Chapter Text
It was just a burger run. Sometimes, Dean just needed a break from the bunker, and sometimes he just needed a good burger. So he’d left a note for Sammy and headed out. Things were good at the moment. Sam and he were between hunts, and Castiel was somewhere but never farther than a phone call. The angel could be at the bunker almost immediately if needed.
Now was the perfect time to get a double-patty extra-cheese bacon burger with a side of fries, a slice of pie, and a cold drink. No Sam to give him those puppy dog eyes and lectures about adding some rabbit food to Dean’s diet.
There was always a Biggerson’s within driving range, and one was not twenty miles from the bunker. The late afternoon sun was shining brightly, and the temperature was mild. It was the perfect time for a drive. He’d go to Biggerson’s, have a burger, flirt with a waitress, and be back not too long after dark.
Dean smiled as he tapped the steering wheel along with some Reo Speedwagon. Sammy wasn’t in the car, so no one had to know.
“I’ve been around for you, been up and down for you,” Dean sang loudly as he drove, which, for some reason, made him think of Castiel. They’d been through a lot. They’d had their good and bad moments, but Castiel was Dean's best friend. No matter the betrayals, they always ended up back together, having each other's backs.
It was like Castiel, and he were destined for each other. Dean let out a laugh. Now he was thinking like some character from a chick flick: ‘Destined for each other.’ That sounded more like lovers than friends; Castiel and him weren’t anything near lovers.
Sure, Dean had fought to keep all the monsters off Castiel in Purgatory and was haunted by visions of him when he thought he was gone.
He’d been down on his knees, beaten and battered by Castiel and told him how much he needed him. Well maybe he should have said he loved him, but he couldn’t say that, could he? Dudes just didn’t say things like that, and it wasn’t like love, love, right?
Okay, there were always the quick touches, meaningful stares, and long hugs, but that didn’t mean anything, did it? It was just them. They had…what did Castiel say? They had a ‘profound bond.’
“I’ve swallowed my pride for you. I’ve lived, and I’ve lied for you,” the song crooned. Maybe that, too, was applicable to them, but again, it didn’t mean anything. They were just Cas and Dean—two good friends.
Blinking lights caught Dean’s attention, and he slowed down. A semi-truck was pulled off along the side of the road, and its lights were blinking. It wasn’t hauling a trailer. However, the truck was big without one. He could easily see it was big enough to have a sleeper cab. The truck was painted blue and silver with the logo of a local shipping company, and Dean was surprised to see it on the road. As usual, Dean traveled the back way, far from any interstates or highways.
Must be on his way home .
As Dean passed, he saw that the driver was out in front of the truck with the hood open. He was leaning over one of the big truck’s tires and peering at the engine. Dean slowed down and pulled along the side of the road in front of the truck. Might as well stop and see if I can give him a hand.
Dean got out his Impala and sauntered back toward the truck.
“Howdy,” Dean said as he approached. “Need some help?”
The driver stood up and looked at Dean. He had a crook mouth, a square jaw, and pale grey eyes. He wore a tan jacket over a green button-down shirt. On his head was a Raiders cap with a bill that stuck out over his face. He had wrinkles around his eyes, and the hair peeking out from under the hat was turning slightly grey. He had probably about ten years or so on Dean but he appeared to be fit and muscular.
The trucker gave Dean an appraising look and flashed a smile. “Know anything about engines?”
“Worked my way around one or two,” Dean said.
The trucker stepped back from the truck. “It’s making an odd ticking sound, and it’s runnin’ a bit rough. Take a look?”
Dean pursed his lips in a shrug. “Sure,” he said before stepping up and bending over the tire to peer deeper into the engine. “Thinking it might be a timing belt?”
“Could be,” the trucker said from behind him. “Just had it serviced, though.”
Dean frowned and started poking his way around, focused on the problem. From what he could see, everything looked okay. He bent a little far over, and suddenly, pain exploded in the back side of his head. “Son of a bi-”
He whirled around, and the world spun. His legs went wobbly.
The trucker was standing in front of him, grinning. In his hand was a medium size wrench. “Night night, green eyes.”
