"Collared", part 7
I do apologize in advance here, for the super-delay. I mentioned it in prior posts, but real life has been uber-crazy. And then Sam has been fighting me tooth and nail on this one. I about gave up. I may still wind up altering parts of this; if I do, I'll note it in the next chapter. It won't be anything vital to the plot, just trying to make it smoother. :/
Once again, insertcode11 pulled my bacon outta the frying pan. She's amazing and awesome, and made this a helluva lot easier to read and understand. She's done two now, and I'm forever in her debt for the massive work she's done. Any remaining errors are mine from playing a bit more after she shipped it back. ^_^
EDIT: It's been brought to my attention by multiple people that somehow, Chapter 6 slipped under the radar. So here's a link to get to it, if it got past yours: PART 6
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Sam dozes throughout the night, not quite sleeping, and jarring awake abruptly any time the sheets rustle in the darkness. His mind won’t quiet, spinning fast and chattering like a squirrel at him, conflicted and torn about his new master. The darkness has just lightened to a slightly more visible grey when he finally quiets it by promising to just wait and see. Dean hasn’t hurt him yet, and he’s being taken care of really well.
He scrambles to his feet when Robert opens the door almost silently, maneuvering around the darkness with an enviable ease as he approaches Dean’s sleeping form. Sam’s torn about saying something to alert Dean, suddenly wary of the bodyguard, but Robert just crouches by the bed, and shakes Dean awake gently. “Come on boy, time to join the living again.” Dean makes an unhappy noise, curling up tighter it appears, and the man chuckles. “I know, but Allie made cinnamon rolls. With cream cheese icing, and you know how rare that is. And Kaz is waiting for you.” That last bit seems to get through to the master, and Dean sits up on his elbows, rubbing an eye and trying to glare at Robert.
“Kaz?”
“Mmm. Apparently, he’s been causing hell down there all morning. Stephan is blaming the fact that your newest slave is up here instead of down there.” Dean sits up more fully, grumbling something under his breath that makes Robert laugh and clap him on the shoulder as he stands up. “You freshen up, Princess, and tend to that slave of yours, and I’ll get you some coffee.” Robert gives Sam a once over as he passes, but seems to otherwise pretend he’s not there. Dean just sits there for a few more moments, blinking sleepily, before sighing heavily and tossing off the blankets.
“Alright, I guess we’re up.” Dean pauses by the bars, eyeing Sam. “You’re not going to make me leash you up while you piss, are you?”
He doesn’t seem happy, and Sam’s not a fool. “No sir.”
“Good. Wait a minute, okay?” Dean doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, just ducks back into the same room he disappeared into last night, and shuts the door. It’s only for a few minutes though, and then Dean’s back out and unlatching the ‘closet’. “Alright. Do not try anything foolish, got me? Go in, do your business, come out. We clear?” Sam nods, and Dean steps back, letting him into the bathroom.
He really shouldn’t be surprised by now, but the extravagance of the bathroom sets him back for a minute. The walls are covered with teal tiles, but the floor, the shower, and the sink look like they’re made of stone. His bladder throbs warningly, and he decides to hold off his inspection, and find the toilet, which, after some investigation, is behind a small wall, nestled in a nook.
Sam does his business, and then tries to figure out how to flush the thing. He takes a step back to glance at the side, and the thing flashes for a moment, and then flushes itself. Great, his master has possessed appliances.
That thought is just confirmed when the sink turns on without his help too.
The hand towel is simple, at least, draped over a bar above the table holding a pitcher and a bowl of water. Sam really wants to investigate a bit more, but he’s expecting Dean to break through the door any minute, so he promises himself a better look later.
Sure enough, Dean is right outside the bathroom door, already dressed and leash in hand. Sam submits to being led quietly, noticing that there are more slaves and activity bustling around as Dean winds them back through the house, and into a dining room. “Alright, here’s the deal. I’ve got some things to get done this morning, so Robert will keep an eye on you. Probably, you’ll go back beside Kaz for a bit, until things settle down. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but it will likely take the better part of the morning,” his master explains before handing his lead over to the bodyguard. “Bobby, I’m going to go deal with Kaz, and get those geldings cleaned up for the Sheffields. Dad has two at his place he thinks they may want, so he’ll be bringing them by in a bit. Have him put them in the show corral, and then come get me, if I’m not back by then.”
And with that, Dean strides off, leaving Sam alone with the burly man. Robert eyes him for a moment before kicking out a chair, gesturing for Sam to sit. “Sit, eat. Don’t have a lot of time today, kid. Eat your fill, but don’t laze around it, got it?” Sam nods, tense and wary of the whole situation, but Robert ties the end of his leash around the chair in a quick-release knot, and settles into another chair to wrap his scarred hands around a mug of coffee. “You want any coffee, kid?” Sam shakes his head, so Robert shrugs, and that seems to pretty well be the end of the conversation.
There’s a platter of cinnamon rolls setting in the center of the table, with a neat stack of plates and cutlery to the side of it. He doesn’t hesitate to pluck a pastry off the platter and onto a small plate, tearing into with gusto. His belly has gotten used to regular and decent meals, and the absence of his supper last night made him all the more aware of how empty it was overnight.
The roll is gone quicker than he expected, and Sam eyes the plate, considering how rude it would be to take another. The platter is full, and he can hear the clatter of dishes and the bangs of pans not far off, through the door at the end of the room if his ears are correct. He’s not sure how many have eaten, and it would be more proper to just content himself with the one. But the cinnamon roll just took the edge off, didn’t really fill him…
“Get another one boy.” Sam about falls off his chair, startling at Robert’s gruff command after the interlude of quiet, and feels the warmth flood his face. He doesn’t dare look up, just meekly gets another pastry, like he was told. He just wants the last 24 hours to have been a really bad dream, and go back to his little stall, where things made sense, and he knew what to expect.
It’s a relief when Robert does just that, letting Sam curl up tightly in the corner of the stall, and the familiar scents and sounds wash over him, soothing and relaxing the stress away.
