"Collared", chapter 6
Massive, huge thanks go out to insertcode11 for her totally awesome and super-rapid beta on this. She did a stunning, stunning job, and seriously folks, made it WAY better than it was. >.< Next chapter will likely be a bit longer in coming. I like to try to keep updates on the same general day, so it'll likely be the middle of September. Also, September has Rodeo Weekend, so there's 4 days where using the laptop will be an utter joke. Sorry guys. Anyway, you don't really care... on to the fic!! ^_^
~~*^*~~
~~*^*~~
To say that Dean looks pissed is an understatement.
It didn’t take him long to arrive from the house, and Sam’s stomach is already roiling in a way that has nothing to do with what he ingested minutes ago. Dean slips quietly around Stephan, and leans in the open doorway, arms crossed across his chest. Shame and guilt had make it too hard for Sam to meet his master’s eyes, and he openly flinches when Dean growls out, “Oh no, Stephan, better call the doctor. The slave just ate candy.”
That has his gaze flickering up. Dean’s eyes are cold as the snow, hard and brittle on Sam’s skin. “Yeah, you fucked up big time, kid. That rat poison- is a test for new slaves. Few are dumb enough to actually try it.” His master is all but quivering in his anger, and Sam winces when Dean huffs out an annoyed breath.
He about falls on his ass when Dean stalks forward with the quick predatory movements of a big cat, and grabs his collar, clipping his shank to it and yanking him forward. Stephan tugs his wrists around behind him, and he hears the quick ‘snickt’ of another clip closing on his arms. When Sam tries bringing them back around, he feels the tension binding them. Oh god, he’s in trouble.
Dean mutters things under his breath, entirely too low for Sam to make out as he tugs and yanks and jerks Sam across the dew-damp grass and sharp gravel. Part of him wants to bite and scrabble and yowl like one of the stray cats the kids used to try to grab and bring home, but even he knows that’s a really, really bad idea. Especially when his master goes quiet and a muscle in his jaw starts jumping. So he stays meek and quiet, stumbling along behind as the master’s house starts looming up from the darkness.
It’s not a mansion, which he almost expected given the size and quality of the stables. The path slowly changes to sand, disappearing under tile as they get closer. Dean yanks open the door just as Sam notices the oddity of the metal sheet half-way up the wood, and storms through the dim and quiet kitchen. The room seems odd, like it’s holding its breath, and his master’s bootfalls echo harshly off the stainless steel appliances and sleekly polished wooden floor. Sam gets a brief glance of a startled woman before Dean’s tugging him along, causing him to stumble when the flooring changes to thick, plush carpeting under his feet. He’s too focused on regaining his feet to take stock of his surroundings, until Dean stops and points to the floor beside an old, massive wingback chair. The thing is so dominating, so overt, it’s obviously from before the Restart, and it takes a minute for the surprise to fade enough to realize Dean is growling low. He drops instantly, knees sinking into the dark, sumptuous fibers, and he doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Dean sighs heavily. “I’m not going to hurt you, kid. You’ll get your punishment tomorrow.”
Sam’s confusion must show, because Dean settles into the chair, tugging tug his laces loose as he elaborates. “You’re not an animal, you’re human, and you can rationalize your punishment tomorrow. I’m too pissed to do it right now. Tomorrow, I’ll have had overnight to calm down. Just… stay there and be quiet for now.” He takes off his boots, setting them partly under the chair, and undoes Sam’s lead enough to drape it over the arm of the chair and into his lap, before picking up a book that’s dog-eared and tattered.
Apparently, Dean has decided to ignore Sam. He waits, but Dean doesn’t give any indication that he even knows Sam is there, so he sneaks glances around the room, confused by the clash of simplicity and extravagance. The carpeting is black and fluffy, if coarse, but the walls are a creamy sand color. Combined with the dark wood pieces and trims, it’s oddly warm and inviting, with a vague underlying threat, somehow. Dean’s massive chair sat at an angle, back towards the only corner that was enclosed by heavy burgundy drapes that hang from the ceiling to brush against the carpeting. The curtains run along the entire wall directly to Dean’s left, before the curtains give way to the creamy paint of the next wall. There’s a stone fireplace, unlit but immaculately clean, under a massively framed picture of horses in a field. Dark wooden bookcases flank the fireplace, turning that wall into the main focal point of the room.
A low glass coffee table sits between Sam and the overly stuffed couch, which sits just far enough away from the wall to form a neat walkway, connecting the two doorways that he can see. He knows the kitchens lay through the right doorway, and he has a vague sense of unease that he’ll learn what lays down the left by the end of the night.
He’s startled from his musings when the woman from before slips through the dark portal, watching him warily as she steps closer to the Master. When Dean tips his book down to glance up at her, she smiles, propping an elbow on the wing of his chair. “Everything’s cleaned up and ready to go. You need anything else, Dean?”
