Requests and Challenges - Earning Human: Part One

[girlgotagun]

Master Post // Writing Schedule // Announcements

Title: Earning Human
Author: girlgotagun
Pairing: Dean/Sam

Prompter: sanshal
Community: None ( original source: spnkink-meme)
Prompt: LINK
Rating: NC-17

Kinks: dehumanization/degradation, humiliation, praise, crying/tears, anal plug, hurt/comfort, light medical, enema [no puppy-play]

Warning: None

Summary: When Sam messes up in a pretty big way, a horrifying penalty is handed down: he is no longer allowed to live as a human. Instead, he must live as a dog, complete with tail, food bowl, and the degrading assignment of the backyard as his bathroom. Add to that leash laws, hose-downs in place of showers, and no-pets-allowed establishments, and Sam-along with Dean-is about to lose his mind. The only way Sam can become human again is by earning it-and it's a long, tough road ahead.

Part One

~~~

Looking back on the whole debacle, Dean thought it was pretty stupid, really. Okay, so Sam had bit a police officer. It had been an honest mistake.

… Okay, so it hadn’t been a mistake, but it had been one of those spur-of-the-moment desperate moves that anyone could’ve made.

… Okay, so maybe not anyone would’ve bit a police officer. And okay, most people probably would have let go after the initial snap, after the skin broke and they realized what they had done. And okay, so Sam hadn’t done that.

But could you really blame the guy? It had been bedlam! Dean and his brother had been minding their own business, on their way back from meeting up with Jo, Ash, and Ellen for lunch while their three old friends were in town. They had passed by the courthouse on the way, forced to slow by a veritable mob of protesters. Sam had figured out what was going on almost immediately-that was what made it a bit ironic, really, that it was his brother in the position he was in now, and not Dean. A bill had just passed that allowed a further step in the degrading process of dehumanization as punishments for criminals, and now “pets” who were deemed unfitting for “manumission”-the reinstatement of basic human rights and dignity-by their tenth year of attempted rehabilitation were to be euthanized, the law citing that they were simply out-of-control animals unfit for greater society.

And yeah, that was horrific-Dean understood that. He still wished Sam had just stayed in the damned car until he had found his way out of the mob that was flooding the streets. And really, Sam might have, if it hadn’t been for the police. They initiated riot control measures; tear gas and rubber bullets and handcuffs all around. That was when Sam got pissed. That was just the sort of guy Sammy was. The crowd wasn’t dangerous or rioting. At most they were an annoyance blocking the streets. But they still had a right to be there. So Sammy had gotten out of the damned car.

Dean had cursed and followed him, and that was when he saw Sam freeze, saw his brother start to shake with anger as he looked down at the unconscious form of a girl, her head bleeding, a police officer with a baton standing over her. And Dean had stepped forward, reached out to pull his brother back, but it had been too late.

Sam and the police officer got into an all-out brawl, the baton laying forgotten a few feet away. It had ended with the officer holding Sam in a headlock, and that was when Dean saw Sam do the unthinkable-he had opened his mouth and sunk his teeth into the officer’s arm, refusing to let go until Dean and a second officer managed to pull him off.

So yeah, Sammy had bit a cop. And yeah, it hadn’t been an accident, and it hadn’t exactly been “normal human behavior”.

That didn’t make it any easier to swallow when the judge had announced that she had reached a decision; that Sam would be made into a hound, since he insisted on acting like a dog, until such time as he earned back the right to be treated as a human.

Dean had been so angry that he had stood up. “I object!” His voice rang out, clean and clear through the courtroom.

“You can’t object, Mr. Winchester; you are a character witness, not an attorney.” The judge sounded bored.

“Well, then he objects!” Dean corrected, nodding at Sam’s court-appointed lawyer.

The judge raised her eyebrows. “On what grounds?”

“I…” The blond attorney, a man named Tyson Brady who Dean had already decided was useless, looked like he was at a loss. “I have no grounds for objections, your honor.”

“Then what good are you?” Dean snapped.

“Mr. Winchester, if you do not sit down and act in a civilized manner in my courtroom, you may find yourself next in line for such punishment.” The judge looked pointedly at Dean, daring him to call her bluff, and for a moment he considered it. His pride got the better of him, though, and after a few seconds he sat down, his jaw clenched tight.

“Who will be claiming custody of the defendant?” The judge looked expectantly at Dean.

“He’s an adult.” Dean was at a loss as to what the question could mean.

The judge sighed, looking for all the world as though Dean were the most dense person she had ever met in her life. “He is a hound, Mr. Winchester. He is a pet and he needs someone to claim ownership of him. Now will that be you, or will he be going to the pound for adoption?”

The Pound was where unclaimed “pets” were kept in cages until someone “adopted” them. But as for the quality of owners, there were no guarantees, no screening processes. If Dean sent Sam there, he could be adopted by someone truly awful-awful in any number of ways.

“I claim ownership.” The words left his mouth quickly, as though they were afraid they would arrive too late.

“Do you understand that you are responsible for his conduct and rehabilitation, and that you will share in any further judgements upon him until such time as he has earned manumission?”

Dean swallowed hard. “I do.”

“Let it be noted that Mr. Dean Winchester has claimed ownership over the defendant until such time as manumission is earned, to be assessed at monthly appointments with a court-appointed behavior and rehabilitation expert.” The judge rapped her gavel on the desk sharply. “Court is adjourned.”

As the courtroom filed out, Dean was beckoned forward by the cross-looking bailiff. He followed him and Sam out a side door to the room where the court-appointed transition from man to beast would take place in.

He didn’t know it was the last time he would see Sammy walk upright for a very long time.

