Fanfic - SPN: Eager - Ch. 2 - Listen
Title: Eager [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Two: Listen
Sam left minutes later, breezing out the door with his satchel thrown over his shoulder and his long black leather coat hiding his usual jeans and button-down combination. When Dean was sure that Sam was gone, he moved to the table, picking at the remnants of the breakfast Sam had eaten before waking him up, and as he ate, he mused about the situation and what to do about it.
His brother was asking for paradoxes. He wanted Dean to be himself, whatever-the-fuck that meant, but he also wanted him to put away who he used to be and just be … property. How was he supposed to be 'Dean Winchester, Casanova Extraordinaire' in chains? How was he supposed to pull out all his smirks and smiles to work for intimate attentions that he didn't want and knew he'd be getting whether he worked for them or not?
It made him wonder what he'd been dreaming about that would get him excited enough to overcome the paralysis of sleep to pump into his fist until he came. Maybe he'd been with Sammy, like the night before, only … sexy. Maybe Sam had made him feel good, nice and slow, like it wasn't just about him. He wished he could remember. It seemed important somehow, but … the memories just weren't in reach.
His body popped as he got up from the table, feeling like he'd sat there for hours, thinking too hard and eating too little. The guards might be in any minute with lunch and chains and he'd be too stiff to move if they locked him up in his current state. He forced himself to run through his stretches, then his floor exercises, as if he'd been training with his father.
His muscles hated him now, their protests screaming through his system as he clenched his teeth and moved through the burn. He knew he'd be thankful later, when Sam wanted to twist him up with god only knew what kind of so-called 'play'. When the door clicked open and the guards let in the quiet woman from the day before, Dean felt halfway decent again and tried to strike up a conversation as she set the breakfast dishes aside and set up the lunch tray, despite the way she avoided looking at him. He wasn't sure if it was a modesty thing or something else, so he went to the bed to grab and strategically hold a pillow before stumbling his way to speech.
"Does he treat you okay?" He almost gasped as he heard his voice, noting that his words were nowhere near what he'd thought would come out as a conversation starter. Unable to bring himself to take it back, however, he just waited for her response, holding his breath.
She continued bustling, never slowing her pace or acknowledging him, and after a while he started to worry that maybe she was deaf or something. Even thinking that was a possibility, though, he couldn't bring himself to reach out to her, thinking the rule up on his own even though Sam hadn't said anything. When she finished her work, however, she paused by the door and spoke over the food rather than to Dean. "I'm not allowed to speak to you."
"Why not?"
"Ask the commander."
"Who's 'the commander'?"
Disdain and disbelief altered her features. "Your owner, slave."
"Sam?" This was the first he'd heard of it.
"I would advise you to refer to him by title, but you probably won't listen to me anyway." Her words weren't accented and she didn't raise her eyes to glare at him as if appalled, but right then she rather reminded him of a prissy English 'mum' reciting etiquette to children on some British mystery show.
"Okay … but that was an awfully long bit of not-talking, so ...would it be so bad to just answer my question." It was hard to imagine how a woman like her had ended up in his brother's household.
"I'm grateful to serve- … "
"Is that what he told you to say?"
"He told me not to talk to you- … "
"But you're defying his rule."
Blustering, she seemed almost ready to shake a fist at him, but she staunchly refused to rise to the bait or look him in the eye, despite the bite in her voice. "Only because you're an idiot and I have half a mind to shake some sense into you like you were one of my boys."
"Well, that doesn't sound like a good time for either of us … especially if 'the commander' finds out." He only narrowly resisted snorting, despite the sarcasm in his voice.
She huffed and shut her eyes for a moment, the tightness in her shoulders dripping slowly away. Then she lifted her gaze to his and gathered up the small stack of plates, reaching for the doorknob. "I'm grateful to serve him … and you should be too."
Opening the door, she gave her head a subtle shake, eyes flashing to the guards as his lips parted on the verge of words. He just breathed deep and watched as she gently shut the door.
Either she was intensely brainwashed or- … Yeah, he didn't know what that 'or' would look like. She seemed human, sincere, and strong in a way, but she had a lot of respect for or fear of the guards, so she probably wasn't in all that much better a situation than him. He tried not to think of his brother or his cronies making this matronly woman cry over broken plates and burnt toast until she learned to be good and 'grateful to serve'.
Lunch just didn't seem edible anymore. He over-thought the whole process, though, wondering if the guards would tell Sam that he hadn't eaten lunch, making Sam think that it hadn't been good enough and- … He dug his nails into his palms as he hummed over his mind's rendition of crashing silverware and Sam yelling as somebody's mom sobbed in the kitchen corner, pleading for mercy.
He felt slightly less bad after he'd piled half of everything onto one plate and flushed it down the toilet, so it would at least look like he'd eaten. Still, his mood was foul, guilt and shame on his brother's behalf making it hard for him to know what to say when she returned to clean up the very tidy remains of his meal.
"I'm sorry."
She paused as she reached for the half-full serving tray. "Are you apologizing for him or for yourself?"
Dean was immediately confused. "Why would I be apologizing?"
"Why would he?"
How was that even a question? "Because he's keeping you here and- …"
"I'm not dead."
"That hardly makes him a good guy-…" He pulled up short before getting into an argument with someone he might need one of these days. "You know, I don't know your name."
"Merta … Irovian." She straightened back up and looked at him full-on for the first time, her eyes never dipping below his. "Do you even remember?"