Dean blinked. His vision went blurry, and then he dropped as he slipped into unconsciousness.
***
Dean woke with a familiar headache. This wasn’t the first time he’d been knocked unconscious, and it wasn’t even the first time he woke up bound in some way. Still, it was always a surprise. He blinked and took inventory of himself and his surroundings.
He was stretched out on some sort of thin foam mattress. The ceiling was low, and there was a rumbling sound underneath him. His arms were stretched over his head with wrists cuffed. He tilted his head back. His wrists were cuffed around a metal hand bar mounted next to a small window with the scenery flying by.
He was moving.
Dean tried kicking his legs. His ankles were bound. He gave a quick look down his body and saw there was grey tape tightly wrapped around his jeans, covering his ankles.
He tried to lick his lips but found something hard and yielding in his mouth. He probed it with his tongue. Ball gag?
He turned his head to the right and found a foam-covered wall. Looked like soundproofing. Turning to his left, he saw a thick curtain snapped shut around him. The sleeper cab. He must be in the back of the truck.
“Hey!” Dean tried to call around the gag. He’d been down this rodeo. The trick was to figure out what type of monster he was dealing with.
The truck slowed down and pulled to a stop. The curtains snapped open, and the driver poked his head inside. “Awake, green eyes?”
Dean glared at the man. He wriggled and tried to yell, “Let me out of here.” It sounded incomprehensible around the gag.
The driver smiled and withdrew for a minute. Then he opened the curtain a bit wider before slipping into the sleeper and crawling up on the mattress on top of Dean, straddling his legs.
“Gen uff em,” Dean yelled.
“Thirsty?” the driver asked as he waved an open water bottle in front of Dean.
Dean shook his head and shot .44s with his eyes.
The man leaned over and one-handedly unbuckled the strap at the back of Dean’s throbbing head that was holding the gag in place. “Open up,” he ordered as he gave a quick tug. The gag popped out.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” Dean immediately started to croak.
The man frowned and backhanded Dean, knocking his pounding head to the right.
“Did I say you could talk?”
Dean painfully turned back around and stared at the driver. No black eyes. The guy wasn’t a demon.
The driver held him in a vise grip.
“Get your hands off me,” Dean ground out.
He pressed at the back of Dean’s jaw, forcing it open. Next, he began pouring water into Dean’s mouth.
“Nggh” Dean gurgled, twisting his head as far as he could, straining against the driver’s tight grip.
The driver kept hold of Dean’s head and continued to pour the water into Dean’s mouth.
Dean sputtered but quickly realized his choices were few. He could either choke or swallow, and the thought terrified him. Unfortunately, his involuntary reflexes kicked in before he could think or make a decision. He gurgled for a moment and then started swallowing.
The water kept coming, and no matter how much Dean fought, he ended up swallowing quite a bit as its excess pooled down his cheeks. The water seemed almost endless, but in reality was that long before it was just dribbling into his mouth.
When the bottle was empty, Dean had drunk about half of it while the other half had run down his cheeks and pooled under his head, wetting the pillow underneath him.
“What the fuck?” Dean snarled and spit water droplets in the man’s face.
The man wiped the water off his face with the back of his hand. He leaned over Dean, pressing him into the mattress.
“Green eyes. Don’t see them much. Feels like I found something rare,” the driver said.
“Let me guess, you're some sort of carnivorous freak with a taste for eyeballs?” Dean shouted.
The man tilted his head slightly and frowned in confusion. Then he backhanded Dean again. “Thought I told you to keep quiet.”
Dean twisted his jaw, trying to relieve some of the ache. He turned his head back around and stared at the man. “You are going to have to try harder than that to shut me up.”
The man snorted and then grabbed the discarded gag. “I think I can arrange that,” he said as he gripped Dean’s jaw and popped open his mouth again.
“Nggh!” Dean yelled as the trucker shoved the ball gag in Dean’s mouth.
The trucker snaked his hand around the back of Dean’s to do up the buckle.
Dean twisted and bucked. He tried jerking his head to the left, but the man was quick and seemed almost practiced. He got the gag on and secured before Dean could put up too much of a fight.