~~~

Sam looked around the room, taking in the sharp, sterile scent and gleaming white-and-steel surfaces. It reminded him of a doctor’s office, out of place in the courthouse. It was bright, far too bright for the torture chamber that it really was; a room specifically designed to break him down and strip him of all human dignity.

“I’ll just wait out here.” Dean looked uncomfortable, gesturing to the hallway, and Sam nearly sighed in relief. If this was going to happen, at least his brother wasn’t going to witness it-or at least not until the final result; not the long process of the transformation.

The veterinary aid who was employed by the courts to oversee the process smiled. “Oh, no sir. I’m sorry, but law requires the owner to be present to ensure that no animal is abused at the hands of the courts.”

“You call him an animal again, and there’s going to be some abuse taking place in this room, alright.” Dean glared at her and Sam shook his head, trying to get him to just stop. There was no use in them both being in Sam’s position. Dean scowled and leaned against the wall by the door, crossing his arms over his chest and staring hard at the opposite wall.

“Would you like to select his tail?” The aid asked with a smile as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

“Would I like to what?” Dean blinked at her, his eyes widening in horror as the meaning of the question hit him. “No! Are you crazy?”

“Okie dokie then.” The aid’s voice was syrupy sweet, and it occurred to Sam that she probably spent all day getting snapped at by upset relatives and angry new “pets”-many of whom had done much worse than him. He felt kind of bad for her. Or, he did until she opened a cabinet and removed a tail-a thick anal plug with an attached length of fur. The one that she selected at random was made with especially long and thick golden fur. “Golden retriever.” The aid’s smile grew even brighter. Sam wanted to smack her.

She placed the plug into a metal container, the tail draping over the edge. “Sanitizer.” She explained. “Don’t worry, it’s all very hygienic.”

Sam scoffed. Yeah. Because that was what he was worried about.

“Hmm. You do have a bit of an attitude, don’t you?” The aid shook her head. “Anyway, while that’s soaking, let’s go ahead and get you collared and chipped.” She looked at Sam expectantly.

“Chipped?” Dean broke in, sounding horrified. “You’re going to track him?”

“Oh, yes sir.” The aid nodded. “We keep a very close eye on all court-assigned pets. Strays are not permitted-we need to know where he is at all times. He’s a flight risk.” Her eyes turned back to Sam. “Go ahead and strip. The chip will be implanted in your flank and of course you’re not permitted to wear clothes anymore.”