Dean suddenly felt self-conscious even though she didn't seem to notice the bareness of his body. "Remember what?"
"A fellowship in Oregon about eight years back? Some children removed from unworthy homes?"
He didn't remember the exact details, but- … "An all-male coven doing kidnappings in Oregon. Boys- …"
"Initiates."
Dean snickered with disgust, his mind yanking up images of frightened teens and preteens locked in basements, being 'trained' in the ways of some twisted Old World mix of early Christianity and patriarchal paganism. "And for a minute there, I thought you were human."
"I am. Of course … if I had gifts like my late husband, then I wouldn't be quite human enough for your standards and my blood would already be on your hands, wouldn't it? … Like his?"
"Oh, so I'm the bad guy? For smoking out some child-stealing warlocks?" He shook his head in disbelief, recalling the sigils he'd drawn on the doors and windows of their meeting house with his father, the concentration of the men inside only breaking when they realized that the heat and the smoke wasn't a result of their ritual. If they'd truly been human, the sigils wouldn't have stopped them from getting out, so the fact that they'd all died in there told him all he needed to know.
She threw her hands in his direction with a wordless shout of exasperation. "Did you even look to see what we were saving them from, what homes and lives you were returning those kids to? Or did you just think any full-fledged human like you would be better than anything else, no matter the circumstance?"
Dean didn't even bother entertaining the thought. "What could be worse than what you wanted from them?"
She struck her fingers one-by-one, counting off as she spoke. "Tim, the furthest along, would've been a great leader, but he died three months after your interference, his abusive stepfather getting too drunk to know that he was choking the boy to death instead of just putting him to sleep the hard way. J.D. was sentenced to twenty-five to life in a federal penitentiary because no one was there to keep him off the streets and out of the gangs. Kenny killed himself four years ago when his mother ODed after renting him out to feed her habit. The gods only know how many others we could've helped if you and your thoughtless father hadn't stuck your nose in our business. … What we wanted was to make them heirs to our power, to a community where yes, there would be sacrifice, but they'd also have support and safety."
"Safety. Right." He scoffed, but his footing felt uneven even though it was hard to be sure how much of her sincerity was misplaced faith more than accurate reporting.
Dad had always made everything seem so black-and-white, but it was hard to see that old case as being quite so clear anymore. Sam had helped him see more and more of the grey in the world as they'd hunted together after their time apart, but even if he could drag himself back to that moment of deciding who, if anyone, deserved to die, his father's training made it hard for him to see how a bunch of human-shaped supernatural creatures could ever be 'saving' anyone by making them less human against their will.
"If your father had known there were hereditary heirs, I wouldn't even be here to have this conversation. I would've died defending my boys. … They were only nine and twelve the day you took their father from them, the day your father would've come for them if he'd known their birthright. And if I serve your brother with pride, it's because he lets me stay near them while they train even though he has little use for me. Under any other commander, I'd be dead, and if Hunters were still on top, I'd be dead, so … yes, it does mean that he's a good man and you? Not so much."
Dean opened his mouth, but there weren't any words that fit right then, any words that he could be sure would stand up under the intensity of her scrutiny.
"Don't. You have nothing to say that I want to hear. Don't try to talk to me again or I will report you and request that you be disciplined in full."
He snapped his mouth shut again, nodding slowly and looking away as she knocked on the door then picked up the serving tray and left the room again. The door didn't completely close, however, before someone else was striding through it, nixing Dean's moment to process the new information.
"Did you piss?" The man's voice was a light tenor, but it moved through tones like the start of a chilling Halloween song.
"Uh …" Dean started to shake his head, but got caught up in trying to figure the guy out.
He knew that he'd seen him before, a regular guard, one of the ones who'd come in to chain him when he was doped up, but … there was something else about him that he only half-remembered, something that made him feel ashamed and defiant all at once. The guy had a young face and a slim athlete's body, but he was rough around the edges like he'd seen the war before it started and this was all old hat now. His steel grey eyes glinted darkly under the jaggedly cut shine of his dirty blond hair and his casual uniform, a black tee and black jeans with a pocket chain, did nothing to lighten his presence, nor did it help Dean place him properly in his memory.
The guard chuckled, eyeing Dean slowly, down and then up again. "Been a while since you got fucked by someone you weren't related to?"
Dean finished shaking his head, using more force than he'd started with, as if he could cast off the sickening feel of the man's eyes and words gliding over his skin. His lip tipped up, disgusted but even more curious now. "Do I know you?"
The guard's eyes held his, revealing something Dean couldn't name. "Not really, but I work half-days on the door, so you'll probably be seeing a lot of me. … So, I ask again: did you piss?"
"No." Dean's eyes danced away from the man in front of him as if his crudeness wasn't something Dean would mirror in most other situations.
"Then go piss."
Dean had to force the air in his lungs to move at a reasonable pace, slowly in and slowly out again, but he went to the bathroom, knowing the guard was only a step behind. He was still shocked, though, when the guy's hand slammed against the door as he tried to close it.
"Leave the door open."
Dean almost scoffed, but swallowed it. The guy was serious, no leeway available. Maybe he was confused. "Sam lets me close the door."
"I don't care what Sam does. Leave the door open."
Dean felt his jaw tighten and he moved to close the door anyway, making the guard's expression morph into something more maniacal, his mouth sliding wide in a smile that cut precision grooves like a scalpel.
"I have full authority to force you to comply if necessary. Is that what you want, whore? You want me to hurt you?"
