A Twist of Fate

[zara_zee]

Part Five (A)




July 1874

The first thing Dean noticed when he regained consciousness was that he felt comfortable. He was warm, he didn’t hurt too badly, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, he was lying in a soft bed and wasn’t restrained in any way.

Dean frowned. This was either one hell of a hallucination, or something weird was going on. He should probably open his eyes, but he was scared that if he did reality would come crashing back and he was enjoying this delusion far too much to let it end; it had been a long time - Oh, God; nearly a year - since he’d last been comfortable.

Apart from delusion, Dean couldn’t think of a single, rational scenario to explain why he wasn’t trussed up on his rack or tied to the small, hard cot in his cell. He tried to recall his most recent memories, but his mind was strangely fuzzy. There’d been a client, earlier that morning. Dean grimaced. The less said about that the better. And then…then…he’d just been dozing on his rack, waiting for the next assault.

A sense…a flavor…of something different…licked at Dean’s consciousness and he frowned harder, trying to capture it. The last thing he remembered was…was…the door into the dungeon opening and…there had been a hiss…and then he’d been coughing, couldn’t breathe and…

Dean sat bolt upright, gasping for air. Where was he? What was going on? He had to clamp down on the panic; panic wouldn’t get him anywhere. Gotta breathe, look around; get a sense of where he was.

No-one came running to hold him down so Dean figured that he was alone for the moment. He was in a small, white-washed room and the shadowy furnishings-the small, soft bed he was sitting in, the wardrobe, the side table with a white porcelain jug and washbowl-suggested that it was a bedroom. It wasn’t dark enough to be nighttime, although the wooden shutter at the window was keeping out a lot of the light.

Dean took a deep breath and looked down at himself. He was naked; that was hardly unusual, but there was a pile of clothes at the end of the bed, and clothes…they hadn’t happened in a while.

He got up hesitantly and when the creaking of the bed and the floor boards didn’t bring someone charging into the room, he got dressed.

Dean tiptoed to the bedroom door and tentatively opened it. He looked right, then left, ran a hand over his jaw and then crept down the stairs, sliding against the bannister like a drunk sliding against a wall. The house was a nice one, not the sort of wealthy house that Dean had once burgled, but certainly a lot nicer than anywhere he’d ever lived.

A brief, wary exploration of the small townhouse confirmed that there was no-one home so Dean hurried towards the front door and tried the knob. The door was deadlocked. Shit! Dean leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door and chewed at his bottom lip. Okay. Not a big deal. So he couldn’t just waltz out the front door; not like he didn’t have some house breaking skills he could use here. Although, Dean grinned wryly, this would be his first ever break and exit. He took off his shirt, wrapped it around his fist and broke the front room’s window, smashing out all the glass and then climbing through it onto…the front porch of a small General Grant style house in one of New York’s middle class districts.

Judging by the position of the sun it was late afternoon. Dean shook his shirt out and put it back on, walked sedately down the front steps and onto the sidewalk, and then he ran. He had no idea how or why he was out of the Hellfire Club; the only thing that made any kind of sense was that someone had bought out his contract. And the kind of evil sonovabitch who decided to buy his own personal sex slave? When Dean came face to face with that particular piece of demon-spawn he wanted to have a Goddamn gun in his hand.

-X-

Something had occurred to Dean as he’d run back towards New York’s slum district. What if Alastair had sold his contract to somebody else because Sammy had died? His contract with Alastair became null and void if Sam died; what if Alastair had decided to make a little more profit off of Dean rather than let him go? What if he’d simply sold his contract on to someone who wouldn’t be bound by the existing terms?

The thought that Sammy might be gone had Dean’s stomach tightening and bile rising in his throat.

The first thing he had to do was find Sammy; to make sure that he was okay. Of course, he had to do it without alerting the Trinity to his presence. The last thing he wanted was to come to the attention of Alastair and end up dragged back to the buyer he’d escaped from; which was why he was hiding in the shadows opposite the Horse’s Head Saloon. Jo was sweet on the owner’s son, Ash, who oftentimes worked the bar, and Dean knew that Jo was in the habit of popping in for a quick couple of gins before she went to work for the evening. Jo, Dean was fairly sure, would help him find Sammy, no questions asked. And if Sammy…if he was…well, Jo would know.

