Fanfic - SPN: Training Day - Ch.7 - The Supposed Warrior
Title: Training Day [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Seven: The Supposed Warrior
[067.Nervous]
"Stand up."
He didn't know what Sam had done to him, but right then, more than anything, he just wanted to curl into bed and sleep. He struggled to his feet though, eyes nearly closed and head hanging, but it was as much from disgrace as fatigue.
"Turn around."
Dean turned, slowly, trying to square his shoulders in some display of the confidence and strength that he really couldn't access right then. But Sam pulled him back, into an embrace, his lips skating over the top of his ear.
"Look, Dean."
It felt like his head was five times heavier than usual, but Sam's voice held a hint of triumph and maybe a little awe, which could never be good. So he raised his eyes and was immediately taken aback. He felt his adrenaline spike, momentarily dampening any drowsiness, and his mouth fell open, his chest rising and falling rapidly with agitated air.
Above the headboard, almost covering the entire span of wall space between the two posts, there was a massive … plaque … almost. It was wood with calligraphy in black and red ink and it spelled out the entirety of what he'd just said, titled The Litany of a Slave. And there, at the bottom, was his signature, just below Sam's, though he had no memory of signing anything like this.
"Everywhere you see the word 'I', as in you, the slave, it's written with your blood. And everywhere you see 'master', as in me, the owner, it's written with mine."
Dean shuddered, anger and fear bubbling up equally strong.
"They usually only do it on letter-sized parchment, and I have a copy of that in my records, but … I thought this might help you understand. So, I had it specially commissioned. That's why I needed all that blood the other day. The scribe wasn't happy when I asked him to expedite the order this morning, but … ya know … I just made sure he understood how important this was. … Beautiful, isn't it?"
Fuck Sam's inappropriate cheeriness, that was not his signature. "I didn't sign that, Sam."
"Sure you did. You agreed to this contract thirty seconds ago and your signature wrote itself, here and on every other copy being kept on file."
Dean knew his breathing was dangerously shallow, but he couldn't stem the rising tide of panic.
"See, Dean. You were owned the moment I paid for the license to legally own you. And you were bound to me when this was written in our blood. But now that you've offered yourself to me?" He made a sound, half-moan, half-sigh. "The bond is so much stronger, brother. Now … your soul is marked as mine until I decide I no longer want you."
Dean's retort was immediate and sharp, terror and betrayal tearing away his restraint. "What the fuck does that even mean, Sam?"
He felt Sam bristle behind him, the air around them heating. "Funny how fast that attitude comes back when I'm not hurting you. You should really work on that, Dean. There are so many beautiful ways for you to be in pain all the time, if that's what it takes to keep you in line. … Why don't you try that again, whore?"
Dean tried to swallow the razor edge of his emotions and it sliced into him all the way down. He really wasn't trying to give Sam more reasons to make him hurt, but this was all so fucked and it was crazy that he wasn't even allowed to show his anger. His jaw clenched, but he softened his tone and his words. "Sorry … sir. But … what does it mean … for my soul to be … marked?"
"It connects you to me in every way you can imagine, and probably a few you can't. Anyone with a sensitivity to auras or the state of souls will see that you belong to me, and other Fallen and children of Fallen will know that you're owned, most likely when they see you, but certainly by the time they're in close quarters with you. It's theoretically temporary, rather like penciling my name on the inside flap of a book. I can remove my mark whenever I like, say, if I plan to give you away … or trade you in for something new … or sell you at auction … or even just throw you away … if, that is, I ever decided to let you live as anything other than my property."
Dean's breath caught and he blinked slowly, struck silent by the thought that Sam might- … that he would even think about- … giving him away, or- … trading him, or- … selling him, or- … throwing him away.
"It does provide you with some level of protection, at least, in so far as people respect me. They'll respect that you're my property and should, therefore, not be used or damaged without my approval, except in extreme circumstances. It also means, though, that when you're out among other people, you're a member of my household and your behavior reflects on me." Sam laughed then. "Which is why I'm never taking you out anywhere."
Dean ignored the jibe, caught up in thinking about what it meant for his soul to be marked as Sam's property. His anger was fading more and more into a kind of quiet fear. Protection was okay, but … he knew the kind of magick that really fucked with human souls was- … dark didn't even begin to cover it.