Something flipped in the bundle of organs under Dean's chest and he fought not to slam the door and step back, knowing it would just make this psycho's day for him to disobey. The guy wasn't built tough, but who knew what flashy demonic tricks he could do. Sam didn't seem the type to make someone a guard if he really thought Dean could take them down. The thought made him let the door go and turn to walk to the toilet and piss, all the while feeling the guard's eyes on his back. "Fucking perv." He mumbled the words as he shook off and moved to wash his hands, trying not to cringe as the guy crossed the threshold to lounge against the counter just inside the door.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Right." The guard snorted. "Are you clean?"
Dean hesitated for a moment, but said the truth despite his discomfort because Sam's displeasure seemed like a bigger threat overall. "I should probably grab a shower."
"You don't have time for that. Just wash up at the sink."
Dean grabbed a face towel as he backed up, intent to turn and start the shower. "It won't take that long. Fifteen- ..."
"What did I say?" The guard straightened, menacing though he didn't move any closer. "Wash up at the sink."
Dean found the guy's eyes, glaring, but eventually just shifted to look into the reflection of his own eyes in the mirror with a sigh. "Fine."
He ran the water hot and lathered up his washcloth slowly, stalling, before finally moving to clean the essential spots as quickly as possible, too aware of the guard watching him. When he was through, he rinsed the washcloth out and worked against the instincts screaming at him as the guy came closer and closer until the guard's front was almost touching his left arm.
"Clean enough now?"
Dean stared down at the wet cloth in his hands and he wrung it out as he nodded. "Yeah."
"Good boy."
Dean's hands squeezed at the washcloth and pulled, rows of teeth scraping against each other in his mouth as he fought not to make a distractive weapon of the damp fabric before sinking his knuckles inch-deep into the guard's face. He didn't like it when Sam said it and had once thought Sam's little terms for him couldn't be worse, but he realized now that there were degrees of dislike even with this, so what might bother him coming from Sam's mouth made him murderous when it came from anyone else's. He just had to keep reminding himself that if he chose to tango with this guy then he'd get hurt now, and maybe more than that, considering the way the guy looked at him, then Sam would come home and make him regret everything ten times more.
Breathing consciously and carefully through his anger, he tossed the washcloth on the towel rack to dry and faced the door, averting his eyes less out of respect or even fear and more so that the fucker's little smirk didn't weaken his resolve to play it safe instead of meting out the violence ready to burst free from his wound up muscles.
"I guess it's time to chain you up then, huh? Unless … we could spend some time on something else for a bit, then I could leave you alone for a while and come back to chain you up later."
"No." Dean was already shaking his head midway through the guard's proposition, his eyes rising and nearly intense enough to carve his answer into the back of the guy's retinas. An extra hour or two of supposed freedom within the bigger cage would never be enough of a bribe for Dean to even think about letting the guy touch him, even if there hadn't been that whole rule about him not submitting to others. "Just chain me up already, okay?"
"Hey, I'm just offering you some options, but … have it your way then." He shrugged, his smirk tilting down some into a frown. "Go sit on your side of the bed."
The guy moved aside, flattening himself against the counter to let Dean pass, and Dean emerged into the wider space of the bedroom with a softly thankful exhale. He didn't really know if the right side was his side of the bed, but it was the side he'd woken up on this morning, so he went there and sat just below the pillow, not quite sure of how this worked. Turning towards the clink of chains, he saw the guard fishing in the closet and quirked his head to the side, wondering why that seemed odd. Sam locked the closet, like he locked the toy box, to keep Dean out, but the guards must've had keys. He'd been too wrapped up in cravings to notice it when he'd been chained the last time, his body nearly begging to have contact with a man he now found himself repulsed by.
As the guard shut and locked the closet door, his arms were heavy with items that he eventually dropped at Dean's feet before beginning preparations for chaining. Dean couldn't help swallowing at the sight and sound of shifting metal as the guard attached a moderate length of chain high up on the nearest post of the bed, then let it pool in a cold, hard puddle on the pillow. He reached for Dean's left wrist, roughly shoving it into one side of a thick double cuff before doing the same to his right wrist, forcing them together and surrounding them not with leather but with steel. Dean's breath came faster despite his efforts to calm himself and his heartbeat rushed, shuddering, as the end of the chain was wrapped around the short band of metal between the cuffs and then locked in place with a strangely shaped padlock. The metal felt too cool against his thighs as he watched the restrictive bulk settle in his lap.
"Comfortable?" The guard's voice pulled Dean back only somewhat from anxious thoughts of a life controlled entirely by locks, but the way the man's fingers caressed down from his shoulder to tug at one of his bound wrists reminded Dean that there were more immediately pressing problems.
"Don't!" Dean pushed the guard's hand away, shifting on the bed as if an extra inch would make that much of a difference. The chains made his hands heavy, his movements loud, but he wasn't okay with being petted like an animal or fondled like a stuffed toy.
"What're you gonna do, whore? Huh? You think your owner would like it if you got in a fight with me? 'Cause I think he'd fuck you up."
"That doesn't mean I'm gonna let you put your hands all over me."
"Well, I don't have a problem taking you down if that's what I have to do. I'm pretty sure I can handle one chained up guy, but … even if I can't somehow, when Sam gets back, he'll finally know that you're a menace that he should exterminate and not just a pretty boy for him to fuck."
Dean watched the guard's eyes and took in a breath that felt shallow even though it took a long time to draw in. The guy just grinned smugly, waiting for Dean to acknowledge that he'd been trumped. He hadn't, though, not if he could will himself to cop to one of the truths he'd been denying.