~~*^*~~
Dean’s office is a lot lighter than the other rooms he’s seen, the mottled cream of the walls lightening the dark russet carpeting. The left wall has bookshelves lining it, stuffed full, and drawing the eye to the imposing wooden desk that faces the door. It’s like most of the furniture he’s seen in the house; big and solid and pre-Restart, but bearing marks of actual use. Two chairs sit facing the desk, so the guests have a spectacular view of the land via the oversized glass windows, but with their back to the door. The right wall has some photographs hanging above a few medals and trophies, and horses seem to be the common theme in it. Sam has a few seconds to take it in, before Robert shuts the door behind them, and settles into the leather chair that’s just beside the entryway. Dean pushes away from his desk a bit, leaning down and rummaging in a drawer, before pulling out a small jar.
“Okay, first punishment.” And just like that, the rich lassitude from the morning disappears as his stomach packs the cinnamon roll into a cold, tight knot in his belly. Dean leads him to the right wall, to a cold black tile that’s been laid on the carpeting, before unscrewing the lid of the jar and dumping the contents on the tile. Sam frowns at what looks like uncooked rice, confused, when Dean’s voice makes him startle. “Alright, you know why you’re being punished?”
Sam nods, still trying to figure it out, and when the quiet drags on long enough, glances up to see an amused but exasperated gaze watching him. Oh. “Because I tried to kill myself?”
Dean tips his head a little. “Yeah, but why does that warrant a punishment?” It’s the first time that Dean’s shown any sign of being slow, and he thinks quickly through what else Dean might mean. But there’s nothing else, so he repeats himself a little slower.
“Because I tried to kill myself?”
The snort from the door coincides with Dean scrubbing a hand over his mouth, and Sam’s really not sure why they’re amused. “Okay, yes. Remember the rules I laid out, that first day?” Sam nods, remembering cold tiles under his feet and terror thrumming through him clearly. “And what rule did you break?”
“Don’t cause injury to any of your property?” Dean nods, but his eyes are still expectant, so Sam tries to define it a little more. “Property being any person, animal or thing, right?”
“Yeah, but more to the point, you are my property. Things I can replace. You, I can’t.” Which doesn’t make sense, because Dean’s rich, and there’s plenty of other slaves in the world he could use to replace Sam. Dean taps the underside of Sam’s jaw, bringing his attention back to his master. “You. I can replace a slave, yes. I can’t replace you. And I don’t take kindly to someone trying to harm my slaves, even if it’s self-inflicted. Got it?” Sam nods, though, really, he doesn’t understand. The concept is there, but he’s not sure how exactly it applies here. But he nods anyway, because he’s really not interested in upsetting Dean any more than he has. “Alright. You’ll get five occurrences: two today, one tomorrow, and two the day after. Right now…” he gestures to the tile, “you kneel. Do you know what the slave pose is?”
“No?”
Dean quirks a grin at him, eyes sparkling again. “Alright. Kneel down.” The grain bites a little sharply into his knees and shins, but it’s not unbearable, and he wonders again about his master’s mental stability. Dean uses light touches to bring his wrists together behind his back, heels together and back straight. “Classically, you’re supposed to bow your head, but I want your head up.” There’s a small smudge on the wall, right in front of him, and that’s about all he can see. A long, long expanse of cream color, the mottling blurring in his peripheral, and it’s boring already. “Now, think about what we just discussed, how you broke the rules. You don’t get to move, until I tell you to. Squirming adds on more time, got it?” Sam nods, and Dean pets him once before moving away.
There’s a rustle of paper at the desk, and then the room goes quiet and still.
Sam tries, he really does, but the quiet is boring, and there’s nothing to really focus on, other than the sharpness of the rice digging into his skin, and the smudge that isn’t nearly as riveting as it could be. He startles when behind him Dean growls, “Stop moving.” Sam slumps a little in agitation. “Sam. Back into position. First and only warning dude, before you get a longer time.”
He wants to throw a tantrum, say “screw it” and rebel, but really… this isn’t the beating he was expecting. It’s just mind-numbingly boring, and so he settles in and tries to think of things other than the occasional quiet noise behind him, or the almost-itching-pain in his shins. For the first time, he’s actually starting to regret trying those crystals, because this is unbearable. He’d much rather be sorting leather, listening to the horse-sounds and free to move and fidget and squirm than to sit here quietly and think.
His mind wanders, until Dean calling his name startles him abruptly. “Okay, first bit is up. Stand up, brush off the rice, and walk a circuit of the room.” Sam’s unbelievably grateful, eyes darting from picture to picture, off medals and the design of the ribbons, to trying to catch a glance of Bobby’s book, when he passes him by the door. Then it’s catching titles of books, despite them being sideways, and the odd little knick-knacks sitting tucked into corners, when he sees the actual view from the window.
The fields spread out like a blanket below them, white fences fitted together like blocks, and there’s a surprising number of people milling around the plethora of grey horses. The area closest has mostly foals, it looks like, legs gangly and awkward as they chase each other, kicking up heels and dashing around. Something niggles at his mind, but Dean clearing his throat disrupts the idea. He glances at his master, turning proper when it’s apparent Dean has a question. “What did you learn, Sam?”
“It’s boring” tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it, and horror lights through him as Dean barks a laugh. It takes a few moments until Dean regains control, despite the smile still, and Sam fidgets.
“Yup, it’s supposed to be. You’re doing penance, after all. Not supposed to be fun. Besides that, did you learn anything?” Sam runs through options, his observations from walking around, but Dean shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. I can tell. Kneel again, like before. Another twenty minutes.”
~~*^*~~
They repeat it three more times, before Sam realizes what he’s supposed to learn. He actually twists in place, watching Dean with wide eyes when it sinks in, the idea a little foreign, and he’s sure he has it wrong when he blurts out “You actually care about your slaves.”
Dean just smiles though, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “And why do you say that?”
“It’s true. That’s why you made me think about it, that’s why you didn’t beat me, isn’t it?” His brain keeps tripping on the idea, but he can’t shake it, and he can’t fully fathom it.
