Fic: The Misbegotten, Chapter 6
Title: The Misbegotten, Chapter 6
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". This fic is inspired by that 'verse, though not a part of it.
Beta: Nadnewraid
Summary: A change in ownership.
WARNINGS: Strong language. Slavery. Also, I need to warn you that this fic is a WIP.
Author's Notes: Wow, it's been a while! Anybody still remember this? The idea of chip removal was taken from A Lost Boy by angiepen with her permission. Thanks Angie!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
"Ever been to Michigan?" John asked.
"No, sir." Dean turned from the window to look at John.
"Well, that's where we're headed after this."
"We are?" Dean was shocked. He turned to see if Master Singer was still following them. He was. "But Rumsfeld is still on his chain."
"What?"
"Master Singer's dog, sir. He's outside on his chain. What if he gets hungry?"
"Bobby won't be gone that long."
"Oh." Dean was confused, but Carmen and Joe had always told him not to ask too many questions of masters or their guests.
Fifteen minutes later, Bobby's Chevelle pulled in front of them and put on his left turn signal. John followed suit and a block later both cars pulled into the parking lot of the Sioux Falls Federal Government building.
"Let's go, boy. The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can eat."
"Yes, sir," Dean said, exiting the truck. He wished he knew what it was they were getting over with, but he assumed he'd find out momentarily anyway.
Bobby and John made their way toward the building.
"Bobby?" Dean called out hesitantly, remaining where he was.
"What?" Bobby turned around, surprised to see that Dean hadn't followed him.
"I'm sorry Bobby, but I shouldn't be out in public with out the collar. Something could happen. You could be fined."
Bobby groaned in annoyance. "Yeah, that's right. C'mere." He went back to his car and popped the glove compartment retrieving the chain and padlock where he'd dumped it. Dean stood before him, then dropped to his knees, hands clasped behind his back, and lifted his chin slightly, giving his master better access to his neck, as he'd been trained to do.
Bobby sighed loudly as he wound the chain around the boy's neck and clicked the padlock closed. It made him extremely uncomfortable, but it was the law. "Alright, you're good to go." He patted Dean's head once and led the way toward the doors.
They stopped at the Office of Commerce and Dean's heart began to race. He wondered if he was being remanded again. Was that his punishment? He hesitated at the door.
Bobby turned back. "Something wrong, boy?"
"I . . . n-no sir," Dean answered, catching up to him. There was no point in apologizing. Master Singer hadn't asked for an apology. It would probably only make him angry. As they entered a waiting area, John and Bobby took seats in the chairs provided. Dean knelt in a roped off area marked "Slaves". Their wait was short, yet it was long enough for Dean to mourn the loss of Master's Singer's amazing salvage yard and Rumsfeld, and Master Singer himself, who was a very kind man, even if pleasing him was confusing. And to castigate himself for allowing his pain to dictate his behavior. He knew better than that. 'You're gonna wish you were having growing pains when you're swimming through sewers or dying of radiation poisoning, idiot!' he mentally kicked himself.
"Singer?" an officious looking clerk called out. Bobby looked up and nodded. "This way, please." The clerk opened the gate in the half wall separating the waiting room from the inner offices. Dean looked to Bobby who motioned for him to follow and he and John made their way toward the clerk.
But as Dean rose the clerk turned toward him with cold eyes and a hard expression. She snapped loudly and pointed at Dean. "STOP! STAY!"
Dean fell back to his knees, his hands behind his back, his head down and his eyes on the floor. He froze in that position by reflex.
"We don't need it just yet," The clerk said to John and Bobby as the gate clicked closed behind them. Bobby opened his mouth to protest the treatment but John shook his head. There was no point in arguing about how your slave was treated in a Commerce office, unless you were a Lord at the very least. And any argument would just prolong the whole process.
The clerk seated herself at a computer console and began typing before either man had even pulled a chair out to sit.