"No one's supposed to touch his property without his permission." He dragged up a hint of arrogant finality that he hadn't heard in his voice in at least a week.
"In theory, yeah, that's true. But do you really think he'll care?" The guard brought his hand up to brush Dean's cheek, humming a soft tune Dean didn't know. Dean flinched, seriously ready to get physical if things needed to go there, but, suddenly, waves of negativity were crashing into him and he felt a sob clawing his throat open.
Sam probably wouldn't care. He was nothing here. And Sam's logic was so twisted that he might even be pissed that Dean had somehow thought he had the right to say anything but 'yes'.
"You used to be a Hunter, which is bad enough, but now … you're just a whore." The song melted subtly in and out of the guard's words as if these were its lyrics as much as anything else, and the fingers of his hand on Dean's cheek slid to trace over Dean's lips.
Dean wanted to pull away, to fight, but what was the point? He'd just end up in trouble and in pain anyway and- … and he probably didn't deserve much better. Sam would probably still be good if he'd just kept his mouth shut like Dad had told him to. And before that he should've been a better brother, shouldn't've let Sam want him like this. There were parts of him, alternately mumbling and shouting incoherently, dragging him down into a pit of self-loathing yet kicking his brain as if it were a beat-up car that just wouldn't work right.
"Sam's told me quite a few stories about what a slut you are. How you're a perfect choice for the position and all that, but I'm surprised he even wants you, knowing where this filthy body of yours has been." That hauntingly dissonant voice washed over Dean as fingers skimmed down his chin and over the front of his neck, pressing uncomfortably at his Adam's apple as if it were a ball bobbing in his throat.
Dean's breaths never seemed like enough. The air that he was hauling into his lungs tasted like all the death he'd ever smelled and he felt like the kind of dirty that would never be clean again, if it ever even had been in the first place. He was a whore here, because that was all he was good for. If that. Sam said maybe he wasn't even all that good for that either, that he still had so much to learn. He knew he'd fail, though. Everyone knew he'd fail. He was never going to be good enough. Not even for this.
"You should be glad that anyone wants to touch you at all." Dean was never sure if he heard the words more or the music under them, but there was something entrancing there, ugly yet beautiful at the same time.
The hand at his neck skated down to the skin of his chest, following the lines of his pecs, a thumb flicking against his nipple. He closed his eyes, twitching, but not moving away, because he didn't want this, but he hadn't wanted any of this and that never mattered. He'd fucked up too often and too horrendously to be allowed to be much of a person anymore. He was just property, just a whore. And this was what whores were for.
He heard the faint click of the door opening, but he was drowning too deeply in his own sense of worthlessness to understand its significance.
"Rick! Man, are you crazy? Don't put your hands on the commander's property!" The other guard who had been stationed outside was yelling in at the man bending over him and it jarred Dean's senses a little, his eyes flickering open. What would it matter if … Rick … touched him, if he was meant to be treated no better than this?
"I had to chain him, didn't I?" The guard, Rick, straightened up, breaking contact and Dean blinked, his breath trying to even out as his despair levels dipped slightly.
"I don't think his chest was on the list for chaining today." The guy sounded pretty exasperated, like his partner's actions were a personal offense against him, and Dean turned his way, trying to understand.
"Oh, come on! I barely touched him. We couldn't last time and I just wanted to see what he felt like."
The guy at the door was huge, tracks of muscle beefing him up to fill the doorway without difficulty, but looking at him, Dean's internal churning eased some, vaguely remembered gentleness making him seem less frightening despite his size. He also seemed to know the rules and be intent on enforcing them, so whatever his tendencies were, at least he was good for this situation.
"It doesn't matter why you touched him. Don't do it!"
"What's your problem?"
"Umm … let's see … maybe his owner, who also happens to be our boss and a fucking commander?!"
"Please. You think Sam would believe some whore more than me? No way, man. He'd take my word over this whore any day."
"Whatever. I don't care. Just get your ass out here, okay? The job's done and I am not gonna to risk my life just so you can get your dick sucked for free."
Rick groaned under his breath, nearly a whine, but he moved towards the door. He spun around as he exited, though, and tossed a wink and smirk back in Dean's direction. They both knew he'd be back.
Dean just sat there, staring after them when the door closed with Rick's song threading restlessly through his mind, and, eventually, he dropped his gaze to his bound wrists and naked body. Rick would be back to use him one of these days and it would be bad, he knew that, but … maybe that was just how things were supposed to be. If Sam, his own brother, couldn't see his worth as anything other than a come receptacle and live body to torture, then … maybe he didn't have any.
He'd really only had one and a half jobs: protect his family and help others whenever he could. At this point he'd pretty much failed at both, so … what was he really good at? Maybe he really didn't have anything other than his body and his sexual skills. Maybe he'd fucked around so much over the years because deep down he knew this was the only thing he might even have a chance of not failing at, but now that he was here, he was still fucking up, still not good enough. Rick was right. Sam's attentions were a kindness, pity, and one day he'd want to stop pretending and have someone who could really do the job, someone who wasn't worthless, wasn't him.
Heavy with shame, he pulled himself fully up onto the bed with tears hitting the pillow beside his head and drew his knees up to his chest like he hadn't done in over twenty years. He fell asleep that way, shivering and undeserving of cover, as a broken melody grated low in his throat. Rick's words, and Sam's words before them, rang in his ears from waking to dreaming and they drowned out all the other workings of his mind until he saw nothing and knew that he was nothing.