“Very good, Sam. You’re almost done then.” Dean hands over the jar, gesturing to the tile. “Pick up every grain of rice, and you can go.” It feels like a minute later that he’s handing the full jar back, and Dean nods. “Bobby, please take Sam down to the barn, and let him work on the leather for a bit while I finish these papers. Sam, you did very well. You still have four more punishments, but you did a good job.”
The praise blooms warm in his chest, and he ducks his head to hide the pleasure that warms his face. He doesn’t even mind the slave that sits in the doorway and watches him as he sorts out the tack.
~~*^*~~
Sam almost wonders if Dean has forgotten about him, when dusk starts to make it harder to see. He heard the horses arriving a while ago, but nobody has come to claim him. He ignores the uneasy curling in his empty belly, relying more on feel than sight to sort the last few reins, stacking them neatly in their respective piles.
He’s just laid the last one aside when he hears Dean’s murmur further down the aisle, and he scrambles to his feet, dusting off the clinging dust and straw.
It’s still a few minutes before his master actually opens the door, and Dean looks somber. Sam falters a little, uneasy with the sudden change in atmosphere, even less pleased when Dean nods to the other slave, who leaves without a backward glance. “Alright Sam, come on. Let’s get this over with.”
Robert is standing just past the stall door, hidden from view earlier, but nods his head down towards where the shower area is. Sam’s confused, but he follows along, trying to calm his nerves. Sure enough, the room is exactly the same, but instead of turning left to the showers, Dean steers him right, to a little nook in the wall he hadn’t noticed before. It’s small, barely wide enough for his shoulders to fit, and no room to really move. There’s a single large showerhead directly above the spot, but no dials or knobs inside. “Alright, punishment two, my dear slave,” Dean starts as he undoes the soft leather collar and wrist cuffs. “While you’re in here, I want you to think about your mistake and the consequences, okay? You learned this morning what I wanted. Same principle here, only you don’t get the breaks, unless you’re really bull-headed.” Dean leads Sam into the small cubicle, and Sam has just enough time to turn a confused look to both men before Dean moves something on the wall.
Sam has a split-second to recognize the sound as rushing water, before the showerhead above him unloads a torrent of water. And oh holy goats, it’s cold. The full-body flinch is instinctive, and does absolutely nothing but bring him in contact with the cold tiles. Crouching does nothing either…. The showerhead is positioned so nothing really works, and he can’t get away from the torrential deluge of icy water pelting him. “Think Sam. Sooner you get the idea, the sooner you get out.”
Sam bites his tongue hard, hard enough to taste copper, to keep the sharp retort in his mouth. Gods almighty, but this was an unjust punishment. He can’t think beyond the animalistic need to get away from the frigid water; can’t really think of whatever it is that his demented master wants him to contemplate. A sly drop snakes its way into his ear, sharp and stabbing pain, and it prompts him to start offering any word, any combination of words that will make it stop.
He has no clue how long he’s under in, only knows his fingers and toes have long-since gone numb, and his chattering teeth have nicked his tongue more than once before his brain rolls over and finally spits out something that makes Dean turn off the water. Sam can’t convince the cold-frozen muscles to unlock enough to move, just huddles there, panting. He flinches sharply when Dean drops a warm and thick towel over him, tugging it around until Sam manages to grip it tightly with cold fingers as Dean clips his lead back onto the damp leather. “That’s a good boy.” It takes a few minutes before he’s up on his feet, and he feels like he’s stumbling around like a new colt, but the hope of a warm shower is powerful motivation. “Alright Sammy, you did good today. Little reward for it, okay?”
“It’s Sam,” he chances, pleased when his teeth don’t chatter, and perversely pleased to hear the soft chuckle.
“Yeah, alright. Come on, let’s get you inside and warmed up now, yeah?” He’s disappointed when they pass the shower he’s used to, and he resigns himself to the fact that he’s not getting a warm shower today, or any cleaner than he already is. Part of him can’t really bring himself to care, though. His belly is empty and upset about it, and he’s exhausted, moreso than he can remember for a long time.
The aroma infusing the kitchen as they walk through is rich and homey, and Sam’s mouth starts watering as his nose identifies baking bread and the rich, sultry scent of a chicken soup. He presses his arm against his gurgling stomach, trying desperately to ignore the aching gnaw of it, and follows Dean silently up the stairs and back to the master bedroom. The room has been tided; the bed is made neat and crisp again, and there’s a small pile of folded clothes perched on a corner, and the drapes have been tugged open, flooding the room with silvery moonlight through the tall glass windows. The view is similar to the one in Dean’s office, and Sam gets a little taken in with the haunting view of a few pale deer nibbling their way along the edge of the darker forests, and the empty corrals that seem forlorn. He startles sharply when Dean nudges his shoulder, trying to get his attention.
“Spacing out? It’s a nice view, I know, but I think we should get you warmed up before you freeze. Come on.” Dean guides him into the bathroom, tugging the door shut behind them. “Alright, if I’m nice and let you shower without your cuffs and collar, am I gonna have a fight on my hands?” Dean asks as he crosses his arms across his chest, watching Sam intently. The idea of any sort of a fight is almost funny, considering how utterly weary he is, and he shakes his head, trying to stay upright. Dean’s quiet for a few more moments before he takes a step closer and removes the clinging and cold leather bands, setting them on the sink. “Okay then. Shower setup is the same as down in the stables, so go ahead and get in and get warmed up. I’ll set some towels out for you, and I’ll be in the room.” Dean pauses, catching Sam’s eye, and the emerald gaze is stern and serious. “There’s no other way out of this room, so don’t try anything.”
“Okay.” Dean nods, and steps out, mostly shutting the door behind him. He really kind of wants to do little more than curl up and sleep for awhile, but he manages to motivate himself enough to step into the huge shower, and the surprise of seeing several water nozzles along the wall is enough to jolt him a little more aware. It’s a quick matter to crank on the water and adjust it to a nice warm temp, and he quickly shucks out of his damp clothes and into the warm space. At the first assault of the heated water pounding from several locations, Sam barely bites back a groan of appreciation, shivering as the heat sends weird chills along his spine. The stones are warm when he presses a tentative shoulder against them, and prove to be perfect for slumping against, letting the heat settle deep into his bones.