"What does that mean for … when I die?"
"Oh … yeah … that. Well … you won't be dying any time soon, so it's not a pressing issue, but … if you're worried about this sending you to Hell … I can assure you, brother, that you were already headed there anyway."
Dean shivered. He'd made too many morally questionable decisions in his life to think that Heaven was a sure deal, even if it existed in the most progressive way imagined. But, despite the way he'd lived his life, he didn't think he had any more real regrets than most other people. So, he'd always kind of thought that there was some hope for absolution, since no one seemed to know for sure how someone ended up on one list or the other. But now, Sam might really have inside information or something.
"Do you know that for sure?"
"I do, actually. You're more like me than you think. I believe the word is … irredeemable." Sam purred the word like it was naughty enough to make his dick hard. "I may have chosen to own you for me, but really, I'm doing you a favor. I've never been, but … I've felt it … and Hell's not pretty, Dean. If I hadn't made you mine, you would have been killed that first day … and you would have been a tainted soul for anyone to have. … But not now." He shrugged slightly. "Now, you're just mine … and I don't plan to hand you over to anyone else to torture any time soon … not even the Devil himself. I'm sure you'll be around here for quite a while. And really … if I want you burning and screaming … I'll just do it myself."
Dean shuddered, Sam's power pricking his skin like a thousand dancing needles.
"I did say 'always', didn't I?"
Dean struggled to make his mouth work. "Yes … sir."
"Yeah. … Keep that in mind, Dean. And just look above the bed whenever you feel yourself slipping. Just read it over again and remind yourself that you're my property. Always. … Do you need to read it over again now?"
He lips trembled as he formed the words. "No, sir. I … understand."
"Good." Sam nodded, seemingly pleased, his power settling back into a warm hum. But then he paused shaking his head a little. "Besides … why would you want to be on the losing side anyway, Dean?"
"What are you saying, Sam?" Dean had enough shocks for the day, too many shocks to his body and far too many to his mind, but he had to ask the question. There was no other way to respond to a question like that in a situation like this.
"My side is the winning side, Dean. … The Earth is ours. … All that 'good guys triumph in the end' bullshit is just that … bullshit. Everything's about power. We had it and when we came out to play, all the holy dominoes fell flat, Dean. I mean … look at you … a supposed warrior for the so-called Forces of Good … what were you doing the night we made our move? Oh yeah … you were moaning filthy things as your little half-Fallen brother fucked you into oblivion. … Really, though, that's what you should have been doing, if you wanted to support our cause. A good fuck was just what I needed right then. … Oh, and what about before then, when we were making plans and making allies, not just behind your back, but under your nose and right in front of your fucking face? You didn't let yourself see what was going on, Dean. You were too busy giving me what I needed and trying to pretend that all was well. … You could have stopped me. Or at least you could have tried." Sam kissed the inside of his ear, then, his words only a whisper. "You just didn't want to."
"Fuck you." If there had been any way that he could have stopped all this, Dean knew that he would have stopped it, or died trying. Sam had just been really good at hiding his darkness. He'd just seemed like some jaded version of the Sam that he'd always known. There might have been times when he'd thought something was … wrong … but they came in and out like blinks. And there may have been some times when he shouldn't have let Sam convince him to make certain choices. But, really, he did not have to compile a list of excuses. Sam just didn't know what the fuck he was talking about.
"Ha! I'll just add that to tomorrow's tab." Sam laughed, but the sound was like knives sharpening. "The truth is, though, Dean … you've been playing for our team for a long time. You fell way before I did. It was necessary. You were my protector until I had to really grow up and learn to protect myself. I've just stopped lying to myself and embraced what I was meant to be. … You should try it, Dean. Everything is so much better when you stop pretending and just give yourself over to the pull of the heat and the power of the dark. Your strength as the Hunter, the protector, has been … redirected. This way, you can continue to give me what I need, even though I need something different from you now. Stop fighting it Dean. You're not meant to rule here, but I am, brother, and you belong to me. So you can revel in the knowledge that you're mine." He scoffed. "You've always been in a service role anyway, Dean, and in the service of this destiny, one way or another. This might not be your world right now, because you won't let it be, but my power? The success of my work here? All of this? It isn't just mine, Dean. … It's ours."
Dean's whole body tensed impossibly. "You're lying." He had to be.
