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Manipulation	By : unrequited666 Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 7625 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Warnings: bdsm, dark, non-con, sam whumping, slave,
supernatural, violence, wincest (unrequited). Don�t like? Don�t read! No
flamers!

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Chapter Four

Dean jimmied the lock and slid inside the room, quickly closing the
door behind him. He knew before coming here that his brother and the person who
took him would be long gone, but taking a cursory glance around the suite, he
immediately realised that it had not been empty for very long. Buoyed by the
realisation, he began to search the room for clues, hoping to get a glimpse
into the mind of the soon to be dead man who had the audacity to take his
brother.

Having found nothing in the other rooms, Dean approached the master
bedroom with trepidation, the photo of Sammy�s torment so cruelly sent to him
by his captor still burning in his mind.

The first thing he saw was the clothes Sammy had worn when Dean had
seen him last, messily piled in the corner, taunting him. With legs that
threatened to collapse on him, he made his way to the clothes and picked them
up, immediately noticing that they had been ripped.

Finding no hidden clue in the clothes, he left them and turned his
head, the soiled bed catching his attention. The restraints he had seen in the
photo still hung from the headboard and the bedding stained with blood and cum.
Snarling with rage, he attempted to strip the bed of its sheets. But the force
he used was too great, causing the entire mattress to shift off its frame�

� which revealed a luggage bag underneath. Dean was stumped. The bastard,
as much as Dean hated to admit it, was obviously smart. Why then would he
deliberately leave the bag behind for Dean to find? Curiousity finally winning
out, he had moved to retrieve the bag from under the bed, before a niggling
voice at the back of his head broke towards the forefront of his mind. TRAP!!! He stopped short.�

For all Dean knew, the bag could be laced with poison, or rigged to
explode or to release a gas. Admittedly, those options seemed unlikely and a
bit too far-fetched but Dean wouldn�t put anything past this bastard. Deciding
to err on the side of caution, he left the room momentarily and returned to the
bed with the suite�s complimentary umbrella.

With baited breath, he poked the bag. Nothing. Emboldened, he used
the umbrella to push the bag out from under its hiding place and then using it
as a lever, opened the bag. Still nothing happened. Feeling foolish, Dean
stepped closer to the bag and peered inside. His breath stopped.

Photos.

Lots of them.

Of Sam.

Of him.

Of him with Sam.

All of them dating back for almost a couple of years.

There was also a CD wallet full of discs that Dean was willing to
bet the Impala were videos of Sam.

Dean wanted to kick himself. He had promised himself, promised his father, the man he looked up to as a
hero, that he would always look after his little brother. But he had failed.
Failed in his promise and failed Sam, losing him in a game of tug-of-war with a
psychotic freak. For it was clear to Dean that this bastard had been following them
around for nearly two years, and he�d never even noticed. Never noticed a
faceless shadow watching them, studying them, trying to identify discernible
patterns or ascertain their weaknesses. Dean closed his eyes and took a
steading breath, trying to ignore the voice in his head berating him, telling
him that he was worthless, that he didn�t deserve to be Sam�s brother.

Opening his eyes again, two manila folders caught his eyes. Dreading
what he would find within, but having a nagging suspicion as to the contents,
Dean opened them and was immediately proven right. Information about Sam, about
him, their father. Old school report cards, hospital records under fake names,
their rap sheets, even Sammy�s entrance essay into Stanford.�

Dean pulled out the last thing contained in the folders. It was a
newspaper clipping, faded with age. The headline read �Sammy Winchester, 5,
Wins Lucky Charms Colouring Competition.� There was an accompanying photo of
him and Sam sitting on a pair of swings, the caption underneath quoted Sam as
having said �I Love Lucky Charms.� Dean felt a pang as he remembered how
excited Sammy had been winning that stupid colouring contest. Their father
hadn�t been too happy about the publicity, but Sammy didn�t care. All he had
been interested in was his winner�s prize - the �Lucky Charms Prize Pack�. Dean
snorted. The prize pack had simply been a packet of Lucky Charms, a backpack, a
set of colouring pencils and a colouring book. But still, it had made the
little 5 year old happy. Then again, it took little to please and amuse the 5
year old.

