to cover the
bruises on his face.
 
A can of shaving cream and other toiletries clattered to the ground loudly and
Sam cursed, rifling through the cabinets.
 
“Sam?” Dean asked, this time there was a tone of concern in his voice. “Are you
okay? What the hell are you doing in there?”
 
“Give me a minute!” Sam continued to rifle through the cabinets even faster,
desperately.
 
“Dammit, Sam. What the hell are you--”
 
The youngest Winchester spun around towards the door the second it was opened.
His heart hammered hard in his chest as he looked up at his older brother,
standing there in the doorway with his mouth slightly parted and his eyes wide.
 
“Dean--” Sam began but his brother was in front of him in a matter of seconds,
kneeling on one knee in front of him.
 
“Holy shit, Sammy,” murmured Dean, reaching out to gingerly cup his little
brother’s face in his hands. “What happened?”
 
Meeting his brother’s concerned pine gaze, any words that Sam had died on his
tongue and instead, he just looked at Dean. He couldn’t find the words to tell
him what had happened and perhaps he didn’t have to, because, after a few
minutes of silence, the tears started to swell in Sam’s eyes again.
 
“Sammy,” Dean began, his voice soft but there was a sharp edge in it--one
filled with anger and it took Sam a moment to realize that his rage was not
placed towards him. “Did he do this to you?”
 
Sam opened his mouth to answer, but all that came from his lips was a soft
whine--a silent plea for Dean to not ask him any more questions, but it was
made apparent in the way that the features of his brother’s face turned rigid
and cold, that he didn’t need to ask him another. Sam could see it in the hard
lines of his eyes--Dean knew that John was the reason behind the bruises and
swelling of Sam’s face and body.
 
“I’m going to kill the son of a bitch,” Dean seethed and he abruptly pulled
away from his little brother.
 
Sam’s hands lashed out and gripped onto the denim of Dean’s legs, looking up at
him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Dean, please. Don’t.”
 
“Let go of me, Sammy.” snapped Dean and the harshness of his voice caused Sam
to flinch away from him. “He’s gonna pay.”
 
The boy watched as Dean removed the pistol from the waistband of his jeans and
cocked it once before he stormed out of the bathroom. Sam swore under his
breath and he tried to stand as quickly as his body would let him, clinging to
the sink for support. The sharp crackle of Dean’s pistol firing ricocheted in
the small hotel room and the sound sent terrified chills through Sam’s body.
 
Stumbling out of the bathroom, Sam stopped abruptly when he saw his brother
standing a few mere feet away from their father, his gun trained onto the older
man. John sat on the bed, a bullet hole just a mere inch away from his leg from
where he currently sat. His hands were raised, open palms turned toward Dean,
but the brown in his eyes were cold and hazy.
 
“You’re not going to shoot me, boy,” John began, his tone low--daring.
 
“Don’t underestimate me, you son of a bitch,” seethed Dean. “I just didn’t want
to ruin someone’s day by cleaning your brains off of the wall.”
 
John gave a single scoff and turned his eyes in Sam’s direction, causing the
boy to look away, his body shaking from the adrenaline coursing through his
veins.
 
“Hey!” Dean kicked the bed, pulling John’s attention away from his younger son
and back towards his eldest. “Look at him again and I’ll kill you, understand
me?”
 
John didn’t speak again. Dean took his father’s absence of speech as a form of
understanding and he didn’t look at Sam as he said, “Get dressed and your stuff
packed, Sammy. We’re leaving.”
 
Sam didn’t dare say anything else as he dressed as quickly as he could--
throwing on a pair of Dean’s sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. He moved about the
hotel room, gathering his belongings before joining back at Dean’s side. By the
time Sam had returned, Dean already had the keys to the Impala in his hand and
his duffel bag strung over his shoulder.
 
“Let’s go, Sammy.”
 
“You’re making a big mistake, boys,” John said finally as the Winchester boys
moved towards the front door of the hotel room.
 
“You already did,” replied Dean. “If I so much as catch a whiff of you or see
you come after us, I’ll kill you and I won’t miss on purpose this time.”
 
The eldest Winchester slammed the door to the hotel room shut and took Sam’s
duffel bag from him. Dean ushered Sam into the passenger seat of the Impala,
quickly tossing the bags into the trunk. The Impala started with a deep,
throaty growl and Dean wasted no time slamming her into reverse before peeling
out of the parking lot. Sam turned around in his seat to catch sight of John
standing in front of the hotel window.
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