A Twist of Fate
Part Four (C)
Sam had never been so happy. Dean had helped him to mock up some papers that said he’d matriculated from school and had experience pupil teaching out west. With those, he’d managed to get a job at the local mission school teaching the smallest children their ABCs. He was still working for Gordon; had accepted that he couldn’t get completely out without some long term planning; but he had given up his second-in-command role and stepped back, explaining that he had his girl to think about now and that soon enough she’d be his wife and they’d have children; that he wanted to give them a safe, normal life. Gordon hadn’t been pleased, but he’d been surprisingly accommodating and Sam was far too happy; far too deeply in love with Jessica; to be suspicious.
Fortunately, Dean was suspicious enough for the both of them. He was watching Gordon like a hawk as well as keeping his ear to the ground and he’d heard enough whispers to know that Gordon was pretty pissed at Sam. But try as he might, Dean couldn’t burst Sam’s happy bubble; his baby brother just didn’t want to know. Sam was chasing after normal with willful determination and seemed hell bent on turning a blind eye to any suggestion that the Job might be going to interfere with his happily ever after.
Dean hadn’t been able to work any cons or hustles since Wanted posters of him started appearing all over town, and the counterfeiting scams had to be spaced out, the fake notes used sparingly, or the Secret Service was likely to descend, so his ability to earn had been a little thin. One of the upsides to Sam stepping back was that Gordon frequently needed extra assistance, and a job that was done in the dark, where it was imperative that no-one see you, was exactly what Dean needed, so he stepped up to fill the breach left by his baby brother. Gordon was surprisingly good company and the more Dean worked with him, the less he hated him. He didn’t trust him, not by a long shot, but Dean learned a lot from Gordon over the months that followed and they established an uneasy camaraderie.
Sam was astonished by how easy it was to keep Jessica in the dark about his past. She loved him, trusted him, and she didn’t ask questions. She’d obviously worked out for herself that he’d had a rough upbringing, but that was hardly unusual. The war had created a lot of orphans and a lot of poverty, and there were thousands of neglected and abandoned children roaming the city’s streets; homeless, destitute street urchins, doing whatever it took to keep body and soul together. Jessica didn’t ask about Sam’s past because she didn’t care what he’d had to do to survive. Her boyfriend was a good man, he had provided her with a nice home, he had a teaching job, just as he’d said he did, and he and his brother between them brought in enough money to keep them comfortable. And if Sam occasionally went out drinking with his brother, if he occasionally came home with cuts and bruises because he and Dean had gotten into a bar fight, well he was no worse than a lot of other men. Jessica knew that Sam could be violent, had seen the rage within him bubble close to the surface from time to time, but he was never forceful with her, never anything but loving and tender.
Sam was in love, he was happy, life was good.
‘Sam,’ Dean’s voice, barely more than a whisper, jolted the younger Winchester from his sleep.
‘What?’ he grumbled.
‘Azazel sent me to get you,’ Dean said quietly. ‘We’re on red alert, dude. All hands on deck.’
Sam rubbed at his eyes and sat up.
‘Dead Rabbits?’
Dean’s shrug was barely visible in the dark.
‘Dunno. I just got back from a Job with Gordon. Azazel just said it was a red alert and I needed to come get you.’
‘Sam?’ Jessica stirred beside him.
‘Shh. Just gotta go help my brother with something. I’ll be back soon.’
‘But it’s the middle of the night!’ Jess protested sleepily, ‘and you’ve got work in the morning.’
‘It’s okay,’ Sam reassured her.
‘I’ll be waitin’ outside,’ Dean said, and backed away.
Sam kissed Jessica, stroked her hair softly and murmured sweet nothings in her ear, promising her that everything would be okay.
‘But what’s wrong?’ she persisted, ‘why do you have to take off with your brother in the middle of the night?’
Sam sighed.
‘There’s this guy, Jess, he practically raised me and Dean. He’s in some trouble and I’ve gotta go and help him.’
Jessica frowned. ‘Trouble? What kind of trouble? Are you gonna be in danger?’
‘No,’ Sam kissed her and smoothed her hair again, ‘no baby. He’s just holed up in a saloon with his best buddy Old Jake Beam and we just need to get him home before he takes a swing at the wrong guy. I promise Jess, everything’s gonna be okay. You just go back to sleep.’
Jess kissed him back and then nuzzled against his throat.
‘You be careful. Alright?’ she said sternly.
Sam sighed contently against her hair.
‘What would I do without you, Jess?’
Jessica grinned. ‘Crash and burn,’ she said.
-X-
Sam slipped quietly into the abandoned warehouse and pulled up short when his brother stopped suddenly in front of him.
‘Are we in the right place?’ Sam breathed into his brother’s ear.
‘Yeah.’
Ice crept up Sam’s spine.
‘Huh,’ he said, ‘Guess nobody else got the red alert memo.’
Dean held up a finger for silence.
‘Over there,’ he murmured, ‘by the rear door.’
Sam caught a glint of movement in the shadows opposite them just as a couple of Gordon’s men burst abruptly through the door behind them and grabbed them, pinning their arms tightly behind their backs.