"I'm really not. I don't have any real reason to lie to you. … I own you, you're out of options, and it's only a matter of time before I completely break you. I don't have to convince you to join us with words. I know you'll understand it all eventually."
"I won't, Sam. I'm not … whatever you think I am. You can do whatever the fuck you want to me, but I'm never going to think Hell on Earth is okay."
"Calm down. I thought that too, once. But I know better now. And you will too, Dean. Don't worry. I'll show you the way." Sam said it like Dean was trapped somewhere, like Sam was coming to save him, like everything he was saying was the answer to the meaning of life and not just fucking insane.
"No. I won't-"
"Shhh, I don't want to fight about it. You're not ready to accept the truth yet. I know that. And I'm not going to change my mind about this, so I suggest you keep your trap shut. … If you don't, I'm sure you'll regret it tomorrow. Understand?"
Dean didn't understand anything. It was like nothing made any sense anymore. He'd been working for the bad guys all along? And his soul was now somehow doubly damned? And Sam was going to help him see the truth about the glory of a demon-ruled world? No, he didn't understand.
"Don't overthink this, Dean. It's a simple question. Do you understand that if you fight me on this, you won't win anything except more punishment?"
Pain. Yeah, he didn't want anymore pain. But everything was so fucked. And Sam was so clearly confused … as in cult member conditioning kind of confused. Dean puffed out air through his nose and his eyebrows knit together, not really knowing what to say, but still feeling like he should say something to try to get Sam to at least question his support for the Fallen agenda and their twisted idea of the Winchester destiny.
But then it was like that first day again. He felt like there was a lasso around his heart, trying to pull it out of his chest, his breaths were scorching his lungs, and the air around him had hardened somehow, becoming almost combustible.
"Do you feel that, Dean?" Sam's voice was firm, sensual, but with a deadly edge.
Dean just nodded, unable to do much else.
"That's me. And it's only a taste of me. I told you, I don't want to fight about this. But do you want to feel me in you like this? Feel me squeezing the blood from your heart? Feel me burning you up from the inside out? I can do that, if that's what you need so you can be good right now."
Dean shook his head slowly, mouth fighting the sting of the heat. "No, sir."
"Well, let's sleep then."
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
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Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Seven: The Supposed Warrior
[067.Nervous]
"Stand up."
He didn't know what Sam had done to him, but right then, more than anything, he just wanted to curl into bed and sleep. He struggled to his feet though, eyes nearly closed and head hanging, but it was as much from disgrace as fatigue.
"Turn around."
Dean turned, slowly, trying to square his shoulders in some display of the confidence and strength that he really couldn't access right then. But Sam pulled him back, into an embrace, his lips skating over the top of his ear.
"Look, Dean."
It felt like his head was five times heavier than usual, but Sam's voice held a hint of triumph and maybe a little awe, which could never be good. So he raised his eyes and was immediately taken aback. He felt his adrenaline spike, momentarily dampening any drowsiness, and his mouth fell open, his chest rising and falling rapidly with agitated air.
Above the headboard, almost covering the entire span of wall space between the two posts, there was a massive … plaque … almost. It was wood with calligraphy in black and red ink and it spelled out the entirety of what he'd just said, titled The Litany of a Slave. And there, at the bottom, was his signature, just below Sam's, though he had no memory of signing anything like this.
"Everywhere you see the word 'I', as in you, the slave, it's written with your blood. And everywhere you see 'master', as in me, the owner, it's written with mine."
Dean shuddered, anger and fear bubbling up equally strong.
"They usually only do it on letter-sized parchment, and I have a copy of that in my records, but … I thought this might help you understand. So, I had it specially commissioned. That's why I needed all that blood the other day. The scribe wasn't happy when I asked him to expedite the order this morning, but … ya know … I just made sure he understood how important this was. … Beautiful, isn't it?"
Fuck Sam's inappropriate cheeriness, that was not his signature. "I didn't sign that, Sam."
"Sure you did. You agreed to this contract thirty seconds ago and your signature wrote itself, here and on every other copy being kept on file."
Dean knew his breathing was dangerously shallow, but he couldn't stem the rising tide of panic.
"See, Dean. You were owned the moment I paid for the license to legally own you. And you were bound to me when this was written in our blood. But now that you've offered yourself to me?" He made a sound, half-moan, half-sigh. "The bond is so much stronger, brother. Now … your soul is marked as mine until I decide I no longer want you."