“No, I’m alright. Thanks Allie. You going to bed?”
“Yup,” she nods, casting a glance to Sam and tipping her head, blond curls tumbling over a slender shoulder. “Fell for it, huh?”
Dean’s glare at him is still icy cold, and he curls further away, wincing. “Yeah. Needless to say, you may have some help tomorrow while I’m working Kaz.” She nods again, and then pats Dean’s shoulder as she stands up. “Sleep well.”
“You too. Try and actually get some sleep tonight?” She laughs as she makes her way through the door again, and Dean just shakes his head as he grins, turning back to his book. It’s like Sam’s not even there, and he slumps a little, oddly lonely despite having another human close by.
~~*^*~~
It’s a few hours later, according to the deep tones that resonate from further down the hall, when Dean finally folds the corner of his book down before closing it and setting it on the floor beside his boots. He leans forward, rolling his neck on his shoulders, before grabbing the leash and watching at Sam struggles to his feet. It’s awkward, arms bound up behind him and feet gone numb from the pressure, but he manages, and stumbles after Dean as the Master leads him down the hallway, passing closed doors and dark turn-off hallways, until they climb the few twisting stairs at the end of the hall. They come before a solitary door, and when Dean pushes it open, the sight of the single, massive bed is a little too much for Sam to handle. Blake was right, this is going to end hellishly, and the despair from before is banished by the wave of red-hot rage and desperation when Dean tugs him further into the room.
It’s stupid to even attempt to fight back, as bound as he is, but he tries. His older brother taught him some dirty gutter moves, quick and nasty street-fighting, and he slips into instinct as he bucks, thrashes, and at one point, bites in his bid for freedom. He’s viciously thrilled when his heel connects solidly to Dean; he relishes the pained huff of air and wheezing curses as Dean struggles to gain footing against him. Sam’s got the element of surprise though, and he’ll milk it for all he can.
All his fight is for nothing-he knew it wouldn’t work, but that doesn’t prevent the sick feelings of hopelessness that crawls up his spine. Sam doesn’t even know how Dean does it. One moment he’s aiming to put a knee into Dean’s ribs and the next he’s meeting the carpet face first with Dean’s weight pressing him into the flooring, hard. They’re both panting, and he feels the jerk as Dean tosses his head like a horse, snorting hard as he tries to catch his breath. “What the hell was that about?”
Sam growls, squirming and trying to buck again half-heartedly, but he knows that he’s going to wind up on that bed. He didn’t realize just how strong Dean was… it was apparent his master was hands-on with the horses. Dean gives him a little shake, pressing him harder into the floor. “I want an answer, kid. What the fuck was that all about?”
He grimaces as the rug burns his cheek when he twists his head, and he can’t see Dean for the shag of his hair in his eyes, but he still tries to glare. Tries to steady his voice when he growls, “You’re not gonna fuck me without a fight. I won’t let you.”
Dean stills, the tension in him loosening a little. “What?”
“’s what you bought me for, right? Blake told me all about it, how you buy boys and use them until they’re dead, and then throw them out and get new ones. He said he heard them screaming before, begging you not to.” His voice is quivering so he shuts up, trying to hold onto the bravado.
“Jesus Christ on a cracker.” Dean drops his head between Sam’s shoulder blades, sighing. “That’s not going to happen, kid. Got it?” When Sam snorts in disbelief, Dean grinds his hips onto the bone of Sam’s own, snarling. “You feel that? That lying to you, son?” Dean’s voice has changed, dropped a little lower and a lot huskier, with a bit of a drawl, but Sam doesn’t care about that.
There’s no hardness between Dean’s legs. The man is completely flaccid, and that just doesn’t compute with what Blake told him. Something is very, very wrong here.
Dean growls a bit before pushing himself upright, and tugging Sam to his feet. “Just, get some sleep, okay? I’m too fucking tired to deal with this tonight. You gotta take a leak?” Sam shakes his head, too twisted around to worry much about it, and Dean nods. He leads Sam not to the bed, but to a spot on the wall. It’s a closet, empty and bare, and lacking a wooden door. Instead, there’s a panel of straight bars, each about the width of his thumb, and close together. Dean’s fingers tighten on his arm, and Sam winces, already dreading the bruises he’s accumulated tonight. “You run, you’re going to regret it. Got it?”
Sam nods his understanding and Dean unclips his wrists and leash before opening the door and guiding Sam in. “There’d be a bed for you, but you’re still considered under lockdown until I deem otherwise. Behave and you’ll get some creature comforts.” Dean locks the door before stepping away and ducking into what Sam assumes is the bathroom from the subsequent noises of water he hears. A few minutes later Dean dims the lights to barely visible before sliding into that monster of a bed.