‘Hey!’ Dean shouted as they were hustled towards Gordon and Azazel, who had emerged from the shadows and now stood looming over them.
‘Thank you for joining us,’ Azazel said gravely.
‘What the hell, Azazel?’ Dean spat.
‘What’s going on?’ Sam asked softly.
Azazel stared at Sam, his eyes cold. ‘I have plans for you, son,’ he said. ‘You’re a special breed and I didn’t invest my time and effort; Gordon didn’t invest his time and effort; training you up, just so you could go soft, refuse your inheritance and play house with your girl. She’s no good for you, Sammy boy. She has to go.’
‘No,’ Sam snarled. ‘You don’t get it. I love Jessica. I want to marry her. I want out.’
Azazel laughed and it was the single most frightening thing that Sam had heard in a long while.
‘No, Sam,’ he said. ‘You don’t get it. The Trinity owns you; body, mind and soul. You don’t get to leave; there is no out. You’re only commitment is to us-you get to honor and obey us, ‘til death do us part. And your girl? Jessica, is it? She has to go.’
Sam stared at him uncomprehendingly and then he heard the loud clanging bells of the fire wagons and the squealing whine of the hand-cranked fire sirens. Dean watched as horrified comprehension filled his brother’s face.
‘No,’ Sam whispered, ‘NOOOO,’ he screamed. He spun quickly and took out one of Gordon’s men and Dean followed his brother’s lead and punched his way through the other one just as quickly.
Sam ran through the dark, smoke-filled streets praying a silent litany in time with the beat of his feet: ‘Please, God, please God, please God…’
There were three fire crews fighting for the right to put the fire out; in the meantime it raged out of control and leapt from Sam and Dean’s building to the one next door. Looters were already smashing their way into the building and making off with whatever they could grab and in the chaos the boys were able to bypass the firemen and fight their way into the building. It soon became apparent that their room had been at the epicenter of the blaze and there was too much heat for them to get inside. That didn’t stop Sam from trying though. He threw himself repeatedly at the roaring wall of flame, shielding his face from the heat and shrugging off Dean’s attempts to hold him back. But each time, the intense heat forced him to back off, cursing, begging, and crying, desperate to get to Jessica but completely unable to do so. Eventually he collapsed to the floor, moaning Jessica’s name and Dean had to pick him up and carry him bodily outside.
‘She’s d-dead,’ he stuttered, his body shaking with grief, ‘Th-They d-did this and it’s m-m-y f-f-ault. If I hadn’t b-brought her here…I k-k-killed her, Dean. I killed Jess.’
Dean half dragged, half pushed his numb, stumbling brother away from the crime scene and down the road to a squalid squat that was frequented by a lot of the unaffiliated street urchins. He propped Sam in a corner, told him to stay put and then headed back to the scene to see what he could find out. He stood at the back of the crowd of onlookers and watched as a charred body was pulled from the house. A murmur spread back through the crowd that there had been a knife sticking out of the body; that it had been a murder. Dean stayed until the police arrived, hovering on the periphery of conversations, trying to pick up whatever gossip he could. When the police started to move among the crowd, asking questions about the room’s tenants, asking if anyone knew them, as they were the prime suspects, Dean slipped quietly away and headed slowly back to the squat where he’d left Sam.
Christ, what a mess. The Trinity had killed Jessica in order to pull Sam back into the game and they’d done it in such a way that he and Sam would become the prime suspects in her murder. If they wanted to avoid the drop they were going to need the Trinity’s protection, which meant they had no choice now but to go back into the fold, to accept that they were owned, that they had no choice but to obey. Dean rubbed a tired hand across his eyes, convinced that things couldn’t get any worse.
He was wrong.
-X-
Sam drew up his knees, wrapped his arms tightly around them and began to rock back and forth as his grief tore itself from his throat in guttural, primal sobs. His beautiful girl; his Jessica; was gone. Part of him didn’t believe it; part of him was convinced that it was all some sick joke; that he was going to wake up any minute now and find that it was all a nightmare.
But those flames had been all too real and Sam knew, knew, that this was really happening. His Jessica was gone. They’d killed her. And it was his fault. He’d been so desperate for normal that he’d forgotten how dangerous his world really was. He’d dragged Jess-innocent, loving Jess-into his world and then he’d failed to protect her from it. The pain…the guilt…Sam couldn’t stand it; couldn’t stand to be in his own skin knowing that he should’ve seen this coming, should’ve kept her safe. His chest heaved and ached, and he felt light-headed and panicky; as though he were choking or drowning. Despair was welling up from deep inside him and threatening to overwhelm his body. It was about to render him useless and that…no…he had to rein in the despair, channel it; use it. He couldn’t afford any emotions that would make him weak; he needed strength now. The strength to do what needed to be done. It was his fault that Jessica was dead; she’d been killed because of him, and he deserved…needed to be punished for that.
But he hadn’t been the one to light the match. Sam wiped at his tears, lungs working overtime as he slowly regained control. Azazel. The aching hole in Sam’s heart blazed with hatred; it burnt bright and fierce and scorched away all the misery and despair. Azazel had done this. He’d given the order. Sam staggered to his feet, his face twisted with rage, as it became clear to him just what he had to do to atone for Jessica’s death.