One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Two: Listen
Sam left minutes later, breezing out the door with his satchel thrown over his shoulder and his long black leather coat hiding his usual jeans and button-down combination. When Dean was sure that Sam was gone, he moved to the table, picking at the remnants of the breakfast Sam had eaten before waking him up, and as he ate, he mused about the situation and what to do about it.
His brother was asking for paradoxes. He wanted Dean to be himself, whatever-the-fuck that meant, but he also wanted him to put away who he used to be and just be … property. How was he supposed to be 'Dean Winchester, Casanova Extraordinaire' in chains? How was he supposed to pull out all his smirks and smiles to work for intimate attentions that he didn't want and knew he'd be getting whether he worked for them or not?
It made him wonder what he'd been dreaming about that would get him excited enough to overcome the paralysis of sleep to pump into his fist until he came. Maybe he'd been with Sammy, like the night before, only … sexy. Maybe Sam had made him feel good, nice and slow, like it wasn't just about him. He wished he could remember. It seemed important somehow, but … the memories just weren't in reach.
His body popped as he got up from the table, feeling like he'd sat there for hours, thinking too hard and eating too little. The guards might be in any minute with lunch and chains and he'd be too stiff to move if they locked him up in his current state. He forced himself to run through his stretches, then his floor exercises, as if he'd been training with his father.
His muscles hated him now, their protests screaming through his system as he clenched his teeth and moved through the burn. He knew he'd be thankful later, when Sam wanted to twist him up with god only knew what kind of so-called 'play'. When the door clicked open and the guards let in the quiet woman from the day before, Dean felt halfway decent again and tried to strike up a conversation as she set the breakfast dishes aside and set up the lunch tray, despite the way she avoided looking at him. He wasn't sure if it was a modesty thing or something else, so he went to the bed to grab and strategically hold a pillow before stumbling his way to speech.
"Does he treat you okay?" He almost gasped as he heard his voice, noting that his words were nowhere near what he'd thought would come out as a conversation starter. Unable to bring himself to take it back, however, he just waited for her response, holding his breath.
She continued bustling, never slowing her pace or acknowledging him, and after a while he started to worry that maybe she was deaf or something. Even thinking that was a possibility, though, he couldn't bring himself to reach out to her, thinking the rule up on his own even though Sam hadn't said anything. When she finished her work, however, she paused by the door and spoke over the food rather than to Dean. "I'm not allowed to speak to you."
"Why not?"
"Ask the commander."
"Who's 'the commander'?"
Disdain and disbelief altered her features. "Your owner, slave."
"Sam?" This was the first he'd heard of it.
"I would advise you to refer to him by title, but you probably won't listen to me anyway." Her words weren't accented and she didn't raise her eyes to glare at him as if appalled, but right then she rather reminded him of a prissy English 'mum' reciting etiquette to children on some British mystery show.
"Okay … but that was an awfully long bit of not-talking, so ...would it be so bad to just answer my question." It was hard to imagine how a woman like her had ended up in his brother's household.
"I'm grateful to serve- … "
"Is that what he told you to say?"
"He told me not to talk to you- … "
"But you're defying his rule."
Blustering, she seemed almost ready to shake a fist at him, but she staunchly refused to rise to the bait or look him in the eye, despite the bite in her voice. "Only because you're an idiot and I have half a mind to shake some sense into you like you were one of my boys."
"Well, that doesn't sound like a good time for either of us … especially if 'the commander' finds out." He only narrowly resisted snorting, despite the sarcasm in his voice.
She huffed and shut her eyes for a moment, the tightness in her shoulders dripping slowly away. Then she lifted her gaze to his and gathered up the small stack of plates, reaching for the doorknob. "I'm grateful to serve him … and you should be too."
Opening the door, she gave her head a subtle shake, eyes flashing to the guards as his lips parted on the verge of words. He just breathed deep and watched as she gently shut the door.
Either she was intensely brainwashed or- … Yeah, he didn't know what that 'or' would look like. She seemed human, sincere, and strong in a way, but she had a lot of respect for or fear of the guards, so she probably wasn't in all that much better a situation than him. He tried not to think of his brother or his cronies making this matronly woman cry over broken plates and burnt toast until she learned to be good and 'grateful to serve'.
Lunch just didn't seem edible anymore. He over-thought the whole process, though, wondering if the guards would tell Sam that he hadn't eaten lunch, making Sam think that it hadn't been good enough and- … He dug his nails into his palms as he hummed over his mind's rendition of crashing silverware and Sam yelling as somebody's mom sobbed in the kitchen corner, pleading for mercy.
He felt slightly less bad after he'd piled half of everything onto one plate and flushed it down the toilet, so it would at least look like he'd eaten. Still, his mood was foul, guilt and shame on his brother's behalf making it hard for him to know what to say when she returned to clean up the very tidy remains of his meal.
"I'm sorry."
She paused as she reached for the half-full serving tray. "Are you apologizing for him or for yourself?"
Dean was immediately confused. "Why would I be apologizing?"
"Why would he?"
How was that even a question? "Because he's keeping you here and- …"
"I'm not dead."
"That hardly makes him a good guy-…" He pulled up short before getting into an argument with someone he might need one of these days. "You know, I don't know your name."
"Merta … Irovian." She straightened back up and looked at him full-on for the first time, her eyes never dipping below his. "Do you even remember?"
Dean suddenly felt self-conscious even though she didn't seem to notice the bareness of his body. "Remember what?"