"Singer, Robert. You made the purchase from Remands only seven days ago."
"Yeah," Bobby answered, not volunteering any information.
"Three thousand dollars. By credit card. Sufficient funds. Bill of sale. Signature on transfer of ownership form. Paperwork received. Very good. All in order." She glanced from the screen to the men. "And now you wish to transfer ownership to this," she hesitated only slightly, but the hunters heard it loud and clear, "gentleman?"
Bobby nodded.
The clerk then turned her gaze to John. "Name?"
"John Winchester."
"Amount of sale?"
"Three thousand dollars."
The clerk again gave a slight hesitation before typing the amount. It was unusual, if not unheard of to sell a slave without making a profit. Certainly the worker slaves weren't given to the sorts of prices the bodyslaves were, but still, property was property, you didn't just give it away. Then again, the slave had been remanded, so who knows what kind of shape it was truly in, mentally or physically.
"Have you received the contract, history, and relevant paperwork from Mister Singer?"
"Yeah."
"May I see the transfer of ownership form?"
Bobby produced it and the clerk scanned it into the computer. "Alright. You may go through those doors," she indicated a set of double doors in the opposite direction of the waiting room, "where you, Mr. Winchester, will receive your new set of ownership papers and claim your property." She dismissed them.
They followed her directions and found Dean face down on a steel table. He was clutching the sides of the table and from the tension in his muscles he was very nervous. An older Commerce worker had removed his collar and was rubbing a clear gel over the brand on the back of his neck. She looked up and smiled as John and Bobby came through the doors. "Mr. Winchester?"
"That's me," John nodded to her.
"Nice to meet you, sir," she reached into a nearby printer tray and handed him his ownership papers. "If you'll be good enough to check the accuracy and spelling of the information here and," she turned a flat computer screen toward him, "here, we can reset the information in the microchip and the collar, and you can be on your way."
John quickly proofread through the information and nodded. "It's correct."
The worker smiled at him. "All righty, then." She turned her attention to Dean, petting the back of his head. "Now sweetie, you remember how this goes. I need you to just lie real quiet and still for me. You're going to feel something cold at the back of your neck here, in just a minute." Bobby and John watched as a cylindrical apparatus descended from the ceiling and came to rest over the patch of skin where Dean had been branded. The worker typed something into the computer and lights began blinking on the apparatus and it pushed further into Dean's neck. He grunted softly.
The worker, ran her hand over his hair again. "I know, sweetie, it pinches a bit. Now you might feel just a little shock…" The table beneath Dean began to hum and an image of his body was projected on the opposite wall. The worker hit a few more keys and the image coalesced to Dean's skeleton, including a bright spot a the base of his spine. The worker winced in sympathy. John and Bobby looked at each other, puzzled.
The worker looked down at Dean and opened her mouth to say something more, then apparently thought better of it and flipped a switch on the cylinder that was pressed into Dean's neck.
Immediately the bright spot on the projection turned red and Dean gave a muffled scream, then the table and the machine shut themselves off and the cylinder retracted into the ceiling. It had taken less than three seconds.
The worker was leaning over Dean, discreetly wiping his eyes with a tissue and whispering to him. "There we go, sweetie, all done. All over now. You did real good. Just take some deep breaths. Good boy." She straightened with a smile at John and Bobby, so well practiced that less observant men might not have realized it was fake. "Now I'll just check the information transfer." She took a hand held scanning device and waved it over Dean's brand, showing John that the information on the chip was the same as had been on the screen before. "Perfect!" She began wiping the gel from the back of Dean's neck. "Now then, the brand seems to have healed well and remained crisp, but if you'd like any clarification tattooing or secondary branding I can get you the price lists for those."
"Uh, no, thanks."