‘You’re a dead man, Dad,’ he muttered, ‘a fuckin’ dead man.’
-X-
When Dean got back to the squat, the corner where he’d left Sam was empty.
‘Hey kid?’ he spoke to the nearest urchin, ‘the guy I left here? Where’d he go?’
The kid shrugged. ‘He was cryin’ and talkin’ to himself. Said somethin’ about his Dad bein’ a dead man.’
Dean bit back a curse. Leaving Sam alone had been a mistake, but he hadn’t had much of a choice; he couldn’t have taken him to the crime scene and he’d thought…hoped…that Sam would wait for him, that they would work together; decide together what they would do next. But no, Sam had to go off half-cocked. Dean could just imagine his little brother, crazed with grief, going straight for Azazel’s throat, like a pitt bull off-leash. And that? No way that ended well. Dean ran, his own panic setting in as he realizing just what serious trouble his brother was headed for. He bounded up the stairs at Azazel’s digs, his foot going through a couple of rotted boards and cutting his leg, but he didn’t care, he had to get to Sammy before the kid did something stupid.
He was too late. Sam was curled on the floor and Gordon and several of his men were beating the living daylights out of him, feet and fists flying as they kicked him and punched him, while Azazel sat back and watched, sipping from his silver flask as Sam groaned and whimpered and tried to cover his head.
‘No!’ Dean roared. He plunged in recklessly, throwing himself into the ecstasy of violence with willful abandon. One of Gordon’s henchmen turned on him, slamming a meaty fist into Dean’s head and knocking him viciously to the floor. Dean shook himself, dazed and then his eyes focused on the large bowie knife that the henchman was brandishing at him.
‘Stay out of it,’ he snarled. ‘This ain’t a fight. It’s a punishment. Azazel ordered it.’
Dean choked off a sob and crawled to Azazel, throwing himself at the man’s feet. ‘Please,’ he begged, ‘please. Stop this. I’ll talk to him. Get him under control.’
Azazel shook his head. ‘It’s too late now. He tried to kill me. Jessica’s death seems to have pushed him over the edge. It’s regrettable and not at all how I wanted this to go, but…he’s become too dangerous for us to let him live.’
‘Please! Please!’ Dean was openly sobbing now, grasping at Azazel’s leg as he begged shamelessly for his brother’s life. Azazel pushed him roughly away, sending Dean sprawling face first onto the dirty, wooden floor. Dean dragged himself to his feet immediately. This couldn’t be it. There had to be something he could do. This was Sammy; his baby brother. It was his job to look out for him. He could run back in there, run onto that bastard’s knife and they could die together or…or…
Dean turned and ran. He didn’t stop running until he got to Harvelle’s Whorehouse, going in the employee’s entrance and sprinting up the back stairs towards the area where Alastair kept an office.
‘Where’s Alastair?’ he demanded of the guy guarding the door, ‘Is he in there?’
The guy nodded.
‘Tell him Dean needs to see him. Tell him it’s urgent.’
Far too many moments later Dean was ushered into Alastair’s office.
‘Well, well,’ Alastair said, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?’
‘I wanna make a deal,’ Dean blurted out, cutting off Alastair’s cordial greeting. ‘Azazel and Gordon, they’re killing my brother, right now. You can stop it; you’re the only one they’ll listen to. You stop it and I…I’ll do whatever you want.’
Alastair steepled his hands on the desk in front of him and watched Dean lazily, a lion sizing up his prey.
‘Well now,’ he said, the brightness of his eyes betraying his sleepy tone, ‘that is interesting.’
‘Please,’ Dean begged, ‘They’re at Azazel’s place, you have to hurry.’
Alastair picked up his quill, dipped it in the ink well and then hastily scribbled something on a piece of paper. He folded it, placed his seal across the fold and then rang a bell. ‘Take this to Azazel’s place,’ he said to the men who arrived, ‘give it to Azazel. Hurry.’
Alastair reached into his desk drawer and took out another piece of paper, this one with writing on it. He quickly penned a couple of additional lines at the bottom of the page, signed his name with a flourish and then passed the paper to Dean.
‘What’s this?’ Dean asked.
‘It’s your contract.’
Alastair watched as Dean slowly read through it, becoming progressively paler as he did. Alastair rather liked pale on the boy, it made his freckles stand out and his eyes seem even greener.
Eventually the boy raised fear-filled eyes and stared at Alastair. Alastair licked his lips.
‘I…you put here that the contract is null and void if Sammy dies?’
Alastair nodded. ‘Unless it’s by his own hand. On the flipside, if you try to get out of your contract, I’ll let Azazel and Gordon finish what they started.’
Dean swallowed visibly.
‘You want me to call my men back?’ Alastair offered, ‘tear up that contract?’
‘No! Can I…can I say good bye to Sammy? Before I…?’
‘Of course. I’ll have two of my men escort you.’
