Fic: The Misbegotten, Chapter 2

Oct 25, 2008 15:45


Title: The Misbegotten, Chapter 2
Author: Piratelf
Rating: R (for strong language)
Fandom: Gilmore Girls and Supernatural crossover inspired by, but in no way a part of the whatwekeep 'verse.
Disclaimer: Gilmore Girls and Supernatural belong to their respective owners, bought and paid for. I am not one of the owners, more's the pity. The AKB 'verse was created by poisontaster in her fic "A Kept Boy". The AKB 'verse however is RPF only! Misbegotten is an FPF, and therefore, it is NOT a part of the AKB verse. It's simply inspired by it.
Beta: Nadnewraid
Summary: The slave arrives.
WARNINGS: Strong language. Slavery. Also, I need to warn you that this fic is a WIP.
Author's Notes: I may post more of this. If I do it will be in this journal. If you'd like to know when this story is updated, please friend this journal. I only post fic in this journal so it won't clutter your flist too much. Thanks.



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Three days later, at seven a.m., there was a knock at Bobby's door. Standing there was a smiling man in a suit and a kneeling boy in grey sweats wearing a collar stamped 'Property of the Commerce Dept.'

"Robert Singer?" the man asked.

"Yeah, that's me."

"How do you do. My name is Kirk Gleason, I'm with the Commerce Department. You purchased a Remanded slave from our website?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Excellent." The man addressed the slave "Head up!"

The boy immediately brought his head up. His face was expressionless, his eyes blank.

"Will you verify that this is the return you requested, sir?"

"That's him," Bobby nodded.

"Good. Now, if you'll sign the transfer of ownership form," the man handed Bobby a clipboard. Bobby read the form and signed it.

"Thank you," the man smiled, taking the form back. He turned to the slave and removed the collar, replacing it with a stainless steel chain and padlock. He gave two keys to Bobby. "Here you are. And here is the paperwork, the contract, provenance and relevant details," he handed Bobby a vinyl folder. "If you have any problems or questions there are numbers and email addresses in there." He nodded to Bobby and left.

'That was it?' Bobby thought. 'No demo, no user's manual? Damn.' He looked at the boy, still kneeling on his doorstep. "Stand up, kid."

The boy complied. Bobby looked into his face. It wasn't Sam. He knew it wasn't. But no harm in being sure. He looked for any sign of recognition in the boy's eyes. "You recognize me?"

There was confusion in the eyes for a moment. "You're my master, sir."

"No, boy. Have you ever seen me before?"

"No sir, not that I know of."

Bobby grunted. "You ever heard the name Winchester?"

The kid's brow wrinkled for a moment. "You mean the gun, sir?"

Bobby could tell a liar, and this kid wasn't lying. This wasn't Sam. Now what was he gonna do? "What's your name?"

"Dean, sir."

Bobby choked, coughed and stared at the kid. "What did you say?"

"You asked my name, sir. It's Dean."

Bobby laughed. He couldn't help it. John was gonna have a fit. Looks like one son, named after the other. "Well, kid, come on in."

"Yes, sir," Dean followed his new master into the house. It was his first chance to get a good look at what would be his home for the foreseeable future. When arriving he'd taken a peek around and was happy to see that he was at a salvage yard. So he was most probably bought for his automotive skills, and the chances that he would end up being hunted on one of those illegal 'big game' preserves, or handling nuclear waste went down considerably. Of course he still might end up in the man's bed. He'd been informed by the other slaves that it was only to be expected when one was bought as a remand, even if one wasn't a bodyslave. Dean just tried not to think about that. He'd never been in anyone's bed, and he hoped he wouldn't have to start now. The house looked like someone had tipped a library over and dumped the entire contents inside. Everything looked dusty and worn. He could see that he would be cleaning in addition to whatever other duties his master required. He'd never been a house slave, but he could do that. All of the slaves on Lord and Lady Gilmore's estate had been recruited to clean inside of the mansion before and after parties.

His new master looked the way he sounded, gruff, and work worn. He was wearing an old trucker's cap, a frayed flannel shirt and jeans with dirty work boots. He might be kind, at least he didn't seem cruel, or sex-crazed. Anyway, Dean tried to be optimistic and hoped his luck would hold on that count.

Bobby stopped in the kitchen. "You had breakfast yet?"

"No, sir." Bobby turned to see the kid on his knees again.

"Do you have to kneel all the time?" he snapped irritably.

