Archive of Our Own ^beta

Never did Dean think he’d want to see Sam hurt, let alone wanting to be the one to do the hurting. His entire life was dedicated to protecting Sam, but the Mark was changing him.

As Dean stood over Sam’s sleeping body, his mind conjured up sickly satisfying images of his little brother beaten and bloody. Sam was the one who kept him locked away in the bunker, the one who kept him from satisfying those violent urges elsewhere.

Sam was asleep, it wouldn’t be too hard to get the drop in him. Maybe Dean could cuff him to the bed and pull out the First Blade. Dean would tape his mouth- wait- no he wouldn’t. Dean wanted to hear the pained cries that would tear from Sam’s throat as the blade sliced into his flesh.

Dean nearly groaned aloud at the idea. He could picture it in his head, how the blade would feel in his hands as he cut into his brother. That would teach him for keeping Dean prisoner, wouldn’t it?

Dean locked his eyes on Sam’s sleeping face, imagining the moment his eyes would snap open. Confusion would cross his face before his eyes would get wide with realization, and then fear would take over. Dean’s fingers curled towards his palm, feeling the weight of the envisioned blade in his hand.

It was then that his jeans started to feel a hell of a lot tighter, but that was nothing new. There was more than one side effect to the Mark.

The more Dean thought of inflicting pain upon Sam, the more the Mark burned with excitement. It encompassed his entire being.

His cock was fully hard in his jeans in no time.

Sam looked so peaceful like this, blissfully unaware the wicked ideas that raced through his own brother’s mind. He was dead asleep, not even twitching as the sound of Dean’s metal zipper opening filled the silent room.

Dean licked his lips, sliding his hand into his boxers. He watched Sam’s face, imagining the look of shock that would appear if he woke up. But he wasn’t going to. Dean knew how to be quiet.

He exposed himself, pulling his cock free and gripping himself in his hand. Dean ran his thumb over the tip of cock, collecting the precum that oozed from his slit before stroking down.

As Dean gazed at his brother, he wondered if instead of cuffing Sam to the bed it would be better to tie him to a chair. That way Sam would be sitting up and stuck in one place, giving him less of an opportunity to squirm.

Dean contained his motions, running his hand up and down his hard, heavy length. He gave a light squeeze, his body shuddering in pleasure as he pictured his brother so helpless. With Sam at his mercy, Dean could do anything. No limits.

After getting Sam securely bound to a chair with ropes around his arms and ankles, Dean would strip him of his shirt. He’d make a show of dragging the tip of his blade down Sam’s exposed chest. Sam would probably start negotiating, telling Dean that he needed to overpower the darkness inside of him.

Dean, of course, would laugh. The sound would mingle in Sam’s ears with the sound of his own bearing heart. Dean wanted Sam scared. He wanted him anxious and unaware of what would come next.

Sam would probably try to hold in his pain exclamations if Dean were to cut into his skin. Dean stroked his cock faster, almost hearing Sam’s muffled grunts if he fought the need to cry out.

The Blade would be sure to scar Sam’s flesh, leaving him with a reminder. Dean’s cock twitched in his grip at the idea of marking his brother in such a way.

Would Sam look at the scars in the mirror and realize the true nature of Dean’s power? Or would he not even make it out of the chair at all?

If he were to kill Sam, Dean wouldn’t do it right away. There’s no fun in that. He wanted to see his brother on edge, to hear his rapid breaths and the pounding beats of his heart.

Maybe Sam would find himself getting burned next. Branded with whatever Dean could find. Fire wasn’t Dean’s favorite- and for good reason- but sparking up a blaze to heat metal that would mark Sam’s skin didn’t seem too bad of an idea.

Or perhaps he’d use cigarettes. While Dean didn’t smoke, he could easily see himself lighting one up… only to put it out on his brother’s skin.

Dean inhaled, the phantom smell of ash and burning fleshing filling his nose. A deep groan sounded from his chest, his hand moving faster over the length of his cock. More precum dripped from his tip and his cock gave a twitch.

He wondered if Sam would cry- he hoped he would. Dean would pull out all the stops to ensure it.

Dean would slice Sam’s skin and he’d burn him. Maybe a few punches if he was feeling brazen. The bunker had tools of torture in the dungeon. Maybe he’d take Sam in there. Dean could hang him by his wrists with chains or strap him down to a table. Sam hated restraints- probably reminded him of Bobby’s panic room when he had to detox.

Table, Dean decided.

He’d lock Sam down and watch his brother squirm. Dean would go as far as what it would take- anything to get Sam to break. Anything to get tears to drip down his cheeks. Then, after the tears would fall, Sam would beg for mercy. Dean could already hear it in his head.

“Please, Dean! Stop this!”

He wouldn’t, though. He’d keep going. He’d make his brother experience pain he’d never known before. Dean would make Sam regret trapping him in the bunker.

Dean would cut and burn and bruise and- and when Sam would think it couldn’t get worse, Dean would plunge the First Blade into Sam’s battered body and listen to him scream-

“Fuck!” Dean grunted out suddenly, cum spurting from him throbbing cock and onto the floor below. He kept stroking himself, riding out his release as the fantasy drifted away.

Dean found himself standing in Sam’s room once again. Despite his vivid imagination, Dean knew he’d never really left.

Dean let out a heavy, content sigh as he came down from his high. The desperate throbbing of his cock faded as he tucked himself back into his jeans and the exhilarating burn of the Mark slowed to a buzz.

It only took a moment for Dean to collect himself before he headed to the door to make his exit. Just before Dean left, his eyes focused on Sam’s still sleeping face. A dark grin crossed his lips.

“See you tomorrow night, Sammy.”