Dean’s inquiry of “Sam, you okay in there?” startles him awake, and he blinks uncomprehendingly at the blurry form on the other side of the glass for a moment before answering. “Um, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
There’s a long pause before Dean answers, “Alright then.” Sam sighs in relief when the blur moves away again. The water temperature hasn’t changed any, so he forces himself to hurriedly scrub his hair clean and work the washcloth over himself before the water cools down. He’s loath to turn off the water, but the promise of sleep is a bit stronger. True to Dean’s word, there’s two towels draped over the bar, within easy reach, and he’s a bit interested to see it’s the same thick, fluffy material that he used in the stables, but not as surprised as he would have been yesterday. Dean is proving to be nothing he expected, and the constant contradiction is dizzying and disorienting. Sam pushes it away though, and snugs the towel around his waist tightly before stepping carefully on the floor. His clothes that were on the floor are gone, and the butterflies in his stomach offer a half-hearted quiver before they settle again.
When he pushes open the door to the bedroom, the pile of folded clothes is missing from the end of the bed, and Dean’s back is turned to him, gazing out that massive window as he leans against the edge of the frame. He doesn’t look like he’s really seeing the scenery, eyes not tracking and a little unfocused. Sam really doesn’t want to disturb him, but he’s also not about to wander around in only a towel, either. He inches a little closer, and Dean jerks out of his apparent musing, rubbing the back of his neck as he turns away from the window. “Why didn’t you get dressed?”
Sam’s confusion must show, because Dean leads him back into the bathroom, gesturing to the stack of folded clothes on the table that held the pitcher and bowl this morning. “Your old ones are set to be washed, and we’ll get them back to you tomorrow. I figured you might like a clean change of clothes though.”
Considering he’d been wearing the same ones for several weeks now, that’s not really an unreasonable suspicion. Dean chuckles and leaves Sam to get dressed, making some humming noises in the bedroom, and Sam curiously unfolds the clothes. They’re softer than he’s used to, but the same quality that infuses everything he’s touched since he arrived at this place. He dresses quickly, noting with some amusement the different choices put out for him, and gathers up the rest, taking them with him to return to Dean.
“There now, warmer than before?” Dean grins, motioning Sam closer to where he’s sitting on the bed.
Sam nods, before holding out the unused clothing. “Um, here.”
“Just put ‘em somewhere, then come for a moment.” Sam nods, setting the stack on the edge of a chest of drawers before approaching Dean again, noting the wrap and gauze beside Dean’s thigh. He hesitated for just a moment before kneeling down, offering up his wrists. The pleased smile that flitted across Dean’s mouth was sort of worth it, and he lets the warmth bloom in his chest as Dean inspects the blisters on his wrists. “They’re looking really good, Sam. I really don’t think these will scar if you keep taking care of them,” the master murmurs as he deftly coated them in the balm before wrapping them again, and sealing the deal with a new set of the soft deerskin cuffs. A touch of calloused fingers to his jaw, a few moments of staring at the painted ceiling while Dean checks where Blake’s collar had chafed, and Dean deems him fit and ready for food.
Dean leads him around and through to the dining room, tugging a chair out with his foot and pointing to it as he slips into what Sam thinks is the kitchen. He’s starting to get a brief feel for how the house is laid out, but he hasn’t been in the kitchen enough to really get a feel for its size and placement. He’s just easing down into the chair when Dean comes back through, flipping through a large stack of mail as he settles in the chair to Sam’s left, at the only chair on the end. Dean ignores him for a few minutes, until Robert comes in and settles across from Sam, followed by the blond woman from last night. Allie, his mind prompts, and then his attention quickly shifts from her to the food in her hands. She’s pushing a small cart, and the aroma makes his belly snarl, loud enough that Robert smothers a snort, and Allie grins at him as she sets a pot of soup a little in front of Dean, a basket overflowing with bread, a dish of butter, and a stack of utensils and dishes before she steps back, dusting her hands off. “Okay, my boys. What do you all want to drink?”
Both Dean and Robert tell her ‘the usual’, and he’s not exactly sure what to answer when she turns that sharp focus to him. He stutters out ‘water’, and she chuckles, shaking her head. “My, aren’t you just like a little puppy. Entirely too adorable for your own good.” She pats his shoulder as she passes him, with a definite amused air to her. He’s not exactly sure what he did, but he doesn’t care much either. He’s too absorbed in the bowl of aromatic golden delight that Dean sets in front of him to pay much heed to anyone else. The soup is rich, and as it washes over his tongue, his shoulders slip down, tension bleeding out. It’s not the same as his family’s, but its chicken soup and there are little dollops of dumplings and wide noodles swimming in the broth, and it still strikes of home. The warmth curls in his belly like a sleepy cat, all pleasure and contentment, and he can’t quite contain the sigh of appreciation.
His bowl is half gone before he notices that there’s a plate of buttered bread beside him, and that Allie set a mug of what smells like apple cider by the glass of water he’d asked for. He glances around to thank her, but the kitchen is dark, and both the other men are focused on their meal.
The only downside to the meal comes on the heels of scraping his bowl clean with the last bit of crust, when he settles back contently. The spicy cider and warm soup combines with the lethargy from earlier, and it’s not that big a surprise when Dean has to shake him awake so Robert can take their dishes. He stumbles after his master, not really aware of where they’re going, so he’s a little bewildered when they’re back in Dean’s room.
“Kid, you aren’t staying awake any longer. If you promise me not to cause any trouble, I’ll let you sleep now, and I’ll just come up later. You realize how much trust I’m extending here?” Sam makes sure to meet the green gaze solidly when he nods, too exhausted to even think of causing any mischief. Dean unclips his lead, and lets him into the closet, latching the door firmly. “I’ll leave the lights on for you, but I’ll dim them so you can sleep.” Sam doesn’t care about the lights, already curling up and giving up the fight against his heavy eyelids. There’s a pause as the room gets darker, and then Dean’s footsteps fade. “Sleep well, Sammy.”