Dean looked up in shock. "N-no sir. Sorry sir." He stood, unsure of what to do.

"Have a seat," Bobby indicated the kitchen chairs.

"Thank you, sir." Dean sat. He felt a bit odd. He'd never sat at a master's table in all his life. He felt too big for the chair and didn't know what to do with his hands.

"You like bacon and eggs?" Bobby asked taking the food out of the refrigerator.

"Yes, sir," Dean said, which would have been his answer even if his master had asked 'Do you like live jellyfish on moldy bread?' A slave never indicates dislike in what is provided for him. Dean was a little nervous though. He didn't know how to cook. He'd never done it before. Maybe there was another slave somewhere else in the house who was going to cook for them? He hoped so.

Bobby heated the pan and had just thrown in a few strips of bacon when he heard a gasp from behind him. He turned to see the kid wide eyed, staring at him. "You okay, boy?"

Dean swallowed, "yes sir."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Don't lie to me, boy. Something got your attention."

"I - I've just never seen a master cook before, sir."

"Well, I'm hardly a master cook, but I haven't died of starvation yet." Bobby winked at him.

Dean grinned, and then dropped his head. Was he supposed to grin at his master? He wasn't sure. The man had a friendly face, though.

"You know how to work a toaster?"

"No sir."

Bobby hadn't expected that answer. He turned to the boy. "You mean to tell me you've never used a toaster before?"

"No, sir. But I'm a fast learner," Dean added, hoping to offset his master's displeasure.

"I thought you were supposed to be trained." Bobby flipped the bacon.

"I've never been trained in the kitchen, sir. I'm sorry."

"Well, it ain't brain surgery, get over here." Bobby pulled out the bread and butter. Dean came to stand by him. "Okay, now you put a slice of bread in each of these slots here, and you pull down this doohickey. Don't mess with this dial, I have it just how I like it. Then in a minute the bread'll pop up and you take this knife and you spread the butter on it. You got that?"

"Yes, sir." Dean nodded.

"Good. Make four slices for me. You want four?"

"If it please you, sir."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"S-sir?" Dean asked, startled.

"I'm asking YOU. Now do you want four slices of toast or not?"

Dean wasn't sure what the right answer was to that. Except, judging by his master's tone, a rapid one would be best. "Yes, sir?" he asked, rather than stated.

Bobby huffed and turned back to start the eggs. "I thought having one of you around was supposed to make things easier," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry, sir," Dean apologized. He had so wanted to do well here, especially on his first day, and he was failing miserably. He hoped he'd be sent to work on the cars soon. Cars he could do.

"Quit apologizing for everything."

"Yes, sir," Dean answered quietly.

Bobby was irritated. He didn't know what to do with a slave! He thought you just told them what to do and they did it. Now here was this kid in his house, looking half-starved and acting scared to death. He knew this was a bad idea. But what else could they have done?

Dean was forlorn. He wasn't completely sure just how he kept causing his master displeasure. He felt as if he'd been dropped into a foreign land and he didn't know the language or the customs. He was getting everything wrong, and there didn't seem to be any other slaves around to help him. At Lord Gilmore's, house slaves were always being bought and sold. And he and the rest of the slaves always tried to get as much information as they could to any new slaves. Such as, the master and the mistress liked silent obedience, but if they asked you a direct question, answer immediately. They will ask if you like things they are wearing or have bought. Don't just say yes. Always say how amazing and awesome it is and what great taste they have. They love flattery. But always sound sincere. Make sure you say something different every time. If you hear them yelling at someone, drop to a full prostrate position, even if they aren't yelling at you. Dean needed someone to tell him these things about Master Singer, but there was no one to ask.

His thoughts were interrupted by the toast popping up. He grabbed the first piece to butter. It was HOT! He bit his lip and made sure he didn't make a sound, or drop the toast. He finished the first four pieces and put four more pieces of bread in the toaster and pulled the lever down. He discreetly blew on his hand.

"Toast done?"

"Four pieces, sir."

"That'll be good enough to start us. You want coffee?"

"If it - I mean, um, yes, sir."

"How do you like it?"

How? "Ummm," Dean stalled wondering how to answer.

"Look," Bobby sighed. "I'll just put the cup here and you can put whatever you want in it, how's that?"

"Thank you, sir."

Bobby served up the bacon and eggs on two plates and put them on the table. Dean stood to the side, stifling his impulse to kneel, as Bobby put the tableware down, sat and prepared to eat.

"What are you doing now, boy?"

"Waiting for your instruction, sir."