Sam didn’t move to take off his clothes. His fingers curled into the worn denim of his jeans like a child grasping their security blanket. He shook his head.

“If you do not wish to comply, I am required by law to tranquilize you.”

It occurred to Sam that the aid didn’t have to speak to him the way that she was. Pets were generally addressed like…well, like animals. Short, simple commands or praise. Full sentences, warnings, explanations…those were all things that were reserved for humans. She was offering his last bit of dignity as a human. Sam didn’t want to lose that; wanted to hold onto that as long as he could. If she tranquilized him, that would be over, and all of the rest would happen whether he cooperated or not.

He swallowed hard, shaking hands moving to unbutton his overshirt and pull it off, followed closely by his tee shirt. The room was cold, and he felt goosebumps raise along his arms and shoulders, hands shaking as they moved to unbutton his jeans. The aid didn’t watch, afforded him that slight, slight illusion of privacy as she rummaged through a drawer, and when Sam looked at Dean his brother’s eyes were fixed steadily on the floor.

He took a deep breath and pushed down his pants and boxer briefs in one quick motion, kicking away the puddle of denim and cotton as he tried to cover himself with his hands. His face and chest burned hot with shame and he hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to imagine that he was anywhere else, not naked in front of his brother and this stranger, about to be made into a hound for what could very well be the rest of his life.

He heard a sharp, rhythmic tapping and he opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the aid as she slapped the metal exam table lightly.

“Up.” The command was short and it hit Sam right in the gut. That was it. It was over now. He lifted himself up and sat on the table, the cold metal a shock to his shame-heated skin. The aid shook her head. “Hands and knees.”

“C’mon.” This time the voice that spoke was Dean’s, and Sam was almost ashamed to realize that it was a plea. He had made his proud, strong older brother plead for him. “He doesn’t have to do that yet. You can chip and collar him sitting.”

“Sorry, sir. Pets aren’t permitted to sit like that.” She looked at Sam expectantly even as she addressed Dean, her eyes hard as though she were challenging Sam. “Sit.”

Sam turned slowly, his gut wrenching as he rolled onto his hands and knees, his mind screaming at how exposed the position left him-ass jutted out, limp cock hanging between his legs. He let his head fall forward as his face burned, trying to imagine that he was anywhere else. Anywhere other than on display on that table, naked and humiliated, as the aid muttered quick praise for his obedience.

He heard the sterile wrapper of a needle and syringe being pulled apart, and then a moment later there was a light pinching sensation in his upper thigh as local anesthesia was pushed into the flesh, the aid’s hands smoothing over the injection spot for a moment, that quick muttered praise coming again as he held still. She then rolled a tray over to the table, within Sam’s sight but not his reach, which had a scalpel, the sterile-wrapped subdermal chip, and a suture kit. She picked up the scalpel and Sam heard the sharp intake of breath from Dean, knew that his skin had been split before she even put the now-bloody instrument back down. She picked up the chip, the crinkle of the package being opened reaching Sam’s ears, and then there was a small point of dull pressure in his thigh. Another few seconds and he felt the rhythmic push-and-tug of stitches being placed-three, if he was right in his counting-and then she was wheeling the tray away again.

He raised his head, craning around to look at the spot where she had embedded the chip. The incision looked clean and the stitches were neat. It would heal well, sealing that little electronic device under his skin-maybe forever-so that the courts could track him, make sure he wasn’t cheating, acting independent, human. The aid swiped antiseptic gel over it and then taped a thick layer of gauze over it. She handed a packet to Dean.

“Pain killers,” she explained as he looked at the packet. “You’ll have to mix one of the smaller packets of powder in with his food each morning and night-just for the next two or three days. There’s also an antibiotic in with them.”

“Great.” Dean grunted, pocketing the packet. “Very caring of you.”

“Look.” The aid’s obnoxiously-cheerful demeanor was gone. “I didn’t put him in this situation. I’m doing my job, and trying to make the transition as smooth as possible. Don’t get an attitude with me.”