“Just get some sleep, Sam.” That’s pretty damned easy for his master to say. He’s not the one whose entire world has been flipped around and shaken hard. Sam just huddles against the wall, listening to Dean’s quiet breathing in the dark, and tries to ignore the cold ball of dread in his belly.
~~*^*~~
Chapter 5 Back To Masterpost Chapter 7
~~*^*~~
~~*^*~~
To say that Dean looks pissed is an understatement.
It didn’t take him long to arrive from the house, and Sam’s stomach is already roiling in a way that has nothing to do with what he ingested minutes ago. Dean slips quietly around Stephan, and leans in the open doorway, arms crossed across his chest. Shame and guilt had make it too hard for Sam to meet his master’s eyes, and he openly flinches when Dean growls out, “Oh no, Stephan, better call the doctor. The slave just ate candy.”
That has his gaze flickering up. Dean’s eyes are cold as the snow, hard and brittle on Sam’s skin. “Yeah, you fucked up big time, kid. That rat poison- is a test for new slaves. Few are dumb enough to actually try it.” His master is all but quivering in his anger, and Sam winces when Dean huffs out an annoyed breath.
He about falls on his ass when Dean stalks forward with the quick predatory movements of a big cat, and grabs his collar, clipping his shank to it and yanking him forward. Stephan tugs his wrists around behind him, and he hears the quick ‘snickt’ of another clip closing on his arms. When Sam tries bringing them back around, he feels the tension binding them. Oh god, he’s in trouble.
Dean mutters things under his breath, entirely too low for Sam to make out as he tugs and yanks and jerks Sam across the dew-damp grass and sharp gravel. Part of him wants to bite and scrabble and yowl like one of the stray cats the kids used to try to grab and bring home, but even he knows that’s a really, really bad idea. Especially when his master goes quiet and a muscle in his jaw starts jumping. So he stays meek and quiet, stumbling along behind as the master’s house starts looming up from the darkness.
It’s not a mansion, which he almost expected given the size and quality of the stables. The path slowly changes to sand, disappearing under tile as they get closer. Dean yanks open the door just as Sam notices the oddity of the metal sheet half-way up the wood, and storms through the dim and quiet kitchen. The room seems odd, like it’s holding its breath, and his master’s bootfalls echo harshly off the stainless steel appliances and sleekly polished wooden floor. Sam gets a brief glance of a startled woman before Dean’s tugging him along, causing him to stumble when the flooring changes to thick, plush carpeting under his feet. He’s too focused on regaining his feet to take stock of his surroundings, until Dean stops and points to the floor beside an old, massive wingback chair. The thing is so dominating, so overt, it’s obviously from before the Restart, and it takes a minute for the surprise to fade enough to realize Dean is growling low. He drops instantly, knees sinking into the dark, sumptuous fibers, and he doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Dean sighs heavily. “I’m not going to hurt you, kid. You’ll get your punishment tomorrow.”
Sam’s confusion must show, because Dean settles into the chair, tugging tug his laces loose as he elaborates. “You’re not an animal, you’re human, and you can rationalize your punishment tomorrow. I’m too pissed to do it right now. Tomorrow, I’ll have had overnight to calm down. Just… stay there and be quiet for now.” He takes off his boots, setting them partly under the chair, and undoes Sam’s lead enough to drape it over the arm of the chair and into his lap, before picking up a book that’s dog-eared and tattered.
Apparently, Dean has decided to ignore Sam. He waits, but Dean doesn’t give any indication that he even knows Sam is there, so he sneaks glances around the room, confused by the clash of simplicity and extravagance. The carpeting is black and fluffy, if coarse, but the walls are a creamy sand color. Combined with the dark wood pieces and trims, it’s oddly warm and inviting, with a vague underlying threat, somehow. Dean’s massive chair sat at an angle, back towards the only corner that was enclosed by heavy burgundy drapes that hang from the ceiling to brush against the carpeting. The curtains run along the entire wall directly to Dean’s left, before the curtains give way to the creamy paint of the next wall. There’s a stone fireplace, unlit but immaculately clean, under a massively framed picture of horses in a field. Dark wooden bookcases flank the fireplace, turning that wall into the main focal point of the room.
A low glass coffee table sits between Sam and the overly stuffed couch, which sits just far enough away from the wall to form a neat walkway, connecting the two doorways that he can see. He knows the kitchens lay through the right doorway, and he has a vague sense of unease that he’ll learn what lays down the left by the end of the night.
He’s startled from his musings when the woman from before slips through the dark portal, watching him warily as she steps closer to the Master. When Dean tips his book down to glance up at her, she smiles, propping an elbow on the wing of his chair. “Everything’s cleaned up and ready to go. You need anything else, Dean?”
“No, I’m alright. Thanks Allie. You going to bed?”
“Yup,” she nods, casting a glance to Sam and tipping her head, blond curls tumbling over a slender shoulder. “Fell for it, huh?”