Wishing it could still be as easy as when they were kids, Dean
turned his attention to the last item in the bag. It was a remote control.
Puzzling over the last clue, he lifted his head and caught sight of a cupboard
standing against a wall. Realisation striking him, he stalked over to the
cupboard and opened it, revealing the entertainment system within. The TV was
already on and a DVD loaded into the player. Steeling himself, Dean pointed the
remote at the TV and pressed �play�.

A foreign voice immediately flooded through the speakers.

God, you�re so tight.

The voice belonged to a man hidden in shadows, but the person he was
mercilessly pounding into was unmistakeable.

Nor was the expression of intense pain on his brother�s face.

Dean immediately turned the TV off, rushing to the bathroom and
promptly losing his lunch.

Sammy, I�m sorry. I�m so,
so sorry.

He didn�t know how long he stood over the bathroom sink but the next
he knew, his phone ringing was the thing that broke him out of his reverie.
Wiping his mouth against the back of his hand, he reached with the other into
his pocket and retrieved it, answering it without checking the caller ID.

�Hello Dean.�

It was the voice from the video.

�Enjoyed the stuff I left you?�

�Fuck you.�

�No, but I did fuck your brother. And let me tell you, he was so sweet, so tight. So fuckable.�

Knowing that this was his only life line to his brother, Dean tried
to tone down his anger �What was the point of telling me to come here?� Dean
was surprised he could keep such a calm tone, given the circumstances.

�Don�t be so ungrateful. I was doing you a favour showing you the
goods times Sammy and I had. After all, we both know that�s what you think
about doing to your brother everyday.�

Dean froze.

The voice continued �You�re wondering how I know about your feelings
for Sammy, aren�t you?� He chuckled. �It wasn�t too hard to work out, what with
the way you look at him when he�s not looking, when he�s asleep. Those
lingering touches of yours. Then there was that incident with that waitress at
Hal�s Caf�.�

Dean bristled as he remembered the incident the voice was alluding
to. He and Sam had stopped at a caf� for dinner in some backwater town. The
perky young waitress had caught his eye and he naturally did what he did best �
flirting. It quickly progressed the way it usually did, with him into her
pants. But then as he orgasmed, instead of screaming the chick�s name � Candy?
Mandy? Pansy? � he�d screamed his brother�s name. To say the girl was offended
was an understatement. He remembered Sammy giving him a curious look when he
returned to their motel room with a black eye. Sammy hadn�t said anything, but
Dean rather thought he was under the impression that the girl had actually been
married and her husband had found out about their� tryst. Dean had done nothing
to correct that impression.

Dean shifted uncomfortably at the thought of this bastard, not only
knowing so much about him and Sam, but all the intimate details as well. Just
how was this bastard doing all that? Was he just really that good?

�Does your brother know how badly you want to fuck him? I don�t
think little Sammy does. Maybe I should tell him� Poor Sammy, he�ll be so
upset. And I�ll be here to comfort him.�

His words fuelled Dean�s rage. Forgetting his earlier resolution of
keeping calm, he exploded. �You sick bastard. You fucking raped him you son of
a bitch!�

�No, Sammy wanted it just as badly as I did. He just doesn�t know it
yet.�

�Let him go or I swear to God��

�What? What are you and God gonna do?�

Let him go. Or I swear to
God �
What? What are you and God
gonna do? You see, as far as I�m concerned, this is justice.

�What�s the matter Dean-O? Bad memory?� The line went dead.

Dean panicked. His brother was missing, the only life line to him
was a man who had just hung up on him, said man was nine buckets of crazy and
on top of that�

Dean knew the feelings he had for his brother weren�t right. But he
just couldn�t help himself. And with the bastard in the know� he hoped he
wouldn�t tell Sammy. Because if Sammy knew, how could he ever look Dean in the
eye again? No, if that happened, Sammy would want to leave. And Dean couldn�t
cope with that.

It won�t happen he told himself.

Maybe if he said it a few more times, it would make it so.

TBC

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Manipulation