Dean rolled his eyes but stayed quiet.

The collar was next; a thick, unyielding strap of black leather that chafed at Sam’s skin. He wanted to reach up, to pull it off, but he didn’t. He balled his hands up on the table, straining his neck against the collar, trying to work it into a more comfortable position. The attempt was in vain; there was no such thing.

“Okay then, here comes the unpleasant part.” The aid said. Sam raised his head to see her removing the plug from the sanitizing solution. She shook it, sending the excess liquid dripping back into the container in a quick series of droplets. “Have you ever worn a plug before?”

Before Sam could stop it, his eyes flickered to Dean. He moved them back to the aid quickly, caught her surprised expression. “Yes.” The answer was quiet, mumbled as his cheeks flamed.

The aid cleared her throat nervously. “You two understand that continuing a sexual relationship following transition is tantamount to bestiality and is punishable as such by law?”

Sam got the distinct impression that she had given that warning quite a few times, but it did little to calm the humiliation that raced through him.

“Don’t worry; no chance of that.” Dean’s voice was quiet, the faint edge of disgust that was laced through it stabbing Sam though the heart. He should’ve known, should’ve figured that his brother wouldn’t want anything to do with him now. It had been hard enough to get Dean past the taboo of them as brothers in a relationship-there was no way Dean would get past bestiality.

The aid was quiet as she grabbed a bottle of lubricant off of the counter and came to stand behind Sam. “Okay, so then you know how this works. I’m going to prep you a bit, but it will likely still hurt.”

Sam had known that, had seen the plug. The largest plug that he and Dean had used had been maybe three inches at its widest part, and that one had taken a lot of coaxing and prep for Sam to wear comfortably. The plug that the aid was going to work into him was easily an inch wider-Sam presumed the thickness was to compensate for the weight of the tail.

He heard the cap on the bottle of lube pop open and the aid squeeze some out onto her gloved fingers, the air escaping the bottle making an obscene sound. And then one latex-covered slick finger was pushing into him, and Sam felt his throat swell with shame, knowing he was opening for this stranger, knowing that Dean was watching someone else touch him, prep him, disgusted by the act and by what it represented, by Sam himself.

He wanted to cry, wanted to scream out and jerk away from the rough, impersonal fingers invading him one by one. He clenched his teeth, screaming inside for it to be over, for it to end.

And then it did, and it hit Sam that the worst part was still coming as the aid pressed the blunt tip of the plug to his rim and began to push. Sam was quickly stretched to his limit, the quick and impersonal preparation not enough to allow him to easily accept the thick, unyielding plug into his body. He whimpered against the pain, against the stretched, too-full feeling, trying to force himself to breathe without sobbing.

It seemed to take forever, the plug getting increasingly wider. Sam felt like it was never going to be over, never going to start getting smaller again. The dull, throbbing pain quickly became sharp and burning. He was going to tear, he just knew it. He jumped, a sob escaping his throat as he felt a soothing hand in his hair.

When he looked up, tears distorting his vision and a low whimper escaping his throat, it was Dean who was petting him, his expression hard and impersonal. “It’s okay, Sam. You’re going to be okay.”

The words didn’t help, not spoken in that voice laced with disgust and horror. Sam focused instead on the hand in his hair, trying to ignore the pain and relax into the touch. It almost worked, almost; until the widest part of the plug slipped past his rim and he felt his muscles contract, tightening around the slick decreasing lower half and pulling it quickly deep into his body-too deep, too fast. A scream was torn from his throat, tears finally falling to splash against the metal table. He could feel the thick fur of the tail against his ass and the back of his thighs, humiliation surging through him anew at the image of what it must look like.

He wanted Dean to hold him, to kiss him and comfort him and tell him that it was over, that it would be okay, that it didn’t matter, cause he was still Sammy, still his brother, still his other half.

Dean didn’t. Sam knew he wouldn’t.

Sam was disgusting. Sam was less than human.

Continue to Part Two