"A fellowship in Oregon about eight years back? Some children removed from unworthy homes?"
He didn't remember the exact details, but- … "An all-male coven doing kidnappings in Oregon. Boys- …"
"Initiates."
Dean snickered with disgust, his mind yanking up images of frightened teens and preteens locked in basements, being 'trained' in the ways of some twisted Old World mix of early Christianity and patriarchal paganism. "And for a minute there, I thought you were human."
"I am. Of course … if I had gifts like my late husband, then I wouldn't be quite human enough for your standards and my blood would already be on your hands, wouldn't it? … Like his?"
"Oh, so I'm the bad guy? For smoking out some child-stealing warlocks?" He shook his head in disbelief, recalling the sigils he'd drawn on the doors and windows of their meeting house with his father, the concentration of the men inside only breaking when they realized that the heat and the smoke wasn't a result of their ritual. If they'd truly been human, the sigils wouldn't have stopped them from getting out, so the fact that they'd all died in there told him all he needed to know.
She threw her hands in his direction with a wordless shout of exasperation. "Did you even look to see what we were saving them from, what homes and lives you were returning those kids to? Or did you just think any full-fledged human like you would be better than anything else, no matter the circumstance?"
Dean didn't even bother entertaining the thought. "What could be worse than what you wanted from them?"
She struck her fingers one-by-one, counting off as she spoke. "Tim, the furthest along, would've been a great leader, but he died three months after your interference, his abusive stepfather getting too drunk to know that he was choking the boy to death instead of just putting him to sleep the hard way. J.D. was sentenced to twenty-five to life in a federal penitentiary because no one was there to keep him off the streets and out of the gangs. Kenny killed himself four years ago when his mother ODed after renting him out to feed her habit. The gods only know how many others we could've helped if you and your thoughtless father hadn't stuck your nose in our business. … What we wanted was to make them heirs to our power, to a community where yes, there would be sacrifice, but they'd also have support and safety."
"Safety. Right." He scoffed, but his footing felt uneven even though it was hard to be sure how much of her sincerity was misplaced faith more than accurate reporting.
Dad had always made everything seem so black-and-white, but it was hard to see that old case as being quite so clear anymore. Sam had helped him see more and more of the grey in the world as they'd hunted together after their time apart, but even if he could drag himself back to that moment of deciding who, if anyone, deserved to die, his father's training made it hard for him to see how a bunch of human-shaped supernatural creatures could ever be 'saving' anyone by making them less human against their will.
"If your father had known there were hereditary heirs, I wouldn't even be here to have this conversation. I would've died defending my boys. … They were only nine and twelve the day you took their father from them, the day your father would've come for them if he'd known their birthright. And if I serve your brother with pride, it's because he lets me stay near them while they train even though he has little use for me. Under any other commander, I'd be dead, and if Hunters were still on top, I'd be dead, so … yes, it does mean that he's a good man and you? Not so much."
Dean opened his mouth, but there weren't any words that fit right then, any words that he could be sure would stand up under the intensity of her scrutiny.
"Don't. You have nothing to say that I want to hear. Don't try to talk to me again or I will report you and request that you be disciplined in full."
He snapped his mouth shut again, nodding slowly and looking away as she knocked on the door then picked up the serving tray and left the room again. The door didn't completely close, however, before someone else was striding through it, nixing Dean's moment to process the new information.
"Did you piss?" The man's voice was a light tenor, but it moved through tones like the start of a chilling Halloween song.
"Uh …" Dean started to shake his head, but got caught up in trying to figure the guy out.
He knew that he'd seen him before, a regular guard, one of the ones who'd come in to chain him when he was doped up, but … there was something else about him that he only half-remembered, something that made him feel ashamed and defiant all at once. The guy had a young face and a slim athlete's body, but he was rough around the edges like he'd seen the war before it started and this was all old hat now. His steel grey eyes glinted darkly under the jaggedly cut shine of his dirty blond hair and his casual uniform, a black tee and black jeans with a pocket chain, did nothing to lighten his presence, nor did it help Dean place him properly in his memory.
The guard chuckled, eyeing Dean slowly, down and then up again. "Been a while since you got fucked by someone you weren't related to?"
Dean finished shaking his head, using more force than he'd started with, as if he could cast off the sickening feel of the man's eyes and words gliding over his skin. His lip tipped up, disgusted but even more curious now. "Do I know you?"
The guard's eyes held his, revealing something Dean couldn't name. "Not really, but I work half-days on the door, so you'll probably be seeing a lot of me. … So, I ask again: did you piss?"
"No." Dean's eyes danced away from the man in front of him as if his crudeness wasn't something Dean would mirror in most other situations.
"Then go piss."
Dean had to force the air in his lungs to move at a reasonable pace, slowly in and slowly out again, but he went to the bathroom, knowing the guard was only a step behind. He was still shocked, though, when the guy's hand slammed against the door as he tried to close it.
"Leave the door open."
Dean almost scoffed, but swallowed it. The guy was serious, no leeway available. Maybe he was confused. "Sam lets me close the door."
"I don't care what Sam does. Leave the door open."
Dean felt his jaw tighten and he moved to close the door anyway, making the guard's expression morph into something more maniacal, his mouth sliding wide in a smile that cut precision grooves like a scalpel.
"I have full authority to force you to comply if necessary. Is that what you want, whore? You want me to hurt you?"