Dean wedged himself inconspicuously between a cracked stone wall and a large water barrel, his eyes sweeping the streets, continuously looking for his target, or for threats. The intense focus helped him to batter away the shock and distress that was trying to creep in. It didn’t stop the trembling that had started up though. Running had given him a use for the adrenalin that was racing through his system like a rabbit fleeing from a fox; now that he was standing still he couldn’t seem to stop shaking. He tried to tell himself he was just shivering with cold-it couldn’t have been more than sixty-five degrees and he was only wearing trousers, a shirt and a cap-but Dean had been desperately frightened too many times not to recognize the symptoms.

He couldn’t quite believe he was out, that was a big part of the problem. He kept expecting to come to and realize that this had all been a delusion. Maybe a john had given him some really strong hallucinogenic drugs; it wouldn’t be the first time. Any minute now he might come back to himself, back to reality, and feel the tug of rope at his wrists and ankles, the searing pain of the cat-o-nine-tails across his back, the brutal thrust of a cock deep inside his ass. Dean shuddered and pressed his hands against his face. He had to keep it together, had to find Sammy. And then…then…if it was real, if this was real, maybe a drink or twelve to help him dull the memories, to help him keep it under control. Yeah.

An hour later and Dean was shivering hard, his teeth chattering and his feet numb, and he was sure now that this was real because he knew pain and he knew discomfort and yeah, this was real.

A swish of blue fabric, a blonde head toss, and Dean would know that sexy, confident walk anywhere.

‘Jo!’ he called, surprised by the raw huskiness of his voice.

He saw her stop and look around, puzzled.

‘Jo!’ he called again, moving out of the shadows.

Jo’s eyes widened and she raised her hands to her lips, her face tightening and her chin wobbling.  She took a faltering step towards him and then ran at him, throwing her arms around him and burying her head against his chest.

‘Omigod, Dean! Omigod!”

She was sobbing and clinging and he stroked her back, her hair, and murmured in her ear: ‘It’s okay, I’m here, it’s okay,’ until eventually she quieted and pulled back, looking up at him critically.

‘You look like Hell.’

He tried for the cocksure grin that had always had her eating out of his hand, back when they were dating. The sad look in her eyes told him that he wasn’t managing anything more than a sick parody of his trademark sexy, self-confidence, so he let the look slide from his face and nodded obliquely. He’d spent the last nine months in Hell; it wasn’t surprising that it showed.

Jo’s hand shot out suddenly and slapped his face hard.

‘That’s for makin’ a deal with Alastair,’ she growled, ‘Jesus Christ, Dean! The Hellfire Club? You would’ve died before your five years were up!’

‘They were gonna kill Sammy,’ he said stubbornly, his only defense.

Jo’s eyes softened and she reached for him again, pulling his hand against her cheek.

‘Sammy’s life ain’t worth more’n yours, Dean.’

‘How is Sam?’

Jo dropped Dean’s hand and leaned back against the wall, her arms folded across her chest.

‘He’s alright as far as I know,’ she said, ‘I ain’t seen much of him these past few months. He’s been…doin’ his own thing.’

Dean looked at her closely. Something about her tone made him think that Jo didn’t approve of whatever it was that Sam had been doing.

‘Do you know where I can find him?’ he asked.

Jo nodded.

‘But how about you?’ she said, ‘how come you ain’t in the Tombs?’

‘The Tombs?’ Dean shook his head, ‘All’s I know is I came to locked in some classy crib uptown. I broke out and came here.’

Jo frowned. ‘That’s weird. Huh. And here I thought you’d know more’n me. The Hellfire Club got raided. Far as I know everybody who was there got arrested, includin’ Alastair.’

Dean’s mouth fell open.

‘But…Alastair…all that blackmailin’ he’s been doin’, the man’s untouchable.’

Jo looked surprised for a moment and then shook her head as if to clear it.

‘You got a lot to catch up on,’ she said, ‘We got ourselves a new Chief of Police, goes by the name Michael Angelides. He arrived in town some six months back and brought a lot of his own men with him. Apparently they all fought together in the war; some crack unit, garrisoned in enemy territory together.  Seems they’re all squeaky clean, completely incorruptible, and they’re gunning for the Unholy Trinity.’