Dean nodded, and then picked up the quill with shaking fingers and dipped it in the ink well. He signed his name and then slid the contract back across the desk to Alastair. Alastair grinned and pulled Dean to him. He fisted his hands in Dean’s hair and kissed him hard, his tongue forcefully demanding entry and his lips bruising. Dean was pliant in his arms, allowing Alastair the access he demanded without a fight. Alastair plundered his mouth ruthlessly, trying to provoke some sort of response, but Dean remained passively compliant. Alastair liked complete submission, he really did, but he would’ve preferred more of a response from Dean, even one of horror and revulsion. Still, there was plenty of time for that; he was sure he’d pull some nice responses from Dean eventually. Alastair pulled away from the boy with a final bite at his lower lip and shook his head at Dean’s carefully blank expression. ‘Sealed with a kiss,’ he smirked.
He sat down and returned to his paperwork.
‘Sit down, Dean.’
Dean did as he was told and watched with growing irritation as Alastair started on his paperwork again.
Sometime later, there was a knock at the door and at Alastair’s bidding the two men who he’d sent out earlier came in.
‘Took him to Doc Rodgers,’ one of them said gruffly, ‘Kid ain’t good, boss. He took one hell of a beatin’, but Doc thinks he’ll make it.
‘Take my new apprentice to say goodbye to his brother,’ Alastair said, ‘and then escort him to the Hellfire Club. I’ll meet you there later, Dean,’ he smirked again, ‘and show you the ropes, so to speak.’
-X-
Sam was a mess of bloody bandages and bruises when Dean finally saw him. He was lying on a small cot in a tiny room in the private section of Harvelle’s and despite his gray pallor he looked up and smiled when Dean entered the room. Dean’s escorts stood outside the door and waited while Dean went and sat tentatively on the edge of his brother’s bed and tried to mentally prepare himself for the most difficult conversation of his life.
‘How ya feelin’ Sammy?’ he asked.
‘Been better.’ Sam reached out and took his brother’s hand. ‘Dean…what did you do?’ Dean tried not to react to the tremble in his brother’s voice. ‘I mean, Azazel and Gordon, they were gonna kill me. Then you ran in, ran out, and the next thing I know a couple of Alastair’s guys are bringin’ me here.’
Dean drew his thumb back and forth across the back of his brother’s hand. He was warm, he had a heart beat and, okay, in a minute he was going to be really pissed at Dean, but at least he was alive to be pissed, and that was all that mattered really.
‘Dean?’ Sam said sharply, ‘Please tell me you didn’t make a deal with Alastair?’
Dean stared into his brother’s eyes and then lowered his head.
‘They were gonna kill you, Sammy,’ he whispered, ‘I couldn’t…I couldn’t let that happen.’
Sam gripped his brother’s hand tighter. ‘Which House?’ he demanded.
Dean took a deep breath; tried to stay calm.
‘The Hellfire Club.’
Sam made a small pained noise and gripped Dean’s hand so tightly that it hurt.
‘Are you indentured? Locked in?’
Dean nodded.
‘How long?’ Sam spat.
‘Five years,’ Dean said softly.
‘Five? Fuck, Dean! You’ll be dead in three! How do we get you out of this?’
‘We don’t!’ Dean said sharply, ‘Me seein’ out my contract is your protection. We try to get me outta this, you die.’
‘What’s to stop them quietly killin’ me now that they’ve got what they want?’
‘If you die, my contract becomes null and void.’
Sam stared stonily at his brother. ‘Well that’s easy then.’
‘No!’ Dean barked, ‘Killin’ yourself doesn’t count; that won’t void my contract. Besides, I’m gonna need you when I get out,’ Dean reached out and stroked a shaky hand through Sam’s hair, ‘Also…you’ve gotta promise me that you won’t try to go after the Trinity. Cuz if you try, they’re gonna take it out on me. You understand?’
Before Sam could respond the door opened and one of Alastair’s men stuck his head in the room.
‘Time’s up,’ he said.
Sam bit back a sob and pulled Dean to him, hugging him hard and begging him not to leave him alone. Eventually Alastair’s men simply took hold of Dean and dragged him from the room. Their grips bruised his arms and their fingernails cut at him like claws, and he cried and struggled, but they didn’t care. Sam screamed for his brother, his voice hoarse and broken. The whorehouse doctor tried to physically restrain him, but Sam fought so hard that the doctor finally just jabbed a needle into his arm, sedating him.
Dean staggered to the Hellfire Club in a daze, his eyes blank, and his brain struggling to keep up with everything that was going on. He didn’t come back to himself until he was pushed through a heavy wooden door and into a room that looked like some sort of medieval torture chamber. There was a huge A-Frame in the middle of the room and a wide variety of whips, paddles and floggers were hanging from the walls. There were boxes and trays scattered around the place too, filled with all sorts of nasty looking implements that Dean didn’t even want to think about.
Without a word, Dean’s escorts tore off his clothes and then tied him so tightly to the A-Frame that he couldn’t move. And then they left, leaving him all alone, naked, bound and vulnerable. Dean’s terrified eyes darted around the room and he was finally unable to contain his shock and terror a moment longer.
‘Sam!’ he sobbed, ‘Sammy!’