"If you'll allow me, sir, I would like to point out where the links of this particular collar are wearing a raw place over the topmost portion of the brand. Now the problem with that is, should this become infected, the entire brand could be affected, and if you get into a re-branding situation, as you know, it sometimes can run into a loss of production and could become a big headache for you. Now, if I may," the worker very smoothly walked around the table and opened a box sitting on a nearby desk. "I'd like to show you a few other models which are not only less damaging to the brand, but also easier to maintain, and more visually appealing, if that is of any consequence."
John and Bobby looked in amazement at all of the different collars. Gold, silver, copper, brass, some with links so delicate they could be taken for necklaces.
"There are also these, which are worn closer to the neck." She opened another box filled with bands of leather, braided hemp, velvet, fur, and gemstones.
John pulled out one of the leather pieces. "How much is this?"
"That is ten dollars, sir."
"You got it in black?"
"Yes, sir." She opened another drawer, full of different leather collars. John reached in and took out a piece of worn black leather with a few small stainless steel links at the clasp. He ran his finger along the inside of it. It was soft. Like butter.
He took it over to Dean, who by now was sitting up, and breathing almost normally. "What do you think, kiddo?"
Dean blinked at the collar. His mind was still a bit scrambled. "If it please you sir."
John put it around Dean's neck. "How's it feel?"
"Light," Dean said the first thing that came to his mind. It was so much better than the heavy chain he'd been wearing. "Soft. Warm."
John nodded. "Okay, we'll take this one."
The worker smiled and again took up the hand held scanner. She adjusted a few settings and pressed it to the stainless steel links in the collar. "This won't hurt a bit, sweetie." She told Dean as she held down a button until it beeped. Again she checked the information transfer and it was correct. "Is there anything else I can do for you sir?"
"Nope, " John said, handing over the money for the collar. "I guess that's it." He helped Dean stand.
"Have a nice day then!" She smiled, as she fingered her own collar, a delicate chain of metal daisies, enameled in yellow, so subtle that few ever saw it for what it really was.
John guided Dean to Bobby's Chevelle, which was closest, and deposited him in the passenger seat. "So where's this place at?" he asked Bobby across the roof of the car.
"Three blocks down, turn left, turn right at the second stop sign, keep goin' past the house with the pig on the garage door, it's kinda fading now, but you can still make it out,
then -"
"You know what?" John interrupted, "I'll just follow you."
"Like I said before we left the house," Bobby replied as he sat behind the wheel and pulled the door closed.
John rolled his eyes, got into his truck and prepared to follow Bobby.
Bobby glanced in his rear view mirror to make sure John was behind hi, then glanced over at Dean. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I, uh, I didn't know it was gonna hurt. Sorry 'bout that."
"No apology necessary, sir. It wasn't your doing."
Bobby didn't call him on the 'sir'. "So whose 'doing' was it?"
"Lord Gilmore's, sir."
"Okay, and what exactly did he 'do'?"
"He has all of the chips of his work slaves removed from under the skin and surgically placed near the nerve bundle at the end of the spinal chord."
"Why would he do that?"
"Because there is a rumor, maybe more of an urban legend, that there are people who capture slaves and remove their chips, and then either keep them for their own slaves, resell them, or teach them to be free people. Or that slaves can locate their own chips and cut them out of themselves, or each other and then escape their masters or mistresses, go far away and pretend to be free people. So some surgeons offer this chip re-location operation so that it's much more difficult to remove the chip, and even if it is removed, the slave would be paralyzed and no good to anyone."
Bobby just shook his head. He'd been around long enough to know that it don't haveta be supernatural to be evil, but every time he saw it in actual human beings, it hurt his heart. They'd been driving in silence for a while, when Bobby noticed Dean turned toward the side window, discreetly wiping tears from his cheeks. "Dean? What's wrong boy?"
Dean sniffled a little and cleared his throat. "May I ask a question, sir?"
"Hey, I told you to call me Bobby, remember?"
"Yes, sir, but that was before I displeased you."
"Displeased me? How do you think you displeased me?"