Dean slid down the wall and sat down heavily.

‘So how come I ain’t in the Tombs along with everybody else?’

‘You ain’t got no shoes on,’ Jo commented.

‘I don’t think that’s the reason,’ Dean teased.

Jo rolled her eyes, ‘I’m just sayin’.’

‘Woke up buck naked. Found trousers, a shirt and a cap on the end of my bed. Guess they weren’t too sure on my boot size.’

Jo looked thoughtful. ‘Guess the big question is: Who are ‘they’? And did they get you out before, during or after the raid? And why did they get you out? And are they gonna come lookin’ for you?’

‘That’s four questions. But yeah,’ Dean frowned. ‘If we gave Ash the address of the house where I woke up, do you reckon he’d be able to ask around, see if he can find out who lives there? That might help us out some. If we figure out who got me outta the Hellfire Club, maybe that’ll lead us to how and why.’

Jo nodded. ‘I’ll ask. In the meantime, you want me to take you to Sam?’

Dean’s face lit up. ‘Yeah.’

Jo’s mouth became a thin line.

‘Just so you know,’ she said softly, ‘he’s got a new girl in his life. You might know her.’ Jo paused and Dean could tell that he really wasn’t going to like this. ‘Her name’s Ruby Cassidy,’ Jo said, and Dean’s world collapsed.

-X-

If Dean had done right by his little brother in anything, it had been to work his ass off so that he could provide him with a decent home; a place that wasn’t moldy, rotted, smoke-filled and rat-infested; a place that had quality (admittedly fifth-hand) furniture; a place that was clean and safe and theirs. This place? Where Sammy was living with that skank Ruby? None of the above. It was on the corner of Mulberry and Little Water, an area known for its ‘Dens of Death,’ and it was the most decrepit, run down slum-shanty that Dean had ever seen. It didn’t even have a front door for him to knock on, just stinking, putrid rags hung from the doorway. Dean held his breath and pushed the rags aside gingerly before stepping inside with Jo right at his back. His eyes were blinded in the smoky darkness of the interior, and he heard Ruby’s gasp before he saw her.

As soon as he could see her outline, he closed the distance between them, seizing her by the throat. ‘You,’ he sneered, slamming her against the nearest wall, crushing her beneath his weight.

‘Don’t!’ she croaked, ‘I can explain. It’s not like you think.’

‘Ruby, what’s-’ Sam pulled up short, his breath hitching in his throat. ‘Dean?’ Sam’s voice sounded distant, confused, ‘Dean? Jesus fuck! Dean! You’re…what are you doing?’

‘What d’you know about your girlfriend, Sammy?’ Dean’s voice was low and dangerous.

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

‘What do you mean? What does it matter? You’re…fuck, Dean, you’re here! You’re out!’

‘Do you know what she does for a livin’?’

‘Yeah. She’s a whore. So what? You dated Jo for months when you were younger’n me. Not to mention what you sold yourself into this last year. Don’t tell me you’ve got a problem with her profession bro’.’

‘So you got no problem with your girlfriend bein’ a mistress of pain at the Hellfire Club?’

‘I…what? Ruby? Is that true?’

Dean eased up on her throat a little bit and she coughed, whimpered pathetically and then tried to shake her head.’

‘Bull. Shit.’ Dean tightened his grip again. ‘Aren’t you gonna tell Sammy here about all the times we worked together? Put on a show for some sick fuck who wanted to see me whipped and carved and dildo-fucked by a bitch? Aren’t you gonna tell him about the snuff jobs?  All the times you slit some poor schmuck’s throat, just to get a client off?’

‘Ruby?’ Sam’s voice was small, broken, ‘is that true?’

Dean eased up on her throat again and the laugh that bubbled out of her was manic.

‘I had no choice,’ she spat, ‘Alastair would’ve slit my throat if I didn’t do what I was told.’

Jo made a small noise of disagreement and Ruby glared at her.

‘Fuck you, Jo,’ she growled, ‘you were never on his rack! You were lucky. You’ve got no idea!’ She turned back to Dean. ‘He broke me, like he was gonna break you.’

‘You liked your work,’ Dean sneered.