"Sit your ass down and eat! That good enough instruction for ya?"

"Yes, sir." He was to eat with his master? At the same table at the same time? His mind boggled. He hoped his table manners were sufficient. He sat and looked at the plate of food. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

"What is it?"

"Sir, is this my allotment for the day?"

"What?"

"I'm only asking to determine my daily schedule," Dean hurried to clarify. "Is there just one mealtime a day?"

Bobby rubbed his face. The kid was healthy, young, skilled with cars and apparently a moron. Great. "No, there's breakfast, lunch and supper. That getting cold there on your plate is breakfast."

Dean looked at the plate in awe. "This is all for me, sir? Just for breakfast?"

No wonder the kid looked starved. Bobby regretted the uncharitable thoughts he'd been having. "Son, what do you usually have for breakfast?"

"At the Remands Center we had a glass of milk and a cup of oatmeal, sir."

"That's not enough for a growing boy like you."

"A lot of slaves there are very sick, sir. Some can barely eat that." Dean thought about the slaves that were still there. He'd tried to help them as best he could, fetching water and helping them get comfortable. He hoped someone else was helping them now.

Bobby shook his head. "What about before then?"

"At my previous master's sir?"

"Yeah."

"An apple, a piece of bread and a hard boiled egg, sir. And water, to drink."

"Quite a spread," Bobby said with much sarcasm. He decided to open the vinyl folder and see what he could determine from it.

The other four pieces of toast popped up and Dean immediately stopped eating and went to butter them and bring them to the table. Now his hand was really sore. He sat and continued eating, as quietly as possible. He sipped at the coffee. It was hot and very bitter. It was going to be hard to get it down. He decided to leave it until he'd finished eating. Maybe it would be cooler then and he could down it all in one gulp.

Bobby paged through the folder stopping at the slave history. He'd been sold at age 8 in Chicago. He'd had a standard education and training as a work slave. He'd been sold again at age 10 and had additional education and began automotive training. He was sold at age 11 to his previous master, in Connecticut, as a mechanic and general work slave. He'd received certification in automotive repair, autobody repair and comprehensive parts and service. He was remanded two weeks ago. The official reason given was theft of foodstuffs.

'Well, hell, if ya don't feed the boy what do you expect?' Bobby thought. Still, no reason not to just sell him. Why remand him?

Dean watched his master surreptitiously. He looked disturbed. Angry? Dean wondered what the file said about him. It didn't look good. He was starting to feel homesick again. He couldn't afford to do that, he knew, but it was hard. He missed his fellow work slaves, especially Carmen the gardener and Joe the carpenter. They'd been at Lord Gilmore's estate for years before Dean came. Dean had been assigned the cot between theirs in the slaves' quarters. They'd helped Dean a lot when he'd first arrived. Telling him how to act, what to say, what to do, what not to do. They'd taken care of him after his first serious beating, and any subsequent beatings, and he learned how to take care of them too. Any time he'd had a problem, he'd tell them and they'd help him work it out or learn to deal with it. Until last year, that is. But that was a problem no one could help him with. He wondered if they missed him as much as he missed them? Probably not. They probably knew how not to miss someone. Dean would have to learn that too.

His breakfast was only half-eaten and he was starting to feel full. And very thirsty. He tried the coffee again. It was cooler, but just as bitter.

Bobby looked up in time to see the slight grimace cross Dean's face as he sipped his coffee. "You might like it better with some sugar." He pushed the small bowl across the table. "And probably some milk, it's in the 'fridge."

"Thank you, sir," Dean replied. He took the sugar and put a spoonful into his coffee, watching Bobby carefully as he reached to take another spoonful.

"Take as much as you want," Bobby assured him.

"Yes, sir," Dean answered. It did improve the taste. He wanted to get up and get the milk, but he hesitated opening his master's refrigerator. It was what he had gotten his last beating for. The Remands officer had had to carry him to the truck afterward.

They finished breakfast in silence. Dean managed to get everything down, but he felt more full than he had ever been. He just hoped none of it would make a reappearance.

"You ready to go check out some cars?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, sir!" Dean answered. It was the first smile Bobby'd seen on the kid. He had the same deep dimples Sam had gotten from his old man. As good as it was to see some light in the boy's eyes, it was also damn weird to see Sam's smile on someone else's face. He shook off the feeling. He'd have to get used to it.

Chapter 3




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john winchester, gg, spn, misbegotten, dean forester, kirk gleason, bobby singer

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