For wolfy_sam, but OTAalotofadderallFebruary 13 2013, 02:46:04 UTC
[Stiles sits in the cage of rejects, huddled in on himself, trying to conserve warmth. It's freezing down there, in the pits of hell, effectively, and he whines softly, shivering at the metal collar snapped around his neck. It feels like it's burning him with how cold it is - but the handlers don't care. These slaves aren't fit for stock anyway. Let them die.
Stiles doesn't know which is worse - the face that he's been sentenced to death or the fact that the cold almost makes him wish they'd send him to the whorehouse, where it would surely be worse. But right now, freezing so badly he's shaking, quivering and practically clawing his own neck off futilely, he can't think past the cold.]
[The giant wolf pads down along the rejects, snuffling at each cage. He'd take them all home if he could, but his finances couldn't afford that many. Most of them were already wounded, sick and dying. It was a terrible way to die, but at least it would be quick.
He pauses at one cage, at the sound of a young man in distress. A kid? Down here? Sam pauses at his cage, aching in sympathy for him. He's half-frozen, fingers bloody and eyes glazed with pain.
Sam glances up at the auctioneer who simply gives a deferential nod.] As you wish sir. I'll have him cleaned and brought upstairs to you.
[Stiles lets out a soft, terrified squeak when the huge wolf stops in front of him, taking some kind of interest and oh God, what was it going to do to him? Was that what he'd have to fight? Or was that thing going to...to what? Something.
Stiles closed his eyes tightly, shivering violently, and he barely registered the auctioneers voice as he said Stiles would be taken from the freezing underground cell.
It's ten minutes later he's upstairs, being hosed off with boiling water but he doesn't even care, because scalding it better than freezing and it leaves him wincing in pain, definitely feeling his bruises and injuries, but clean, skin bright red.
He's put on a leash and tied to a ring in the floor to await pick up and...preferences. Someone had bought him? Who the hell would want him? That...the wolf? Oh shitThere's a wall of tattoo and piercing options on the wall next to him and his head spins just looking at them. Especially the Prince Albert - if he had anything in his stomach, he'd throw it up. Branding, hair coloring or
( ... )
[Sam pads into the room, a tall, angular Asian woman at his side. She consults quietly with the wolf, who communicates with a few odd growls and chuffs. Gesturing at the wall, she gives an inquiring tilt of her head.
The wolf moves to stand beside Stiles, watching her with golden eyes.
No modifications. No changes. He was taking him home now. To hammer home his point, he turns, dragging his cheek along the boy's shoulder. Marking him. He'd paid for his purchase, now they were leaving.]
[Stiles slumps with relief when it seems as though the man - who, judging by his eyes, was less of a man and more of a wolf - didn't seem to care about any modifications. But that didn't last long, as Stiles went rigid as the wolf touched him, making him shiver and cower just a little.
The woman moved, deftly untying Stiles' leash and handing it over to Sam. She continued spewing off sales pitches until they left, a hesitant, almost uncooperative Stiles led by his leash.]
[Sam doesn't tug at the leash, he waits patiently for Stiles to come with him. Outside a car was waiting for them and Sam swings the door open, waiting for his new purchase to get inside. Most of the rejects have their paperwork destroyed, so he's having to work from scratch here.]
S-Stiles. [Stiles answers quickly, hesitating before getting into the car. Christ, this huge wolf was his master. Sties wouldn't deny he was scared out of his mind. But he climbs in anyway, doing his best not to cower in the corner and keep still for whatever this wolf wanted from him.]
We'll be home soon. Allison will show you to your quarters.
[Sam glances out the window, watching the city fade away as they returned to the pack house.] Can you read? Write? [He'd better have some use or Dean was going to shoot him for buying another slave on impulse. But something about him was Important. Sam knew that, even if he didn't know exactly why.]
I can. [Stiles nods quickly, confirming Sam's question.] I can read, write...I used to cook.
[Stiles bites his lip, staring at his lap.] I had...minimal training, m-master. [He'll never get used to calling people that.] ...before they decided I was unfit.
[Stiles tries not too look too relieved, but it doesn't quite work. He shivers but seems reassured by Sam's gentle hand.] Th-thank you. Thank you so much, sir.
The others at the house wear collars, but they're wrapped in leather. I won't mistreat you, but I expect you to do what you're told. Lydia helps Ellen run the house. She'll get you settled in when we return.
[The car comes to a halt and Sam opens the door.] You'll be sleeping in my room.
[And with that, he shifted again into a massive wolf and loped off into the night to meet his brother.]
[Stiles' eyes widen and he knows he's not off the hook for his original purpose, but Sam has been kinder to him than anyone has been in a long time, so if that's the price of his mercy Stiles is more than willing to pay it.
He's led into the house and given a pair of short, standard shorts, then led around. Shown where he'll eat, where he'll work, where to go to the bathroom. Finally, he's left in Sam's room to await further instruction.]