‘So what if I did? Alastair fucked me up good. No pain without pleasure; no pleasure without pain. I did what I had to. You would’ve broken too in the end.’

‘Ruby,’ Sam sounded heartbroken, ‘if you were being forced to work with my brother, why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve reassured me that he was okay; you could’ve passed messages for us-’

Ruby’s laughter bubbled over again, frothy as blood.

‘I’m a loyal employee, Sam. I was told to tell you jack squat, so I told you jack squat.’

‘What else were you told to do?’ Sam’s voice was gentle, and Dean recognized it as his ‘softly, softly, catchee monkey’ voice. His brother was going to give Ruby a decent length of rope and see if she’d hang herself.

‘Just to look after you, baby.’ The falseness of her tone was clear to everyone but Ruby. ‘To keep you happy. To keep you…’ she waved a hand effusively.

‘Pliable?’ Sam suggested, ‘Dependent?’

Ruby saw the noose just as it tightened around her neck. She laughed.

‘You’re fucked but good, Sammy,’ she cackled, ‘and your brother, your precious Dean, he’s never gonna trust you again!’

‘You bitch,’ Sam said.

‘Aw Sammy,’ Ruby cooed, ‘you know what I used to love best? The days when I’d come home and ride you hard, just minutes after I’d flayed all the skin from your brother’s back. Listening to you calling my name, when just moments ago, he’d been calling yours, begging you to save him! Delicious.’

Dean was so surprised when Sam barreled into him from the side that he lost his grip on Ruby and almost fell to the ground.  He saw a brief flash of silver and then Sam had a knife buried in Ruby’s gut.  Jo bit back a scream and Dean wrapped his arms around her and covered her face, watching in satisfaction as the light went out in Ruby’s eyes.

The knife clattered to the ground and Sam’s shoulders heaved. He turned and faced his brother, his eyes scared and guilty and begging for forgiveness.

‘Dean,’ he said. He looked at his blood-stained knife hand. ‘Dean?’

‘Whoa! I got ya, bro’.’

Dean got to him just as Sam collapsed.

‘You okay, Sammy?’

‘Yeah…I…’ and suddenly Sam’s arms were wrapped around him, holding him, squeezing him, as if he planned to never let go. Dean hugged him back just as hard, his eyes shining with tears.

‘Touching though this reunion is,’ Jo said dryly after a few minutes, ‘I think we should probably get the hell outta here.’

It didn’t take Sam long to pack-he didn’t have a lot of stuff-and Ruby they just left on the floor. They walked Jo back to the Horse’s Head Saloon and then found an empty squat on the other side of the Ward. Dean unfurled Sam’s bedroll, then Ruby’s (she wouldn’t need it anymore and he didn’t plan on being any more uncomfortable than he had to be) and the brothers sat pressed together, taking comfort in the fact that they were together and alive. When Sam started to tremble, Dean thought it was delayed shock setting in and he tried to talk him through it. The trembling got worse, and Sam started to scratch at his arms.

‘Sammy? Are you okay, dude? You’re not sick are you?’

‘No. No. I just…’

Sam crawled over to his duffel and took out a small silver flask. He flipped off the lid, poured a viscous red-brown liquid into his hand and licked it up.

‘What the hell’s that?’ Dean demanded.

Sam was silent for a moment and then he took a deep breath and turned to face his brother.

‘Laudanum,’ he said quietly.

‘Laudanum? As in…Tincture of Opium?’

‘Yeah.’

Dean drew a hand across his mouth.

‘Sonovabitch. You an addict Sammy?’

Sam nodded miserably.

‘That beating I took, I was in a lot of pain, so they took to givin’ it to me to keep me quiet. Then, I couldn’t sleep, worrying about what you were goin’ through.  I met Ruby at Harvelle’s, in that room where we…where the doctor was lookin’ after me. She said she worked at Harvelle’s; said she’d taken a wrong turn.  I guess now, it was a set up.  We got together and when I couldn’t sleep, she was the one who brought me the concentrated Laudanum.’

‘To keep you pliable,’ Dean thought back to Sam’s earlier words, ‘dependent.’

Sam nodded. ‘It ain’t cheap. Not in the quantities I go through it.’

Dean patted the bedroll beside him and Sam crawled back to it, bringing the flask with him.