He does.
~~*^*~~
Chapter 6Back To Masterpost Chapter 8
Once again, insertcode11 pulled my bacon outta the frying pan. She's amazing and awesome, and made this a helluva lot easier to read and understand. She's done two now, and I'm forever in her debt for the massive work she's done. Any remaining errors are mine from playing a bit more after she shipped it back. ^_^
EDIT: It's been brought to my attention by multiple people that somehow, Chapter 6 slipped under the radar. So here's a link to get to it, if it got past yours: PART 6
~~*^*~~
Sam dozes throughout the night, not quite sleeping, and jarring awake abruptly any time the sheets rustle in the darkness. His mind won’t quiet, spinning fast and chattering like a squirrel at him, conflicted and torn about his new master. The darkness has just lightened to a slightly more visible grey when he finally quiets it by promising to just wait and see. Dean hasn’t hurt him yet, and he’s being taken care of really well.
He scrambles to his feet when Robert opens the door almost silently, maneuvering around the darkness with an enviable ease as he approaches Dean’s sleeping form. Sam’s torn about saying something to alert Dean, suddenly wary of the bodyguard, but Robert just crouches by the bed, and shakes Dean awake gently. “Come on boy, time to join the living again.” Dean makes an unhappy noise, curling up tighter it appears, and the man chuckles. “I know, but Allie made cinnamon rolls. With cream cheese icing, and you know how rare that is. And Kaz is waiting for you.” That last bit seems to get through to the master, and Dean sits up on his elbows, rubbing an eye and trying to glare at Robert.
“Kaz?”
“Mmm. Apparently, he’s been causing hell down there all morning. Stephan is blaming the fact that your newest slave is up here instead of down there.” Dean sits up more fully, grumbling something under his breath that makes Robert laugh and clap him on the shoulder as he stands up. “You freshen up, Princess, and tend to that slave of yours, and I’ll get you some coffee.” Robert gives Sam a once over as he passes, but seems to otherwise pretend he’s not there. Dean just sits there for a few more moments, blinking sleepily, before sighing heavily and tossing off the blankets.
“Alright, I guess we’re up.” Dean pauses by the bars, eyeing Sam. “You’re not going to make me leash you up while you piss, are you?”
He doesn’t seem happy, and Sam’s not a fool. “No sir.”
“Good. Wait a minute, okay?” Dean doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, just ducks back into the same room he disappeared into last night, and shuts the door. It’s only for a few minutes though, and then Dean’s back out and unlatching the ‘closet’. “Alright. Do not try anything foolish, got me? Go in, do your business, come out. We clear?” Sam nods, and Dean steps back, letting him into the bathroom.
He really shouldn’t be surprised by now, but the extravagance of the bathroom sets him back for a minute. The walls are covered with teal tiles, but the floor, the shower, and the sink look like they’re made of stone. His bladder throbs warningly, and he decides to hold off his inspection, and find the toilet, which, after some investigation, is behind a small wall, nestled in a nook.
Sam does his business, and then tries to figure out how to flush the thing. He takes a step back to glance at the side, and the thing flashes for a moment, and then flushes itself. Great, his master has possessed appliances.
That thought is just confirmed when the sink turns on without his help too.
The hand towel is simple, at least, draped over a bar above the table holding a pitcher and a bowl of water. Sam really wants to investigate a bit more, but he’s expecting Dean to break through the door any minute, so he promises himself a better look later.
Sure enough, Dean is right outside the bathroom door, already dressed and leash in hand. Sam submits to being led quietly, noticing that there are more slaves and activity bustling around as Dean winds them back through the house, and into a dining room. “Alright, here’s the deal. I’ve got some things to get done this morning, so Robert will keep an eye on you. Probably, you’ll go back beside Kaz for a bit, until things settle down. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but it will likely take the better part of the morning,” his master explains before handing his lead over to the bodyguard. “Bobby, I’m going to go deal with Kaz, and get those geldings cleaned up for the Sheffields. Dad has two at his place he thinks they may want, so he’ll be bringing them by in a bit. Have him put them in the show corral, and then come get me, if I’m not back by then.”
And with that, Dean strides off, leaving Sam alone with the burly man. Robert eyes him for a moment before kicking out a chair, gesturing for Sam to sit. “Sit, eat. Don’t have a lot of time today, kid. Eat your fill, but don’t laze around it, got it?” Sam nods, tense and wary of the whole situation, but Robert ties the end of his leash around the chair in a quick-release knot, and settles into another chair to wrap his scarred hands around a mug of coffee. “You want any coffee, kid?” Sam shakes his head, so Robert shrugs, and that seems to pretty well be the end of the conversation.
There’s a platter of cinnamon rolls setting in the center of the table, with a neat stack of plates and cutlery to the side of it. He doesn’t hesitate to pluck a pastry off the platter and onto a small plate, tearing into with gusto. His belly has gotten used to regular and decent meals, and the absence of his supper last night made him all the more aware of how empty it was overnight.
The roll is gone quicker than he expected, and Sam eyes the plate, considering how rude it would be to take another. The platter is full, and he can hear the clatter of dishes and the bangs of pans not far off, through the door at the end of the room if his ears are correct. He’s not sure how many have eaten, and it would be more proper to just content himself with the one. But the cinnamon roll just took the edge off, didn’t really fill him…
“Get another one boy.” Sam about falls off his chair, startling at Robert’s gruff command after the interlude of quiet, and feels the warmth flood his face. He doesn’t dare look up, just meekly gets another pastry, like he was told. He just wants the last 24 hours to have been a really bad dream, and go back to his little stall, where things made sense, and he knew what to expect.
It’s a relief when Robert does just that, letting Sam curl up tightly in the corner of the stall, and the familiar scents and sounds wash over him, soothing and relaxing the stress away.