Part Five (A)
Sam had never been so happy. Dean had helped him to mock up some papers that said he’d matriculated from school and had experience pupil teaching out west. With those, he’d managed to get a job at the local mission school teaching the smallest children their ABCs. He was still working for Gordon; had accepted that he couldn’t get completely out without some long term planning; but he had given up his second-in-command role and stepped back, explaining that he had his girl to think about now and that soon enough she’d be his wife and they’d have children; that he wanted to give them a safe, normal life. Gordon hadn’t been pleased, but he’d been surprisingly accommodating and Sam was far too happy; far too deeply in love with Jessica; to be suspicious.
Fortunately, Dean was suspicious enough for the both of them. He was watching Gordon like a hawk as well as keeping his ear to the ground and he’d heard enough whispers to know that Gordon was pretty pissed at Sam. But try as he might, Dean couldn’t burst Sam’s happy bubble; his baby brother just didn’t want to know. Sam was chasing after normal with willful determination and seemed hell bent on turning a blind eye to any suggestion that the Job might be going to interfere with his happily ever after.
Dean hadn’t been able to work any cons or hustles since Wanted posters of him started appearing all over town, and the counterfeiting scams had to be spaced out, the fake notes used sparingly, or the Secret Service was likely to descend, so his ability to earn had been a little thin. One of the upsides to Sam stepping back was that Gordon frequently needed extra assistance, and a job that was done in the dark, where it was imperative that no-one see you, was exactly what Dean needed, so he stepped up to fill the breach left by his baby brother. Gordon was surprisingly good company and the more Dean worked with him, the less he hated him. He didn’t trust him, not by a long shot, but Dean learned a lot from Gordon over the months that followed and they established an uneasy camaraderie.
Sam was astonished by how easy it was to keep Jessica in the dark about his past. She loved him, trusted him, and she didn’t ask questions. She’d obviously worked out for herself that he’d had a rough upbringing, but that was hardly unusual. The war had created a lot of orphans and a lot of poverty, and there were thousands of neglected and abandoned children roaming the city’s streets; homeless, destitute street urchins, doing whatever it took to keep body and soul together. Jessica didn’t ask about Sam’s past because she didn’t care what he’d had to do to survive. Her boyfriend was a good man, he had provided her with a nice home, he had a teaching job, just as he’d said he did, and he and his brother between them brought in enough money to keep them comfortable. And if Sam occasionally went out drinking with his brother, if he occasionally came home with cuts and bruises because he and Dean had gotten into a bar fight, well he was no worse than a lot of other men. Jessica knew that Sam could be violent, had seen the rage within him bubble close to the surface from time to time, but he was never forceful with her, never anything but loving and tender.
Sam was in love, he was happy, life was good.
‘Sam,’ Dean’s voice, barely more than a whisper, jolted the younger Winchester from his sleep.
‘What?’ he grumbled.
‘Azazel sent me to get you,’ Dean said quietly. ‘We’re on red alert, dude. All hands on deck.’
Sam rubbed at his eyes and sat up.
‘Dead Rabbits?’
Dean’s shrug was barely visible in the dark.
‘Dunno. I just got back from a Job with Gordon. Azazel just said it was a red alert and I needed to come get you.’
‘Sam?’ Jessica stirred beside him.
‘Shh. Just gotta go help my brother with something. I’ll be back soon.’
‘But it’s the middle of the night!’ Jess protested sleepily, ‘and you’ve got work in the morning.’
‘It’s okay,’ Sam reassured her.
‘I’ll be waitin’ outside,’ Dean said, and backed away.
Sam kissed Jessica, stroked her hair softly and murmured sweet nothings in her ear, promising her that everything would be okay.
‘But what’s wrong?’ she persisted, ‘why do you have to take off with your brother in the middle of the night?’
Sam sighed.
‘There’s this guy, Jess, he practically raised me and Dean. He’s in some trouble and I’ve gotta go and help him.’
Jessica frowned. ‘Trouble? What kind of trouble? Are you gonna be in danger?’
‘No,’ Sam kissed her and smoothed her hair again, ‘no baby. He’s just holed up in a saloon with his best buddy Old Jake Beam and we just need to get him home before he takes a swing at the wrong guy. I promise Jess, everything’s gonna be okay. You just go back to sleep.’
Jess kissed him back and then nuzzled against his throat.
‘You be careful. Alright?’ she said sternly.
Sam sighed contently against her hair.
‘What would I do without you, Jess?’
Jessica grinned. ‘Crash and burn,’ she said.
-X-
Sam slipped quietly into the abandoned warehouse and pulled up short when his brother stopped suddenly in front of him.
‘Are we in the right place?’ Sam breathed into his brother’s ear.
‘Yeah.’
Ice crept up Sam’s spine.
‘Huh,’ he said, ‘Guess nobody else got the red alert memo.’
Dean held up a finger for silence.
‘Over there,’ he murmured, ‘by the rear door.’
Sam caught a glint of movement in the shadows opposite them just as a couple of Gordon’s men burst abruptly through the door behind them and grabbed them, pinning their arms tightly behind their backs.