‘You know what we gotta do now, don’t you?’ Dean said.

Sam nodded. ‘Yeah. But…let’s start tomorrow. For at least one day I wanna be able to enjoy havin’ my brother back, without bein’ too strung out to appreciate it.’

-X-

It started slowly; Sam began to twitch, and to scratch incessantly at his arms. His nose began to run, and his eyes became teary. He became progressively more restless and was soon drumming his fingers on his thighs and tapping his feet. Before long, he was rocking back and forth, clutching at his stomach and moaning. After a lot of coaxing from Dean he finally confessed that he had severe stomach cramps. Dean lit a fire, warmed a flat fry pan in it and then wrapped the hot metal in a blanket. He pressed it against his brother’s stomach before gathering the younger man into his arms and holding him close, pinning his wrists together so that he couldn’t hurt himself with his scratching, and rocking him like a baby.

Earlier that morning Dean had taken Sam in to town to get supplies.  Dean had always made sure that he had multiple emergency stashes of his counterfeit bank notes hidden around the place. One such pile had gone up in smoke along with their rooms, and the locations of two had been painfully coaxed out of him by Alastair, but that still left him with one secret stash of cash. After retrieving the money, Dean had bought himself some boots and some clothes, some blankets, some general supplies, some water and some food. Next he had called in at the Horse’s Head and had a quick word with Ash. Jo had already passed on the address that Dean had given her and asked Ash to see if he could find out who lived there. All Ash had been able to find out so far was that the house was owned by Joseph McIntyre, a wealthy councilor who owned not just that house, but half the block.

‘Thanks, Ash,’ Dean said. ‘Would you keep trying?’

The Horse’s Head wasn’t a fancy establishment. It had a low wooden ceiling, held up at various intervals by wooden poles, a wooden floor, and a plain wooden bar, behind which hung a painting of a naked woman. There were maybe a dozen tables and chairs, a few stools up against the bar, and at the far end, a billiard table where Dean had won a decent amount of money over the years.

Dean knocked back the whiskey that Ash had given him on the house, and offered to pay for his second. Ash shrugged him off.

‘You want a top up, Sam?’ Ash asked.

Sam scowled at him. ‘No thanks, Ash. Me and my sarsaparilla are just fine.’

‘Quit sulkin’,’ Dean said, ‘we got enough to worry about with the opium flowin’ through your veins, without addin’ whiskey into the mix. Besides, you are only fifteen.

Sam couldn’t even muster up much of a bitch face, which was a testament to how crappy he was feeling.

Dean tossed back his second whiskey shot and got to his feet.

‘Thanks Ash. If you find out anything, we’re in that abandoned building at the end of Mullen’s Alley.’

Ash nodded.

‘I’m gonna ask Pamela to go in, day after next, maybe. Do her turtledove act and see what all papers and stuff she can find in the house.’

Pamela worked with Jo at Harvelle’s Whorehouse, but she was also an accomplished turtledove.  A turtledove was a girl who went uptown dressed like a house maid, picked out a fine house and then waltzed right in through the back door, like she had every right to be there. A turtledove robbed you blind, all the while pretending to polish your silver. It took a lotta sand to be a turtledove and Pamela was one of the best. A feisty, dark haired woman with more front than Macy’s, she’d hit on Dean a couple times, grabbing his ass and telling him exactly what she’d like to do to him.  Flattered though he’d been, Dean had never taken her up on her offers; he was quietly terrified that she’d eat him alive.

The Turtledove Plan, good as Pam was, had made Dean feel uneasy for some reason.

‘You sure that’s a good idea? We dunno who we’re dealin’ with here.’

‘Relax. Pamela’s good at what she does. Besides, you got a better idea?’

Dean had to admit that he didn’t.

‘Dean? Think I’m gonna-’

Dean’s mind was dragged back to the present as a trembling Sam tore himself out of his brother’s arms and vomited violently onto the floor beside them.

‘It’s okay, Sammy, it’s okay.’

Dean rubbed his back comfortingly and when Sam had done heaving and spitting, Dean settled him back into the blankets and bedrolls, cleaned up the mess, and then fetched a pot for next time, before wrapping his arms around his younger brother again.