“Wasn’t that hard, green eyes,” the man said, sitting back on his butt, which sat just above Dean’s groin.
Dean glared at the man and tried bucking again. Maybe he could dislodge the fucker.
The man leaned forward and grasped Dean’s shoulders. He pressed down.
Dean bucked harder, but the man wasn’t moving. Dean wasn’t sure how long he tried, but eventually, he stilled, lying back and panting around the gag. He stared up at the man.
The trucker smiled and ran his hand down Dean’s throat.
“Pity we can’t play now,” the man said.
Play?
“You’ll be out soon anyway,” the man continued.
Out? Dean’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t sure he liked the implications. He swallowed and opened his eyes wide in surprise and understanding. The water. What did the fucker put in the water?
“Figured it out?” the man asked before lightly tapping Dean’s cheek. “Don’t worry; just a little something to send you night-night again.”
Dean's blood raced. He tried bucking again but found he was a little more sluggish this time. He twisted, and the world spun. He looked back at the driver. Dean blinked. It was hard to stay focused.
The driver licked his lips. “The things I see in your eyes: anger, fear, defiance. Hold on to them as long as you can, baby. Make this fun.” Then he leaned over and licked a stripe up Dean’s cheek.
Smiling, the driver withdrew back to the front of the truck. He snapped the curtain shut, put the truck in gear, and popped the music player on. Music boomed out through the truck.
“Welcome to the jungle. We got fun and games,” the driver sang along.
Dean shuddered as darkness swirled. He had one clear thought before tumbling into it. What if the guy’s just human?
***
This time, when Dean woke, he was bound differently. His hands were out to his sides and stretched over him. His wrists were encircled by manacles. He hung loosely for a moment before trying to get his feet under him. He could only move so far. He looked below and saw his feet were bare, and his ankles were chained to a spreader bar.
Dean jerked his head up and looked around. He was in a windowless room with concrete brick walls and a concrete floor. Below him was a drain. In front of him was a large mirror fixed to the wall. Above him, there were chains mounted to the ceiling, and in the four corners, there were speakers
To his right was a sink and some shelves with drawers. To the left was a door with a long board to the side. On the board were mounted gags, whips, flogers, and other things Dean didn’t want to identify.
Through the mirror, he thought he could see a small bed behind him with chains hanging from the wall above it. Dean swallowed. This didn’t look good.
There was a noise at the door that drew Dean’s attention. He blinked as he tried to clear the drug-induced sleep from him. He needed to be sharp.
The trucker walked in sans hat and jacket. He looked at Dean.
“Wondered if you’d be awake,” he said.
“Who are you?” Dean demanded.
The man narrowed his eyes but didn’t answer. Instead, he walked over to the shelves and opened one of the drawers.
“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Dean called.
The man turned around and held an odd pair of scissors. They looked like emergency shears. Ignoring what Dean said, the man walked over to Dean’s side, knelt, and began cutting Dean’s jeans from the ankle.
“Whoa, hey, not without dinner first, buddy,” Dean said as he tried to jerk away.
The man once again ignored Dean and kept cutting past Dean’s calves and up his thighs.
The metal of the scissors was cool and slid easily over Dean's skin, sending goose pimples where they touched. He wanted to move away from them and the man, but he couldn’t. There was nowhere to go.
The scissors cut smoothly until they reached his belt wrapped around his waistband. There, they hung up a bit.
“Get away,” Dean yelled and began to thrash.
The man stood and pushed hard on the scissors. For a moment, the leather and denim held, then gave way. He moved to Dean’s other side and repeated the process until Dean’s jeans were ragged and easily pulled away.
Dean began to yell and struggle in earnest, but his bonds held fast while his captor continued cutting. Next, it was his underwear. The shears cut through the thin cotton boxers quickly. Dean stilled as the scissors glided dangerously close to his groin.
Swallowing, he watched the guy yank the tattered underwear off him before moving on to cut his shirts, starting from the waist. Air swirled around Dean’s cock, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed.
“I don’t know what kind of freak show you are running, but I’m not featuring in it.”