‘Hey!’ Dean shouted as they were hustled towards Gordon and Azazel, who had emerged from the shadows and now stood looming over them.
‘Thank you for joining us,’ Azazel said gravely.
‘What the hell, Azazel?’ Dean spat.
‘What’s going on?’ Sam asked softly.
Azazel stared at Sam, his eyes cold. ‘I have plans for you, son,’ he said. ‘You’re a special breed and I didn’t invest my time and effort; Gordon didn’t invest his time and effort; training you up, just so you could go soft, refuse your inheritance and play house with your girl. She’s no good for you, Sammy boy. She has to go.’
‘No,’ Sam snarled. ‘You don’t get it. I love Jessica. I want to marry her. I want out.’
Azazel laughed and it was the single most frightening thing that Sam had heard in a long while.
‘No, Sam,’ he said. ‘You don’t get it. The Trinity owns you; body, mind and soul. You don’t get to leave; there is no out. You’re only commitment is to us-you get to honor and obey us, ‘til death do us part. And your girl? Jessica, is it? She has to go.’
Sam stared at him uncomprehendingly and then he heard the loud clanging bells of the fire wagons and the squealing whine of the hand-cranked fire sirens. Dean watched as horrified comprehension filled his brother’s face.
‘No,’ Sam whispered, ‘NOOOO,’ he screamed. He spun quickly and took out one of Gordon’s men and Dean followed his brother’s lead and punched his way through the other one just as quickly.
Sam ran through the dark, smoke-filled streets praying a silent litany in time with the beat of his feet: ‘Please, God, please God, please God…’
There were three fire crews fighting for the right to put the fire out; in the meantime it raged out of control and leapt from Sam and Dean’s building to the one next door. Looters were already smashing their way into the building and making off with whatever they could grab and in the chaos the boys were able to bypass the firemen and fight their way into the building. It soon became apparent that their room had been at the epicenter of the blaze and there was too much heat for them to get inside. That didn’t stop Sam from trying though. He threw himself repeatedly at the roaring wall of flame, shielding his face from the heat and shrugging off Dean’s attempts to hold him back. But each time, the intense heat forced him to back off, cursing, begging, and crying, desperate to get to Jessica but completely unable to do so. Eventually he collapsed to the floor, moaning Jessica’s name and Dean had to pick him up and carry him bodily outside.
‘She’s d-dead,’ he stuttered, his body shaking with grief, ‘Th-They d-did this and it’s m-m-y f-f-ault. If I hadn’t b-brought her here…I k-k-killed her, Dean. I killed Jess.’
Dean half dragged, half pushed his numb, stumbling brother away from the crime scene and down the road to a squalid squat that was frequented by a lot of the unaffiliated street urchins. He propped Sam in a corner, told him to stay put and then headed back to the scene to see what he could find out. He stood at the back of the crowd of onlookers and watched as a charred body was pulled from the house. A murmur spread back through the crowd that there had been a knife sticking out of the body; that it had been a murder. Dean stayed until the police arrived, hovering on the periphery of conversations, trying to pick up whatever gossip he could. When the police started to move among the crowd, asking questions about the room’s tenants, asking if anyone knew them, as they were the prime suspects, Dean slipped quietly away and headed slowly back to the squat where he’d left Sam.
Christ, what a mess. The Trinity had killed Jessica in order to pull Sam back into the game and they’d done it in such a way that he and Sam would become the prime suspects in her murder. If they wanted to avoid the drop they were going to need the Trinity’s protection, which meant they had no choice now but to go back into the fold, to accept that they were owned, that they had no choice but to obey. Dean rubbed a tired hand across his eyes, convinced that things couldn’t get any worse.
He was wrong.
-X-
Sam drew up his knees, wrapped his arms tightly around them and began to rock back and forth as his grief tore itself from his throat in guttural, primal sobs. His beautiful girl; his Jessica; was gone. Part of him didn’t believe it; part of him was convinced that it was all some sick joke; that he was going to wake up any minute now and find that it was all a nightmare.
But those flames had been all too real and Sam knew, knew, that this was really happening. His Jessica was gone. They’d killed her. And it was his fault. He’d been so desperate for normal that he’d forgotten how dangerous his world really was. He’d dragged Jess-innocent, loving Jess-into his world and then he’d failed to protect her from it. The pain…the guilt…Sam couldn’t stand it; couldn’t stand to be in his own skin knowing that he should’ve seen this coming, should’ve kept her safe. His chest heaved and ached, and he felt light-headed and panicky; as though he were choking or drowning. Despair was welling up from deep inside him and threatening to overwhelm his body. It was about to render him useless and that…no…he had to rein in the despair, channel it; use it. He couldn’t afford any emotions that would make him weak; he needed strength now. The strength to do what needed to be done. It was his fault that Jessica was dead; she’d been killed because of him, and he deserved…needed to be punished for that.
But he hadn’t been the one to light the match. Sam wiped at his tears, lungs working overtime as he slowly regained control. Azazel. The aching hole in Sam’s heart blazed with hatred; it burnt bright and fierce and scorched away all the misery and despair. Azazel had done this. He’d given the order. Sam staggered to his feet, his face twisted with rage, as it became clear to him just what he had to do to atone for Jessica’s death.