Sam’s body temperature was all over the place. One minute he was panting and sweating, throwing off the blankets, pushing Dean away, and complaining that he was too hot. The next he was covered in goose bumps, shaking under the blankets with his teeth chattering as he begged Dean to hold him closer.

Sam’s heart was beating so hard he thought there was a real danger that it might explode. Every part of his body ached, he was slick with sweat, and snot, and tears, and the fact that he had nothing left in his stomach wasn’t stopping that particular organ from periodically hurling its own juices up Sam’s throat and out his mouth. As time passed the cramps and muscle spasms got worse, he got a killer headache, and he lost his appetite completely. Finally, he couldn’t stand for Dean to touch him because it just hurt too much.  Even the bedroll and his blankets were causing him pain and Sam would’ve willingly opened a vein just to make it all stop except that he didn’t trust Dean not to follow him down that dark road and he didn’t want his brother to die.

By Day Three, the nausea and vomiting had lessened and the cramps and muscle spasms had eased slightly. Dean brought him some gruel and Sam managed to eat half of it and keep it down. Sam felt weak and pathetic and very humbled by the unwavering devotion his brother was showing him. When Dean peeled off Sam’s clothes and gently wiped down his aching sweat-slick body with warm water, Sam put his hands over his face and wept.

Later that day, when Sam was clean and fed and feeling a little more human, Jo turned up looking harried.

‘Y’all look like shit,’ she said in greeting, handing Dean a small cast iron pot. ‘Momma sent this for you. It’s her rabbit stew.’

Dean set the pot down with a nod of thanks.

‘Any news from Ash?’

Jo nodded and sat herself down on the pile of bedrolls and blankets.

‘The turtledove ploy didn’t work. Turns out it’s just a single man who lives there and he don’t have no domestic staff. So when Pam let herself in…he had her arrested for break and enter. She’s down at the Tombs and with her record she’s lookin’ at a three year stretch.’

Dean closed his eyes briefly and ran a hand across his jaw. Pam had got in trouble helping him out; this was totally on him.

‘What can I do to help her out?’

Jo shrugged.

‘You got enough troubles of your own. Ain’t much you can do I reckon.’

She paused and looked at him steadily for a moment. ‘She got the guy’s name.’

Dean lifted his head and met her eyes. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. Castiel Novak.’

-X-

‘You’re not goin’ alone,’ Sam said for what must’ve been the fiftieth time.

‘Well you ain’t comin’,’ Dean asserted. ‘You can barely walk the room without keelin’ over.’

It was the same impasse they’d been at all day, but now Dean didn’t have any more time for it. He’d had Jo pin a note to the front door of Castiel Novak’s house, asking the man to meet him at 2.00 o’clock this afternoon in an abandoned warehouse just past Mulberry Bend. Dean didn’t know whether the man would show or not, but he planned to get there early so that if Castiel turned up with a bunch of strong arms, he could quietly get the hell outta there and no harm done.

‘You’re not goin’ alone,’ Sam re-iterated stubbornly. ‘It ain’t safe. And besides, I just got you back; I don’t wanna lose you again.’

The hell of it was, Sam was right and Dean knew he was, but Sam wasn’t in any fit state to go with him and the way things were right now with the Trinity, there was no-one except Jo, Ellen or Ash who he’d trust to watch his back and he couldn’t put this risk on any of them. So he was going to go alone and Sam was just going to have to suck it up.

‘Shut up, Sam,’ he said harshly. ‘I’m the older brother so we’re damn well gonna do this my way. I’m gonna go. Alone. And you’re gonna stay here and wait for me to get back.’

Sam managed an epic bitchface and Dean was comforted by how much better he must be feeling.

‘I’m not-’

Dean cut him off. ‘Yeah. You are. Don’t make me tie you up, Sammy. I know some real good knots now that you ain’t never gonna get out of.’

Sam wrinkled his nose and closed his eyes briefly before sitting down obediently on the bed rolls. Any reference from Dean, no matter how oblique, to how he’d spent the last nine months seemed to deflate Sam’s anger real fast.

‘You be careful,’ Sam said as Dean turned to leave. ‘And if you ain’t back in three hours, I’m comin’ lookin’ for you.’

Dean nodded. ‘Wouldn’t expect anything less, ‘bro.’

Part Five (B)