Dean's retort was immediate and sharp, terror and betrayal tearing away his restraint. "What the fuck does that even mean, Sam?"
He felt Sam bristle behind him, the air around them heating. "Funny how fast that attitude comes back when I'm not hurting you. You should really work on that, Dean. There are so many beautiful ways for you to be in pain all the time, if that's what it takes to keep you in line. … Why don't you try that again, whore?"
Dean tried to swallow the razor edge of his emotions and it sliced into him all the way down. He really wasn't trying to give Sam more reasons to make him hurt, but this was all so fucked and it was crazy that he wasn't even allowed to show his anger. His jaw clenched, but he softened his tone and his words. "Sorry … sir. But … what does it mean … for my soul to be … marked?"
"It connects you to me in every way you can imagine, and probably a few you can't. Anyone with a sensitivity to auras or the state of souls will see that you belong to me, and other Fallen and children of Fallen will know that you're owned, most likely when they see you, but certainly by the time they're in close quarters with you. It's theoretically temporary, rather like penciling my name on the inside flap of a book. I can remove my mark whenever I like, say, if I plan to give you away … or trade you in for something new … or sell you at auction … or even just throw you away … if, that is, I ever decided to let you live as anything other than my property."
Dean's breath caught and he blinked slowly, struck silent by the thought that Sam might- … that he would even think about- … giving him away, or- … trading him, or- … selling him, or- … throwing him away.
"It does provide you with some level of protection, at least, in so far as people respect me. They'll respect that you're my property and should, therefore, not be used or damaged without my approval, except in extreme circumstances. It also means, though, that when you're out among other people, you're a member of my household and your behavior reflects on me." Sam laughed then. "Which is why I'm never taking you out anywhere."
Dean ignored the jibe, caught up in thinking about what it meant for his soul to be marked as Sam's property. His anger was fading more and more into a kind of quiet fear. Protection was okay, but … he knew the kind of magick that really fucked with human souls was- … dark didn't even begin to cover it.
"What does that mean for … when I die?"
"Oh … yeah … that. Well … you won't be dying any time soon, so it's not a pressing issue, but … if you're worried about this sending you to Hell … I can assure you, brother, that you were already headed there anyway."
Dean shivered. He'd made too many morally questionable decisions in his life to think that Heaven was a sure deal, even if it existed in the most progressive way imagined. But, despite the way he'd lived his life, he didn't think he had any more real regrets than most other people. So, he'd always kind of thought that there was some hope for absolution, since no one seemed to know for sure how someone ended up on one list or the other. But now, Sam might really have inside information or something.
"Do you know that for sure?"
"I do, actually. You're more like me than you think. I believe the word is … irredeemable." Sam purred the word like it was naughty enough to make his dick hard. "I may have chosen to own you for me, but really, I'm doing you a favor. I've never been, but … I've felt it … and Hell's not pretty, Dean. If I hadn't made you mine, you would have been killed that first day … and you would have been a tainted soul for anyone to have. … But not now." He shrugged slightly. "Now, you're just mine … and I don't plan to hand you over to anyone else to torture any time soon … not even the Devil himself. I'm sure you'll be around here for quite a while. And really … if I want you burning and screaming … I'll just do it myself."
Dean shuddered, Sam's power pricking his skin like a thousand dancing needles.
"I did say 'always', didn't I?"
Dean struggled to make his mouth work. "Yes … sir."
"Yeah. … Keep that in mind, Dean. And just look above the bed whenever you feel yourself slipping. Just read it over again and remind yourself that you're my property. Always. … Do you need to read it over again now?"
He lips trembled as he formed the words. "No, sir. I … understand."
"Good." Sam nodded, seemingly pleased, his power settling back into a warm hum. But then he paused shaking his head a little. "Besides … why would you want to be on the losing side anyway, Dean?"
"What are you saying, Sam?" Dean had enough shocks for the day, too many shocks to his body and far too many to his mind, but he had to ask the question. There was no other way to respond to a question like that in a situation like this.