‘You’re a dead man, Dad,’ he muttered, ‘a fuckin’ dead man.’
-X-
When Dean got back to the squat, the corner where he’d left Sam was empty.
‘Hey kid?’ he spoke to the nearest urchin, ‘the guy I left here? Where’d he go?’
The kid shrugged. ‘He was cryin’ and talkin’ to himself. Said somethin’ about his Dad bein’ a dead man.’
Dean bit back a curse. Leaving Sam alone had been a mistake, but he hadn’t had much of a choice; he couldn’t have taken him to the crime scene and he’d thought…hoped…that Sam would wait for him, that they would work together; decide together what they would do next. But no, Sam had to go off half-cocked. Dean could just imagine his little brother, crazed with grief, going straight for Azazel’s throat, like a pitt bull off-leash. And that? No way that ended well. Dean ran, his own panic setting in as he realizing just what serious trouble his brother was headed for. He bounded up the stairs at Azazel’s digs, his foot going through a couple of rotted boards and cutting his leg, but he didn’t care, he had to get to Sammy before the kid did something stupid.
He was too late. Sam was curled on the floor and Gordon and several of his men were beating the living daylights out of him, feet and fists flying as they kicked him and punched him, while Azazel sat back and watched, sipping from his silver flask as Sam groaned and whimpered and tried to cover his head.
‘No!’ Dean roared. He plunged in recklessly, throwing himself into the ecstasy of violence with willful abandon. One of Gordon’s henchmen turned on him, slamming a meaty fist into Dean’s head and knocking him viciously to the floor. Dean shook himself, dazed and then his eyes focused on the large bowie knife that the henchman was brandishing at him.
‘Stay out of it,’ he snarled. ‘This ain’t a fight. It’s a punishment. Azazel ordered it.’
Dean choked off a sob and crawled to Azazel, throwing himself at the man’s feet. ‘Please,’ he begged, ‘please. Stop this. I’ll talk to him. Get him under control.’
Azazel shook his head. ‘It’s too late now. He tried to kill me. Jessica’s death seems to have pushed him over the edge. It’s regrettable and not at all how I wanted this to go, but…he’s become too dangerous for us to let him live.’
‘Please! Please!’ Dean was openly sobbing now, grasping at Azazel’s leg as he begged shamelessly for his brother’s life. Azazel pushed him roughly away, sending Dean sprawling face first onto the dirty, wooden floor. Dean dragged himself to his feet immediately. This couldn’t be it. There had to be something he could do. This was Sammy; his baby brother. It was his job to look out for him. He could run back in there, run onto that bastard’s knife and they could die together or…or…
Dean turned and ran. He didn’t stop running until he got to Harvelle’s Whorehouse, going in the employee’s entrance and sprinting up the back stairs towards the area where Alastair kept an office.
‘Where’s Alastair?’ he demanded of the guy guarding the door, ‘Is he in there?’
The guy nodded.
‘Tell him Dean needs to see him. Tell him it’s urgent.’
Far too many moments later Dean was ushered into Alastair’s office.
‘Well, well,’ Alastair said, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?’
‘I wanna make a deal,’ Dean blurted out, cutting off Alastair’s cordial greeting. ‘Azazel and Gordon, they’re killing my brother, right now. You can stop it; you’re the only one they’ll listen to. You stop it and I…I’ll do whatever you want.’
Alastair steepled his hands on the desk in front of him and watched Dean lazily, a lion sizing up his prey.
‘Well now,’ he said, the brightness of his eyes betraying his sleepy tone, ‘that is interesting.’
‘Please,’ Dean begged, ‘They’re at Azazel’s place, you have to hurry.’
Alastair picked up his quill, dipped it in the ink well and then hastily scribbled something on a piece of paper. He folded it, placed his seal across the fold and then rang a bell. ‘Take this to Azazel’s place,’ he said to the men who arrived, ‘give it to Azazel. Hurry.’
Alastair reached into his desk drawer and took out another piece of paper, this one with writing on it. He quickly penned a couple of additional lines at the bottom of the page, signed his name with a flourish and then passed the paper to Dean.
‘What’s this?’ Dean asked.
‘It’s your contract.’
Alastair watched as Dean slowly read through it, becoming progressively paler as he did. Alastair rather liked pale on the boy, it made his freckles stand out and his eyes seem even greener.
Eventually the boy raised fear-filled eyes and stared at Alastair. Alastair licked his lips.
‘I…you put here that the contract is null and void if Sammy dies?’
Alastair nodded. ‘Unless it’s by his own hand. On the flipside, if you try to get out of your contract, I’ll let Azazel and Gordon finish what they started.’
Dean swallowed visibly.
‘You want me to call my men back?’ Alastair offered, ‘tear up that contract?’
‘No! Can I…can I say good bye to Sammy? Before I…?’
‘Of course. I’ll have two of my men escort you.’