Something flipped in the bundle of organs under Dean's chest and he fought not to slam the door and step back, knowing it would just make this psycho's day for him to disobey. The guy wasn't built tough, but who knew what flashy demonic tricks he could do. Sam didn't seem the type to make someone a guard if he really thought Dean could take them down. The thought made him let the door go and turn to walk to the toilet and piss, all the while feeling the guard's eyes on his back. "Fucking perv." He mumbled the words as he shook off and moved to wash his hands, trying not to cringe as the guy crossed the threshold to lounge against the counter just inside the door.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Right." The guard snorted. "Are you clean?"
Dean hesitated for a moment, but said the truth despite his discomfort because Sam's displeasure seemed like a bigger threat overall. "I should probably grab a shower."
"You don't have time for that. Just wash up at the sink."
Dean grabbed a face towel as he backed up, intent to turn and start the shower. "It won't take that long. Fifteen- ..."
"What did I say?" The guard straightened, menacing though he didn't move any closer. "Wash up at the sink."
Dean found the guy's eyes, glaring, but eventually just shifted to look into the reflection of his own eyes in the mirror with a sigh. "Fine."
He ran the water hot and lathered up his washcloth slowly, stalling, before finally moving to clean the essential spots as quickly as possible, too aware of the guard watching him. When he was through, he rinsed the washcloth out and worked against the instincts screaming at him as the guy came closer and closer until the guard's front was almost touching his left arm.
"Clean enough now?"
Dean stared down at the wet cloth in his hands and he wrung it out as he nodded. "Yeah."
"Good boy."
Dean's hands squeezed at the washcloth and pulled, rows of teeth scraping against each other in his mouth as he fought not to make a distractive weapon of the damp fabric before sinking his knuckles inch-deep into the guard's face. He didn't like it when Sam said it and had once thought Sam's little terms for him couldn't be worse, but he realized now that there were degrees of dislike even with this, so what might bother him coming from Sam's mouth made him murderous when it came from anyone else's. He just had to keep reminding himself that if he chose to tango with this guy then he'd get hurt now, and maybe more than that, considering the way the guy looked at him, then Sam would come home and make him regret everything ten times more.
Breathing consciously and carefully through his anger, he tossed the washcloth on the towel rack to dry and faced the door, averting his eyes less out of respect or even fear and more so that the fucker's little smirk didn't weaken his resolve to play it safe instead of meting out the violence ready to burst free from his wound up muscles.
"I guess it's time to chain you up then, huh? Unless … we could spend some time on something else for a bit, then I could leave you alone for a while and come back to chain you up later."
"No." Dean was already shaking his head midway through the guard's proposition, his eyes rising and nearly intense enough to carve his answer into the back of the guy's retinas. An extra hour or two of supposed freedom within the bigger cage would never be enough of a bribe for Dean to even think about letting the guy touch him, even if there hadn't been that whole rule about him not submitting to others. "Just chain me up already, okay?"
"Hey, I'm just offering you some options, but … have it your way then." He shrugged, his smirk tilting down some into a frown. "Go sit on your side of the bed."
The guy moved aside, flattening himself against the counter to let Dean pass, and Dean emerged into the wider space of the bedroom with a softly thankful exhale. He didn't really know if the right side was his side of the bed, but it was the side he'd woken up on this morning, so he went there and sat just below the pillow, not quite sure of how this worked. Turning towards the clink of chains, he saw the guard fishing in the closet and quirked his head to the side, wondering why that seemed odd. Sam locked the closet, like he locked the toy box, to keep Dean out, but the guards must've had keys. He'd been too wrapped up in cravings to notice it when he'd been chained the last time, his body nearly begging to have contact with a man he now found himself repulsed by.
As the guard shut and locked the closet door, his arms were heavy with items that he eventually dropped at Dean's feet before beginning preparations for chaining. Dean couldn't help swallowing at the sight and sound of shifting metal as the guard attached a moderate length of chain high up on the nearest post of the bed, then let it pool in a cold, hard puddle on the pillow. He reached for Dean's left wrist, roughly shoving it into one side of a thick double cuff before doing the same to his right wrist, forcing them together and surrounding them not with leather but with steel. Dean's breath came faster despite his efforts to calm himself and his heartbeat rushed, shuddering, as the end of the chain was wrapped around the short band of metal between the cuffs and then locked in place with a strangely shaped padlock. The metal felt too cool against his thighs as he watched the restrictive bulk settle in his lap.
"Comfortable?" The guard's voice pulled Dean back only somewhat from anxious thoughts of a life controlled entirely by locks, but the way the man's fingers caressed down from his shoulder to tug at one of his bound wrists reminded Dean that there were more immediately pressing problems.
"Don't!" Dean pushed the guard's hand away, shifting on the bed as if an extra inch would make that much of a difference. The chains made his hands heavy, his movements loud, but he wasn't okay with being petted like an animal or fondled like a stuffed toy.
"What're you gonna do, whore? Huh? You think your owner would like it if you got in a fight with me? 'Cause I think he'd fuck you up."
"That doesn't mean I'm gonna let you put your hands all over me."
"Well, I don't have a problem taking you down if that's what I have to do. I'm pretty sure I can handle one chained up guy, but … even if I can't somehow, when Sam gets back, he'll finally know that you're a menace that he should exterminate and not just a pretty boy for him to fuck."
Dean watched the guard's eyes and took in a breath that felt shallow even though it took a long time to draw in. The guy just grinned smugly, waiting for Dean to acknowledge that he'd been trumped. He hadn't, though, not if he could will himself to cop to one of the truths he'd been denying.