[To be fair, Sam hadn't really decided his initial purpose. If he could read, he'd do well in the library. There were books that needed organizing, cataloging, all the grunt work that Sam loved to do but simply didn't have the time to do any more.
Was he lonely? Yes. But he never forced himself on a slave and he wasn't about to start, even if his scent was interesting.
Sam returns to his room late that night, aching and bruised after another long training session with his brother. He almost looks surprised to see Stiles.] Get a shower started, please. And see if there's anything left down in the kitchen to eat. A sandwich is fine,you don't have to go nuts.
[Stiles has been waiting there obediently most of the night. He nods, quickly making his way into the bathroom and turning on the faucet. He checks the temperature before going downstairs to prepare Sam some food, figuring out how to make some macaroni and cheese.
When Stiles returns, he sets the plate on the table and gets onto his knees, bowing while he waits for Sam to get out of the shower. He'd prefer not to get beaten on his first night.]
[He takes his time with the shower, not because he wants to keep him waiting, but because he needs the warm water to work the kinks out of his back and neck. He might be bigger than Dean, but his brother still relishes throwing him around like a toy.
Sam turns the faucets off and dries himself off, his muscles finally starting to loosen up after the hot water. The warm smell of cheese and butter elicits a rather loud rumble from his stomach. God. He's starving.
A pair of thin sleep pants are slid on before Sam pads into the bedroom.] You don't have to kneel, man. Come on. Stand up. [Moving towards his table, he sits down and digs in. Late training always leaves him ravenous.]
Stiles doesn't know which is worse - the face that he's been sentenced to death or the fact that the cold almost makes him wish they'd send him to the whorehouse, where it would surely be worse. But right now, freezing so badly he's shaking, quivering and practically clawing his own neck off futilely, he can't think past the cold.]
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He pauses at one cage, at the sound of a young man in distress. A kid? Down here? Sam pauses at his cage, aching in sympathy for him. He's half-frozen, fingers bloody and eyes glazed with pain.
Sam glances up at the auctioneer who simply gives a deferential nod.] As you wish sir. I'll have him cleaned and brought upstairs to you.
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Stiles closed his eyes tightly, shivering violently, and he barely registered the auctioneers voice as he said Stiles would be taken from the freezing underground cell.
It's ten minutes later he's upstairs, being hosed off with boiling water but he doesn't even care, because scalding it better than freezing and it leaves him wincing in pain, definitely feeling his bruises and injuries, but clean, skin bright red.
He's put on a leash and tied to a ring in the floor to await pick up and...preferences. Someone had bought him? Who the hell would want him? That...the wolf? Oh shitThere's a wall of tattoo and piercing options on the wall next to him and his head spins just looking at them. Especially the Prince Albert - if he had anything in his stomach, he'd throw it up. Branding, hair coloring or ( ... )
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The wolf moves to stand beside Stiles, watching her with golden eyes.
No modifications. No changes. He was taking him home now. To hammer home his point, he turns, dragging his cheek along the boy's shoulder. Marking him. He'd paid for his purchase, now they were leaving.]
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The woman moved, deftly untying Stiles' leash and handing it over to Sam. She continued spewing off sales pitches until they left, a hesitant, almost uncooperative Stiles led by his leash.]
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What's your name?
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[Sam glances out the window, watching the city fade away as they returned to the pack house.] Can you read? Write? [He'd better have some use or Dean was going to shoot him for buying another slave on impulse. But something about him was Important. Sam knew that, even if he didn't know exactly why.]
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[Stiles bites his lip, staring at his lap.] I had...minimal training, m-master. [He'll never get used to calling people that.] ...before they decided I was unfit.
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[The car comes to a halt and Sam opens the door.] You'll be sleeping in my room.
[And with that, he shifted again into a massive wolf and loped off into the night to meet his brother.]
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[Stiles' eyes widen and he knows he's not off the hook for his original purpose, but Sam has been kinder to him than anyone has been in a long time, so if that's the price of his mercy Stiles is more than willing to pay it.
He's led into the house and given a pair of short, standard shorts, then led around. Shown where he'll eat, where he'll work, where to go to the bathroom. Finally, he's left in Sam's room to await further instruction.]
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Was he lonely? Yes. But he never forced himself on a slave and he wasn't about to start, even if his scent was interesting.
Sam returns to his room late that night, aching and bruised after another long training session with his brother. He almost looks surprised to see Stiles.] Get a shower started, please. And see if there's anything left down in the kitchen to eat. A sandwich is fine,you don't have to go nuts.
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When Stiles returns, he sets the plate on the table and gets onto his knees, bowing while he waits for Sam to get out of the shower. He'd prefer not to get beaten on his first night.]
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Sam turns the faucets off and dries himself off, his muscles finally starting to loosen up after the hot water. The warm smell of cheese and butter elicits a rather loud rumble from his stomach. God. He's starving.
A pair of thin sleep pants are slid on before Sam pads into the bedroom.] You don't have to kneel, man. Come on. Stand up. [Moving towards his table, he sits down and digs in. Late training always leaves him ravenous.]
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