~~*^*~~
Dean’s office is a lot lighter than the other rooms he’s seen, the mottled cream of the walls lightening the dark russet carpeting. The left wall has bookshelves lining it, stuffed full, and drawing the eye to the imposing wooden desk that faces the door. It’s like most of the furniture he’s seen in the house; big and solid and pre-Restart, but bearing marks of actual use. Two chairs sit facing the desk, so the guests have a spectacular view of the land via the oversized glass windows, but with their back to the door. The right wall has some photographs hanging above a few medals and trophies, and horses seem to be the common theme in it. Sam has a few seconds to take it in, before Robert shuts the door behind them, and settles into the leather chair that’s just beside the entryway. Dean pushes away from his desk a bit, leaning down and rummaging in a drawer, before pulling out a small jar.
“Okay, first punishment.” And just like that, the rich lassitude from the morning disappears as his stomach packs the cinnamon roll into a cold, tight knot in his belly. Dean leads him to the right wall, to a cold black tile that’s been laid on the carpeting, before unscrewing the lid of the jar and dumping the contents on the tile. Sam frowns at what looks like uncooked rice, confused, when Dean’s voice makes him startle. “Alright, you know why you’re being punished?”
Sam nods, still trying to figure it out, and when the quiet drags on long enough, glances up to see an amused but exasperated gaze watching him. Oh. “Because I tried to kill myself?”
Dean tips his head a little. “Yeah, but why does that warrant a punishment?” It’s the first time that Dean’s shown any sign of being slow, and he thinks quickly through what else Dean might mean. But there’s nothing else, so he repeats himself a little slower.
“Because I tried to kill myself?”
The snort from the door coincides with Dean scrubbing a hand over his mouth, and Sam’s really not sure why they’re amused. “Okay, yes. Remember the rules I laid out, that first day?” Sam nods, remembering cold tiles under his feet and terror thrumming through him clearly. “And what rule did you break?”
“Don’t cause injury to any of your property?” Dean nods, but his eyes are still expectant, so Sam tries to define it a little more. “Property being any person, animal or thing, right?”
“Yeah, but more to the point, you are my property. Things I can replace. You, I can’t.” Which doesn’t make sense, because Dean’s rich, and there’s plenty of other slaves in the world he could use to replace Sam. Dean taps the underside of Sam’s jaw, bringing his attention back to his master. “You. I can replace a slave, yes. I can’t replace you. And I don’t take kindly to someone trying to harm my slaves, even if it’s self-inflicted. Got it?” Sam nods, though, really, he doesn’t understand. The concept is there, but he’s not sure how exactly it applies here. But he nods anyway, because he’s really not interested in upsetting Dean any more than he has. “Alright. You’ll get five occurrences: two today, one tomorrow, and two the day after. Right now…” he gestures to the tile, “you kneel. Do you know what the slave pose is?”
“No?”
Dean quirks a grin at him, eyes sparkling again. “Alright. Kneel down.” The grain bites a little sharply into his knees and shins, but it’s not unbearable, and he wonders again about his master’s mental stability. Dean uses light touches to bring his wrists together behind his back, heels together and back straight. “Classically, you’re supposed to bow your head, but I want your head up.” There’s a small smudge on the wall, right in front of him, and that’s about all he can see. A long, long expanse of cream color, the mottling blurring in his peripheral, and it’s boring already. “Now, think about what we just discussed, how you broke the rules. You don’t get to move, until I tell you to. Squirming adds on more time, got it?” Sam nods, and Dean pets him once before moving away.
There’s a rustle of paper at the desk, and then the room goes quiet and still.
Sam tries, he really does, but the quiet is boring, and there’s nothing to really focus on, other than the sharpness of the rice digging into his skin, and the smudge that isn’t nearly as riveting as it could be. He startles when behind him Dean growls, “Stop moving.” Sam slumps a little in agitation. “Sam. Back into position. First and only warning dude, before you get a longer time.”
He wants to throw a tantrum, say “screw it” and rebel, but really… this isn’t the beating he was expecting. It’s just mind-numbingly boring, and so he settles in and tries to think of things other than the occasional quiet noise behind him, or the almost-itching-pain in his shins. For the first time, he’s actually starting to regret trying those crystals, because this is unbearable. He’d much rather be sorting leather, listening to the horse-sounds and free to move and fidget and squirm than to sit here quietly and think.
His mind wanders, until Dean calling his name startles him abruptly. “Okay, first bit is up. Stand up, brush off the rice, and walk a circuit of the room.” Sam’s unbelievably grateful, eyes darting from picture to picture, off medals and the design of the ribbons, to trying to catch a glance of Bobby’s book, when he passes him by the door. Then it’s catching titles of books, despite them being sideways, and the odd little knick-knacks sitting tucked into corners, when he sees the actual view from the window.
The fields spread out like a blanket below them, white fences fitted together like blocks, and there’s a surprising number of people milling around the plethora of grey horses. The area closest has mostly foals, it looks like, legs gangly and awkward as they chase each other, kicking up heels and dashing around. Something niggles at his mind, but Dean clearing his throat disrupts the idea. He glances at his master, turning proper when it’s apparent Dean has a question. “What did you learn, Sam?”
“It’s boring” tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it, and horror lights through him as Dean barks a laugh. It takes a few moments until Dean regains control, despite the smile still, and Sam fidgets.
“Yup, it’s supposed to be. You’re doing penance, after all. Not supposed to be fun. Besides that, did you learn anything?” Sam runs through options, his observations from walking around, but Dean shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. I can tell. Kneel again, like before. Another twenty minutes.”
~~*^*~~
They repeat it three more times, before Sam realizes what he’s supposed to learn. He actually twists in place, watching Dean with wide eyes when it sinks in, the idea a little foreign, and he’s sure he has it wrong when he blurts out “You actually care about your slaves.”
Dean just smiles though, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “And why do you say that?”
“It’s true. That’s why you made me think about it, that’s why you didn’t beat me, isn’t it?” His brain keeps tripping on the idea, but he can’t shake it, and he can’t fully fathom it.