"My side is the winning side, Dean. … The Earth is ours. … All that 'good guys triumph in the end' bullshit is just that … bullshit. Everything's about power. We had it and when we came out to play, all the holy dominoes fell flat, Dean. I mean … look at you … a supposed warrior for the so-called Forces of Good … what were you doing the night we made our move? Oh yeah … you were moaning filthy things as your little half-Fallen brother fucked you into oblivion. … Really, though, that's what you should have been doing, if you wanted to support our cause. A good fuck was just what I needed right then. … Oh, and what about before then, when we were making plans and making allies, not just behind your back, but under your nose and right in front of your fucking face? You didn't let yourself see what was going on, Dean. You were too busy giving me what I needed and trying to pretend that all was well. … You could have stopped me. Or at least you could have tried." Sam kissed the inside of his ear, then, his words only a whisper. "You just didn't want to."
"Fuck you." If there had been any way that he could have stopped all this, Dean knew that he would have stopped it, or died trying. Sam had just been really good at hiding his darkness. He'd just seemed like some jaded version of the Sam that he'd always known. There might have been times when he'd thought something was … wrong … but they came in and out like blinks. And there may have been some times when he shouldn't have let Sam convince him to make certain choices. But, really, he did not have to compile a list of excuses. Sam just didn't know what the fuck he was talking about.
"Ha! I'll just add that to tomorrow's tab." Sam laughed, but the sound was like knives sharpening. "The truth is, though, Dean … you've been playing for our team for a long time. You fell way before I did. It was necessary. You were my protector until I had to really grow up and learn to protect myself. I've just stopped lying to myself and embraced what I was meant to be. … You should try it, Dean. Everything is so much better when you stop pretending and just give yourself over to the pull of the heat and the power of the dark. Your strength as the Hunter, the protector, has been … redirected. This way, you can continue to give me what I need, even though I need something different from you now. Stop fighting it Dean. You're not meant to rule here, but I am, brother, and you belong to me. So you can revel in the knowledge that you're mine." He scoffed. "You've always been in a service role anyway, Dean, and in the service of this destiny, one way or another. This might not be your world right now, because you won't let it be, but my power? The success of my work here? All of this? It isn't just mine, Dean. … It's ours."
Dean's whole body tensed impossibly. "You're lying." He had to be.
"I'm really not. I don't have any real reason to lie to you. … I own you, you're out of options, and it's only a matter of time before I completely break you. I don't have to convince you to join us with words. I know you'll understand it all eventually."
"I won't, Sam. I'm not … whatever you think I am. You can do whatever the fuck you want to me, but I'm never going to think Hell on Earth is okay."
"Calm down. I thought that too, once. But I know better now. And you will too, Dean. Don't worry. I'll show you the way." Sam said it like Dean was trapped somewhere, like Sam was coming to save him, like everything he was saying was the answer to the meaning of life and not just fucking insane.
"No. I won't-"
"Shhh, I don't want to fight about it. You're not ready to accept the truth yet. I know that. And I'm not going to change my mind about this, so I suggest you keep your trap shut. … If you don't, I'm sure you'll regret it tomorrow. Understand?"
Dean didn't understand anything. It was like nothing made any sense anymore. He'd been working for the bad guys all along? And his soul was now somehow doubly damned? And Sam was going to help him see the truth about the glory of a demon-ruled world? No, he didn't understand.
"Don't overthink this, Dean. It's a simple question. Do you understand that if you fight me on this, you won't win anything except more punishment?"
Pain. Yeah, he didn't want anymore pain. But everything was so fucked. And Sam was so clearly confused … as in cult member conditioning kind of confused. Dean puffed out air through his nose and his eyebrows knit together, not really knowing what to say, but still feeling like he should say something to try to get Sam to at least question his support for the Fallen agenda and their twisted idea of the Winchester destiny.
But then it was like that first day again. He felt like there was a lasso around his heart, trying to pull it out of his chest, his breaths were scorching his lungs, and the air around him had hardened somehow, becoming almost combustible.
"Do you feel that, Dean?" Sam's voice was firm, sensual, but with a deadly edge.
Dean just nodded, unable to do much else.
"That's me. And it's only a taste of me. I told you, I don't want to fight about this. But do you want to feel me in you like this? Feel me squeezing the blood from your heart? Feel me burning you up from the inside out? I can do that, if that's what you need so you can be good right now."
Dean shook his head slowly, mouth fighting the sting of the heat. "No, sir."
"Well, let's sleep then."
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
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