"No one's supposed to touch his property without his permission." He dragged up a hint of arrogant finality that he hadn't heard in his voice in at least a week.
"In theory, yeah, that's true. But do you really think he'll care?" The guard brought his hand up to brush Dean's cheek, humming a soft tune Dean didn't know. Dean flinched, seriously ready to get physical if things needed to go there, but, suddenly, waves of negativity were crashing into him and he felt a sob clawing his throat open.
Sam probably wouldn't care. He was nothing here. And Sam's logic was so twisted that he might even be pissed that Dean had somehow thought he had the right to say anything but 'yes'.
"You used to be a Hunter, which is bad enough, but now … you're just a whore." The song melted subtly in and out of the guard's words as if these were its lyrics as much as anything else, and the fingers of his hand on Dean's cheek slid to trace over Dean's lips.
Dean wanted to pull away, to fight, but what was the point? He'd just end up in trouble and in pain anyway and- … and he probably didn't deserve much better. Sam would probably still be good if he'd just kept his mouth shut like Dad had told him to. And before that he should've been a better brother, shouldn't've let Sam want him like this. There were parts of him, alternately mumbling and shouting incoherently, dragging him down into a pit of self-loathing yet kicking his brain as if it were a beat-up car that just wouldn't work right.
"Sam's told me quite a few stories about what a slut you are. How you're a perfect choice for the position and all that, but I'm surprised he even wants you, knowing where this filthy body of yours has been." That hauntingly dissonant voice washed over Dean as fingers skimmed down his chin and over the front of his neck, pressing uncomfortably at his Adam's apple as if it were a ball bobbing in his throat.
Dean's breaths never seemed like enough. The air that he was hauling into his lungs tasted like all the death he'd ever smelled and he felt like the kind of dirty that would never be clean again, if it ever even had been in the first place. He was a whore here, because that was all he was good for. If that. Sam said maybe he wasn't even all that good for that either, that he still had so much to learn. He knew he'd fail, though. Everyone knew he'd fail. He was never going to be good enough. Not even for this.
"You should be glad that anyone wants to touch you at all." Dean was never sure if he heard the words more or the music under them, but there was something entrancing there, ugly yet beautiful at the same time.
The hand at his neck skated down to the skin of his chest, following the lines of his pecs, a thumb flicking against his nipple. He closed his eyes, twitching, but not moving away, because he didn't want this, but he hadn't wanted any of this and that never mattered. He'd fucked up too often and too horrendously to be allowed to be much of a person anymore. He was just property, just a whore. And this was what whores were for.
He heard the faint click of the door opening, but he was drowning too deeply in his own sense of worthlessness to understand its significance.
"Rick! Man, are you crazy? Don't put your hands on the commander's property!" The other guard who had been stationed outside was yelling in at the man bending over him and it jarred Dean's senses a little, his eyes flickering open. What would it matter if … Rick … touched him, if he was meant to be treated no better than this?
"I had to chain him, didn't I?" The guard, Rick, straightened up, breaking contact and Dean blinked, his breath trying to even out as his despair levels dipped slightly.
"I don't think his chest was on the list for chaining today." The guy sounded pretty exasperated, like his partner's actions were a personal offense against him, and Dean turned his way, trying to understand.
"Oh, come on! I barely touched him. We couldn't last time and I just wanted to see what he felt like."
The guy at the door was huge, tracks of muscle beefing him up to fill the doorway without difficulty, but looking at him, Dean's internal churning eased some, vaguely remembered gentleness making him seem less frightening despite his size. He also seemed to know the rules and be intent on enforcing them, so whatever his tendencies were, at least he was good for this situation.
"It doesn't matter why you touched him. Don't do it!"
"What's your problem?"
"Umm … let's see … maybe his owner, who also happens to be our boss and a fucking commander?!"
"Please. You think Sam would believe some whore more than me? No way, man. He'd take my word over this whore any day."
"Whatever. I don't care. Just get your ass out here, okay? The job's done and I am not gonna to risk my life just so you can get your dick sucked for free."
Rick groaned under his breath, nearly a whine, but he moved towards the door. He spun around as he exited, though, and tossed a wink and smirk back in Dean's direction. They both knew he'd be back.
Dean just sat there, staring after them when the door closed with Rick's song threading restlessly through his mind, and, eventually, he dropped his gaze to his bound wrists and naked body. Rick would be back to use him one of these days and it would be bad, he knew that, but … maybe that was just how things were supposed to be. If Sam, his own brother, couldn't see his worth as anything other than a come receptacle and live body to torture, then … maybe he didn't have any.
He'd really only had one and a half jobs: protect his family and help others whenever he could. At this point he'd pretty much failed at both, so … what was he really good at? Maybe he really didn't have anything other than his body and his sexual skills. Maybe he'd fucked around so much over the years because deep down he knew this was the only thing he might even have a chance of not failing at, but now that he was here, he was still fucking up, still not good enough. Rick was right. Sam's attentions were a kindness, pity, and one day he'd want to stop pretending and have someone who could really do the job, someone who wasn't worthless, wasn't him.
Heavy with shame, he pulled himself fully up onto the bed with tears hitting the pillow beside his head and drew his knees up to his chest like he hadn't done in over twenty years. He fell asleep that way, shivering and undeserving of cover, as a broken melody grated low in his throat. Rick's words, and Sam's words before them, rang in his ears from waking to dreaming and they drowned out all the other workings of his mind until he saw nothing and knew that he was nothing.
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