Dean nodded, and then picked up the quill with shaking fingers and dipped it in the ink well. He signed his name and then slid the contract back across the desk to Alastair. Alastair grinned and pulled Dean to him. He fisted his hands in Dean’s hair and kissed him hard, his tongue forcefully demanding entry and his lips bruising. Dean was pliant in his arms, allowing Alastair the access he demanded without a fight. Alastair plundered his mouth ruthlessly, trying to provoke some sort of response, but Dean remained passively compliant. Alastair liked complete submission, he really did, but he would’ve preferred more of a response from Dean, even one of horror and revulsion. Still, there was plenty of time for that; he was sure he’d pull some nice responses from Dean eventually. Alastair pulled away from the boy with a final bite at his lower lip and shook his head at Dean’s carefully blank expression. ‘Sealed with a kiss,’ he smirked.
He sat down and returned to his paperwork.
‘Sit down, Dean.’
Dean did as he was told and watched with growing irritation as Alastair started on his paperwork again.
Sometime later, there was a knock at the door and at Alastair’s bidding the two men who he’d sent out earlier came in.
‘Took him to Doc Rodgers,’ one of them said gruffly, ‘Kid ain’t good, boss. He took one hell of a beatin’, but Doc thinks he’ll make it.
‘Take my new apprentice to say goodbye to his brother,’ Alastair said, ‘and then escort him to the Hellfire Club. I’ll meet you there later, Dean,’ he smirked again, ‘and show you the ropes, so to speak.’
-X-
Sam was a mess of bloody bandages and bruises when Dean finally saw him. He was lying on a small cot in a tiny room in the private section of Harvelle’s and despite his gray pallor he looked up and smiled when Dean entered the room. Dean’s escorts stood outside the door and waited while Dean went and sat tentatively on the edge of his brother’s bed and tried to mentally prepare himself for the most difficult conversation of his life.
‘How ya feelin’ Sammy?’ he asked.
‘Been better.’ Sam reached out and took his brother’s hand. ‘Dean…what did you do?’ Dean tried not to react to the tremble in his brother’s voice. ‘I mean, Azazel and Gordon, they were gonna kill me. Then you ran in, ran out, and the next thing I know a couple of Alastair’s guys are bringin’ me here.’
Dean drew his thumb back and forth across the back of his brother’s hand. He was warm, he had a heart beat and, okay, in a minute he was going to be really pissed at Dean, but at least he was alive to be pissed, and that was all that mattered really.
‘Dean?’ Sam said sharply, ‘Please tell me you didn’t make a deal with Alastair?’
Dean stared into his brother’s eyes and then lowered his head.
‘They were gonna kill you, Sammy,’ he whispered, ‘I couldn’t…I couldn’t let that happen.’
Sam gripped his brother’s hand tighter. ‘Which House?’ he demanded.
Dean took a deep breath; tried to stay calm.
‘The Hellfire Club.’
Sam made a small pained noise and gripped Dean’s hand so tightly that it hurt.
‘Are you indentured? Locked in?’
Dean nodded.
‘How long?’ Sam spat.
‘Five years,’ Dean said softly.
‘Five? Fuck, Dean! You’ll be dead in three! How do we get you out of this?’
‘We don’t!’ Dean said sharply, ‘Me seein’ out my contract is your protection. We try to get me outta this, you die.’
‘What’s to stop them quietly killin’ me now that they’ve got what they want?’
‘If you die, my contract becomes null and void.’
Sam stared stonily at his brother. ‘Well that’s easy then.’
‘No!’ Dean barked, ‘Killin’ yourself doesn’t count; that won’t void my contract. Besides, I’m gonna need you when I get out,’ Dean reached out and stroked a shaky hand through Sam’s hair, ‘Also…you’ve gotta promise me that you won’t try to go after the Trinity. Cuz if you try, they’re gonna take it out on me. You understand?’
Before Sam could respond the door opened and one of Alastair’s men stuck his head in the room.
‘Time’s up,’ he said.
Sam bit back a sob and pulled Dean to him, hugging him hard and begging him not to leave him alone. Eventually Alastair’s men simply took hold of Dean and dragged him from the room. Their grips bruised his arms and their fingernails cut at him like claws, and he cried and struggled, but they didn’t care. Sam screamed for his brother, his voice hoarse and broken. The whorehouse doctor tried to physically restrain him, but Sam fought so hard that the doctor finally just jabbed a needle into his arm, sedating him.
Dean staggered to the Hellfire Club in a daze, his eyes blank, and his brain struggling to keep up with everything that was going on. He didn’t come back to himself until he was pushed through a heavy wooden door and into a room that looked like some sort of medieval torture chamber. There was a huge A-Frame in the middle of the room and a wide variety of whips, paddles and floggers were hanging from the walls. There were boxes and trays scattered around the place too, filled with all sorts of nasty looking implements that Dean didn’t even want to think about.
Without a word, Dean’s escorts tore off his clothes and then tied him so tightly to the A-Frame that he couldn’t move. And then they left, leaving him all alone, naked, bound and vulnerable. Dean’s terrified eyes darted around the room and he was finally unable to contain his shock and terror a moment longer.
‘Sam!’ he sobbed, ‘Sammy!’
Part Five (A)