“Very good, Sam. You’re almost done then.” Dean hands over the jar, gesturing to the tile. “Pick up every grain of rice, and you can go.” It feels like a minute later that he’s handing the full jar back, and Dean nods. “Bobby, please take Sam down to the barn, and let him work on the leather for a bit while I finish these papers. Sam, you did very well. You still have four more punishments, but you did a good job.”
The praise blooms warm in his chest, and he ducks his head to hide the pleasure that warms his face. He doesn’t even mind the slave that sits in the doorway and watches him as he sorts out the tack.
~~*^*~~
Sam almost wonders if Dean has forgotten about him, when dusk starts to make it harder to see. He heard the horses arriving a while ago, but nobody has come to claim him. He ignores the uneasy curling in his empty belly, relying more on feel than sight to sort the last few reins, stacking them neatly in their respective piles.
He’s just laid the last one aside when he hears Dean’s murmur further down the aisle, and he scrambles to his feet, dusting off the clinging dust and straw.
It’s still a few minutes before his master actually opens the door, and Dean looks somber. Sam falters a little, uneasy with the sudden change in atmosphere, even less pleased when Dean nods to the other slave, who leaves without a backward glance. “Alright Sam, come on. Let’s get this over with.”
Robert is standing just past the stall door, hidden from view earlier, but nods his head down towards where the shower area is. Sam’s confused, but he follows along, trying to calm his nerves. Sure enough, the room is exactly the same, but instead of turning left to the showers, Dean steers him right, to a little nook in the wall he hadn’t noticed before. It’s small, barely wide enough for his shoulders to fit, and no room to really move. There’s a single large showerhead directly above the spot, but no dials or knobs inside. “Alright, punishment two, my dear slave,” Dean starts as he undoes the soft leather collar and wrist cuffs. “While you’re in here, I want you to think about your mistake and the consequences, okay? You learned this morning what I wanted. Same principle here, only you don’t get the breaks, unless you’re really bull-headed.” Dean leads Sam into the small cubicle, and Sam has just enough time to turn a confused look to both men before Dean moves something on the wall.
Sam has a split-second to recognize the sound as rushing water, before the showerhead above him unloads a torrent of water. And oh holy goats, it’s cold. The full-body flinch is instinctive, and does absolutely nothing but bring him in contact with the cold tiles. Crouching does nothing either…. The showerhead is positioned so nothing really works, and he can’t get away from the torrential deluge of icy water pelting him. “Think Sam. Sooner you get the idea, the sooner you get out.”
Sam bites his tongue hard, hard enough to taste copper, to keep the sharp retort in his mouth. Gods almighty, but this was an unjust punishment. He can’t think beyond the animalistic need to get away from the frigid water; can’t really think of whatever it is that his demented master wants him to contemplate. A sly drop snakes its way into his ear, sharp and stabbing pain, and it prompts him to start offering any word, any combination of words that will make it stop.
He has no clue how long he’s under in, only knows his fingers and toes have long-since gone numb, and his chattering teeth have nicked his tongue more than once before his brain rolls over and finally spits out something that makes Dean turn off the water. Sam can’t convince the cold-frozen muscles to unlock enough to move, just huddles there, panting. He flinches sharply when Dean drops a warm and thick towel over him, tugging it around until Sam manages to grip it tightly with cold fingers as Dean clips his lead back onto the damp leather. “That’s a good boy.” It takes a few minutes before he’s up on his feet, and he feels like he’s stumbling around like a new colt, but the hope of a warm shower is powerful motivation. “Alright Sammy, you did good today. Little reward for it, okay?”
“It’s Sam,” he chances, pleased when his teeth don’t chatter, and perversely pleased to hear the soft chuckle.
“Yeah, alright. Come on, let’s get you inside and warmed up now, yeah?” He’s disappointed when they pass the shower he’s used to, and he resigns himself to the fact that he’s not getting a warm shower today, or any cleaner than he already is. Part of him can’t really bring himself to care, though. His belly is empty and upset about it, and he’s exhausted, moreso than he can remember for a long time.
The aroma infusing the kitchen as they walk through is rich and homey, and Sam’s mouth starts watering as his nose identifies baking bread and the rich, sultry scent of a chicken soup. He presses his arm against his gurgling stomach, trying desperately to ignore the aching gnaw of it, and follows Dean silently up the stairs and back to the master bedroom. The room has been tided; the bed is made neat and crisp again, and there’s a small pile of folded clothes perched on a corner, and the drapes have been tugged open, flooding the room with silvery moonlight through the tall glass windows. The view is similar to the one in Dean’s office, and Sam gets a little taken in with the haunting view of a few pale deer nibbling their way along the edge of the darker forests, and the empty corrals that seem forlorn. He startles sharply when Dean nudges his shoulder, trying to get his attention.
“Spacing out? It’s a nice view, I know, but I think we should get you warmed up before you freeze. Come on.” Dean guides him into the bathroom, tugging the door shut behind them. “Alright, if I’m nice and let you shower without your cuffs and collar, am I gonna have a fight on my hands?” Dean asks as he crosses his arms across his chest, watching Sam intently. The idea of any sort of a fight is almost funny, considering how utterly weary he is, and he shakes his head, trying to stay upright. Dean’s quiet for a few more moments before he takes a step closer and removes the clinging and cold leather bands, setting them on the sink. “Okay then. Shower setup is the same as down in the stables, so go ahead and get in and get warmed up. I’ll set some towels out for you, and I’ll be in the room.” Dean pauses, catching Sam’s eye, and the emerald gaze is stern and serious. “There’s no other way out of this room, so don’t try anything.”
“Okay.” Dean nods, and steps out, mostly shutting the door behind him. He really kind of wants to do little more than curl up and sleep for awhile, but he manages to motivate himself enough to step into the huge shower, and the surprise of seeing several water nozzles along the wall is enough to jolt him a little more aware. It’s a quick matter to crank on the water and adjust it to a nice warm temp, and he quickly shucks out of his damp clothes and into the warm space. At the first assault of the heated water pounding from several locations, Sam barely bites back a groan of appreciation, shivering as the heat sends weird chills along his spine. The stones are warm when he presses a tentative shoulder against them, and prove to be perfect for slumping against, letting the heat settle deep into his bones.