Dean’s glare at him is still icy cold, and he curls further away, wincing. “Yeah. Needless to say, you may have some help tomorrow while I’m working Kaz.” She nods again, and then pats Dean’s shoulder as she stands up. “Sleep well.”
“You too. Try and actually get some sleep tonight?” She laughs as she makes her way through the door again, and Dean just shakes his head as he grins, turning back to his book. It’s like Sam’s not even there, and he slumps a little, oddly lonely despite having another human close by.
~~*^*~~
It’s a few hours later, according to the deep tones that resonate from further down the hall, when Dean finally folds the corner of his book down before closing it and setting it on the floor beside his boots. He leans forward, rolling his neck on his shoulders, before grabbing the leash and watching at Sam struggles to his feet. It’s awkward, arms bound up behind him and feet gone numb from the pressure, but he manages, and stumbles after Dean as the Master leads him down the hallway, passing closed doors and dark turn-off hallways, until they climb the few twisting stairs at the end of the hall. They come before a solitary door, and when Dean pushes it open, the sight of the single, massive bed is a little too much for Sam to handle. Blake was right, this is going to end hellishly, and the despair from before is banished by the wave of red-hot rage and desperation when Dean tugs him further into the room.
It’s stupid to even attempt to fight back, as bound as he is, but he tries. His older brother taught him some dirty gutter moves, quick and nasty street-fighting, and he slips into instinct as he bucks, thrashes, and at one point, bites in his bid for freedom. He’s viciously thrilled when his heel connects solidly to Dean; he relishes the pained huff of air and wheezing curses as Dean struggles to gain footing against him. Sam’s got the element of surprise though, and he’ll milk it for all he can.
All his fight is for nothing-he knew it wouldn’t work, but that doesn’t prevent the sick feelings of hopelessness that crawls up his spine. Sam doesn’t even know how Dean does it. One moment he’s aiming to put a knee into Dean’s ribs and the next he’s meeting the carpet face first with Dean’s weight pressing him into the flooring, hard. They’re both panting, and he feels the jerk as Dean tosses his head like a horse, snorting hard as he tries to catch his breath. “What the hell was that about?”
Sam growls, squirming and trying to buck again half-heartedly, but he knows that he’s going to wind up on that bed. He didn’t realize just how strong Dean was… it was apparent his master was hands-on with the horses. Dean gives him a little shake, pressing him harder into the floor. “I want an answer, kid. What the fuck was that all about?”
He grimaces as the rug burns his cheek when he twists his head, and he can’t see Dean for the shag of his hair in his eyes, but he still tries to glare. Tries to steady his voice when he growls, “You’re not gonna fuck me without a fight. I won’t let you.”
Dean stills, the tension in him loosening a little. “What?”
“’s what you bought me for, right? Blake told me all about it, how you buy boys and use them until they’re dead, and then throw them out and get new ones. He said he heard them screaming before, begging you not to.” His voice is quivering so he shuts up, trying to hold onto the bravado.
“Jesus Christ on a cracker.” Dean drops his head between Sam’s shoulder blades, sighing. “That’s not going to happen, kid. Got it?” When Sam snorts in disbelief, Dean grinds his hips onto the bone of Sam’s own, snarling. “You feel that? That lying to you, son?” Dean’s voice has changed, dropped a little lower and a lot huskier, with a bit of a drawl, but Sam doesn’t care about that.
There’s no hardness between Dean’s legs. The man is completely flaccid, and that just doesn’t compute with what Blake told him. Something is very, very wrong here.
Dean growls a bit before pushing himself upright, and tugging Sam to his feet. “Just, get some sleep, okay? I’m too fucking tired to deal with this tonight. You gotta take a leak?” Sam shakes his head, too twisted around to worry much about it, and Dean nods. He leads Sam not to the bed, but to a spot on the wall. It’s a closet, empty and bare, and lacking a wooden door. Instead, there’s a panel of straight bars, each about the width of his thumb, and close together. Dean’s fingers tighten on his arm, and Sam winces, already dreading the bruises he’s accumulated tonight. “You run, you’re going to regret it. Got it?”
Sam nods his understanding and Dean unclips his wrists and leash before opening the door and guiding Sam in. “There’d be a bed for you, but you’re still considered under lockdown until I deem otherwise. Behave and you’ll get some creature comforts.” Dean locks the door before stepping away and ducking into what Sam assumes is the bathroom from the subsequent noises of water he hears. A few minutes later Dean dims the lights to barely visible before sliding into that monster of a bed.
“Just get some sleep, Sam.” That’s pretty damned easy for his master to say. He’s not the one whose entire world has been flipped around and shaken hard. Sam just huddles against the wall, listening to Dean’s quiet breathing in the dark, and tries to ignore the cold ball of dread in his belly.
~~*^*~~
Chapter 5 Back To Masterpost Chapter 7