The man tore Dean’s shirts off, both the flannel and the henley. Then, the trucker stepped back to stand in front of Dean.
Dean was completely nude. The room was cool, and he couldn’t help but shiver a little. He glared at the man and pushed back on the fear and humiliation threatening to overwhelm him.
The trucker stood a moment and swept his eyes slowly over Dean. He glanced up and met Dean’s gaze. He smirked and began walking around him.
Dean tried to keep him in sight by turning his head or watching the mirror.
The man took his time inspecting every inch of Dean while all Dean could do was thrash in his chains and swear.
Eventually, the man stepped back. He moved to the board by the door and grabbed a flogger with thin leather tresses from the wall. “Rules,” the man said as he moved back to Dean.
“I’m not good with authority figures,” Dean snapped, watching the other man.
SNAP! The man whipped the flogger across Dean’s chest. Dean jumped and cried out.
“You do not speak without permission,” the man said as he began moving around Dean again.
“Buddy, bite me,” Dean spat out.
SNAP! The leather tresses caught Dean around the waist. Dean twitched.
“You will address me as ‘sir,’” the man ordered.
“Sir, fuck off,” Dean yelled, then yelped as the flogger struck his backside.
“You will obey me without question,” the man said before laying a series of strokes across Dean’s back.
Pain lanced through Dean, and his breath caught in his throat.
“Failure to follow the rules will lead to punishment,” the man said, whipping the tops of Dean’s thighs.
“Obedience earns rewards,” the man struck Dean’s shoulders.
“I’ve been to hell, buddy,” Dean said. “I don’t think you can dish out what I can take!”
Now, the man began to beat Dean with abandon. He flashed strokes over Dean’s back and torso until they were striped red. He flogged Dean’s ass until he couldn’t feel it anymore, then the trucker started on Dean’s inner thighs. Over and over, he hit Dean while singing, “Get up, come on get down with the sickness.”
Dean was almost insensate with agony. Sure, Alistair had hurt him worse, but pain was pain. All he was aware of was his voice gasping aloud almost in time with the snap and whiz of the tresses flying around him chorused by the trucker.
SAM! Dean instinctively called out for his brother. They always had each other’s backs, but there was no rescue. There was just the flogger’s leather biting into Dean’s skin stroke after stroke.
Dean had sworn and yelled, but he hadn’t begged until the trucker started whipping Dean’s cock and balls.“STOP!”
“Ask me right!” The man yelled.
What did that mean?
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
More pain sizzled down Dean’s spine. He arched his back and screamed. Sweat streamed down his body in rivulets, or was it blood?
“Beg me to stop the right way,” the man said between strikes.
Dean tried to think. What was the right way?
SNAP!
The man had said something about rules.
SNAP!
He had to remember. Had to remember. Had to-
“STOP! Please, sir !” Dean cried out, finally puzzling out the answer.
At first, Dean wasn’t sure it worked as fire continued to lick across his skin. However, in a few long moments, he realized the trucker had stopped whipping him.
Dean looked down at his body, expecting to see open wounds, but there weren’t any. It was just sweat flowing over his red and purpling skin. Dean let his head sag. He hung in his chains, not trusting his legs to hold him upright.
He felt hands gently caressing the back of his legs. It hurt, and yet it soothed. Dean concentrated on the pain. The hands continued up over his ass and then over his back.
Next, Dean felt fingers trail along his hip until the man stood before him.
“Was it good for you, sir ,” Dean choked out.
The trucker smiled. “I’m going to leave you alone now. I’m going to give you some time to think about the rules and whether or not you will obey. This is only a taste of what I can and will do if you defy me.”
Then, the man walked away from Dean. He hung up the flogger, opened the door, and flipped a switch. The room was plunged into darkness except where light streamed in from the open door. The man paused, “But since you addressed me correctly, I will leave you a little entertainment. The man stepped out of the room and shut the door.
Dean was surrounded by utter darkness. His breath hitched as his skin ached and burned. Then loud music began to blare through the room. The base was deep; it thumped along, and Dean prayed. Cas, I think I’m in trouble.
You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you