Dean looked at him, hurt clearly showing in his slightly slanted brown eyes. "That was what I wanted to ask you sir. And to apologize."
Bobby laughed a little in his confusion. "Boy, you're the best worker I've ever seen! And a damn good mechanic. Plus you cleaned a house that hasn't been cleaned in . . . hell I don't know how long! You do what you're told, you eat what you're given and you don't complain. Ain't a thing you've done to displease me."
"Even what I did with your guest?"
Bobby's eyebrows shot up under his hat. "What exactly did you do with Winchester?"
"I disturbed his sleep. But I didn't mean to!" Dean hurried to add.
"So you woke him up? Lazy ass sleeps too much anyway," Bobby winked at him.
"But then, I, I let him serve me." Dean's voice trailed off to a whisper as he looked down in shame.
Bobby thought for a minute. 'No, no way. John wouldn't do anything with a kid. Especially one he thinks is his own kid. He would never do that . . . would he? . . . No. Definitely no. Besides, he's straight. . . .I'm pretty sure he's straight. He was married. . . . but hell so was I . . . a million years ago.' Bobby shook his head, he'd let his mind wander onto a tangent. "I think you'd better explain exactly what you mean by 'serve' there, kid."
"I let him give me pills, and rub me."
"I think you'd better start at the beginning and tell me exactly what happened."
"Well, at night, sometimes my legs hurt, sometimes my arms too. I can usually keep pretty quiet, but I woke Mr., um, I mean Master Winchester up. I told him I was sorry and I'd be quieter. But he insisted on getting up and giving me some pills. He said his son had the same pains. And then he rubbed my legs and arms and it took away the pain and I fell asleep."
"Ah, growing pains. Yeah, Sam got those pretty bad when he was your age. I bet you'll be tall, like him. But listen, you didn't do anything wrong. Winchester just wanted to help you out, let you get some sleep."
"But he's a free person. Free people don't help slaves, especially slaves who wake them up! I begged him not too, but it made him kinda mad."
"Are you arguing with me, boy?"
Dean straightened up and answered, "No, sir."
"Alright then. If I say it was okay, it was okay, right?"
"Yes, sir." Dean frowned down at his hands in his lap. "So, I haven't displeased you?"
"You have not displeased me."
"But then why did you sell me?" Dean asked his distress showing, before he pulled himself together and added a belated "sir".
"Aw, kid," Bobby reached over and squeezed the back of Dean's neck. "I'm sorry. We've pretty much left you in the dark about this whole thing, huh? See, John was the one who wanted to buy you in the first place. But, his credit is a little . . . non-existent, so he used my line of credit and had you brought to my house. The plan was always for him to . . . own you."
"Oh." Dean seemed to deflate a little. "Sorry."
"No problem, I'd think the same thing if I were you."
"May I say, I was really happy working for you and I'll miss you. And Rumsfeld."
"Well, we'll miss you too. But Winchester swings by every now and again, it's not goodbye forever."
"I'm glad."
"Me too. And Rumsfeld," Bobby grinned. He pulled into a space and checked to see that John had followed him into the parking lot of the restaurant. He had and was out of his truck and walking up to slap the roof of Bobby's car.
"Let's eat!"
It was the first time Dean had eaten among free people. He was very self-conscious. He hadn't known what to order so he said he'd have the same as John, a salad and a double cheeseburger with fries and a Pepsi. That turned out to be fortuitous because then he could observe what to eat with utensils and what to eat with his hands.
Bobby kept the conversation light. He thought that if Winchester was going to tell the kid about his resemblance to Sam, and what that might mean, he'd let him do it in his own time. He also didn't want to bring up anything about hunting and scare Dean. So they stuck to cars, John's boys, and the health and welfare of their mutual friends.
When the meal was over they said goodbye in the parking lot, shaking hands and slapping backs.
Then Dean got into John's truck and Bobby watched them drive away.
Chapter 7
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