Dean’s inquiry of “Sam, you okay in there?” startles him awake, and he blinks uncomprehendingly at the blurry form on the other side of the glass for a moment before answering. “Um, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
There’s a long pause before Dean answers, “Alright then.” Sam sighs in relief when the blur moves away again. The water temperature hasn’t changed any, so he forces himself to hurriedly scrub his hair clean and work the washcloth over himself before the water cools down. He’s loath to turn off the water, but the promise of sleep is a bit stronger. True to Dean’s word, there’s two towels draped over the bar, within easy reach, and he’s a bit interested to see it’s the same thick, fluffy material that he used in the stables, but not as surprised as he would have been yesterday. Dean is proving to be nothing he expected, and the constant contradiction is dizzying and disorienting. Sam pushes it away though, and snugs the towel around his waist tightly before stepping carefully on the floor. His clothes that were on the floor are gone, and the butterflies in his stomach offer a half-hearted quiver before they settle again.
When he pushes open the door to the bedroom, the pile of folded clothes is missing from the end of the bed, and Dean’s back is turned to him, gazing out that massive window as he leans against the edge of the frame. He doesn’t look like he’s really seeing the scenery, eyes not tracking and a little unfocused. Sam really doesn’t want to disturb him, but he’s also not about to wander around in only a towel, either. He inches a little closer, and Dean jerks out of his apparent musing, rubbing the back of his neck as he turns away from the window. “Why didn’t you get dressed?”
Sam’s confusion must show, because Dean leads him back into the bathroom, gesturing to the stack of folded clothes on the table that held the pitcher and bowl this morning. “Your old ones are set to be washed, and we’ll get them back to you tomorrow. I figured you might like a clean change of clothes though.”
Considering he’d been wearing the same ones for several weeks now, that’s not really an unreasonable suspicion. Dean chuckles and leaves Sam to get dressed, making some humming noises in the bedroom, and Sam curiously unfolds the clothes. They’re softer than he’s used to, but the same quality that infuses everything he’s touched since he arrived at this place. He dresses quickly, noting with some amusement the different choices put out for him, and gathers up the rest, taking them with him to return to Dean.
“There now, warmer than before?” Dean grins, motioning Sam closer to where he’s sitting on the bed.
Sam nods, before holding out the unused clothing. “Um, here.”
“Just put ‘em somewhere, then come for a moment.” Sam nods, setting the stack on the edge of a chest of drawers before approaching Dean again, noting the wrap and gauze beside Dean’s thigh. He hesitated for just a moment before kneeling down, offering up his wrists. The pleased smile that flitted across Dean’s mouth was sort of worth it, and he lets the warmth bloom in his chest as Dean inspects the blisters on his wrists. “They’re looking really good, Sam. I really don’t think these will scar if you keep taking care of them,” the master murmurs as he deftly coated them in the balm before wrapping them again, and sealing the deal with a new set of the soft deerskin cuffs. A touch of calloused fingers to his jaw, a few moments of staring at the painted ceiling while Dean checks where Blake’s collar had chafed, and Dean deems him fit and ready for food.
Dean leads him around and through to the dining room, tugging a chair out with his foot and pointing to it as he slips into what Sam thinks is the kitchen. He’s starting to get a brief feel for how the house is laid out, but he hasn’t been in the kitchen enough to really get a feel for its size and placement. He’s just easing down into the chair when Dean comes back through, flipping through a large stack of mail as he settles in the chair to Sam’s left, at the only chair on the end. Dean ignores him for a few minutes, until Robert comes in and settles across from Sam, followed by the blond woman from last night. Allie, his mind prompts, and then his attention quickly shifts from her to the food in her hands. She’s pushing a small cart, and the aroma makes his belly snarl, loud enough that Robert smothers a snort, and Allie grins at him as she sets a pot of soup a little in front of Dean, a basket overflowing with bread, a dish of butter, and a stack of utensils and dishes before she steps back, dusting her hands off. “Okay, my boys. What do you all want to drink?”
Both Dean and Robert tell her ‘the usual’, and he’s not exactly sure what to answer when she turns that sharp focus to him. He stutters out ‘water’, and she chuckles, shaking her head. “My, aren’t you just like a little puppy. Entirely too adorable for your own good.” She pats his shoulder as she passes him, with a definite amused air to her. He’s not exactly sure what he did, but he doesn’t care much either. He’s too absorbed in the bowl of aromatic golden delight that Dean sets in front of him to pay much heed to anyone else. The soup is rich, and as it washes over his tongue, his shoulders slip down, tension bleeding out. It’s not the same as his family’s, but its chicken soup and there are little dollops of dumplings and wide noodles swimming in the broth, and it still strikes of home. The warmth curls in his belly like a sleepy cat, all pleasure and contentment, and he can’t quite contain the sigh of appreciation.
His bowl is half gone before he notices that there’s a plate of buttered bread beside him, and that Allie set a mug of what smells like apple cider by the glass of water he’d asked for. He glances around to thank her, but the kitchen is dark, and both the other men are focused on their meal.
The only downside to the meal comes on the heels of scraping his bowl clean with the last bit of crust, when he settles back contently. The spicy cider and warm soup combines with the lethargy from earlier, and it’s not that big a surprise when Dean has to shake him awake so Robert can take their dishes. He stumbles after his master, not really aware of where they’re going, so he’s a little bewildered when they’re back in Dean’s room.
“Kid, you aren’t staying awake any longer. If you promise me not to cause any trouble, I’ll let you sleep now, and I’ll just come up later. You realize how much trust I’m extending here?” Sam makes sure to meet the green gaze solidly when he nods, too exhausted to even think of causing any mischief. Dean unclips his lead, and lets him into the closet, latching the door firmly. “I’ll leave the lights on for you, but I’ll dim them so you can sleep.” Sam doesn’t care about the lights, already curling up and giving up the fight against his heavy eyelids. There’s a pause as the room gets darker, and then Dean’s footsteps fade. “Sleep well, Sammy.”
He does.
~~*^*~~
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