Setting Up, Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Setting Up
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean(overall), John, Bobby, Ellen, Dean/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3026
Summary: A sequel to Anything which was a Christmas request from nanakomatsu, Nothing, Something, To Be Good, Broken, To Be Strong, Nothing, No One, Alone, Yours, Mine, Better, Choice, Gathering, Betrayal, Taken, Remember, Training and Conflagration. Ellen and Allen conspire to force John to sleep in hopes that he'll get together enough to contribute to the coming fight. Gabe tracks Dean to a compound and the hunters set up surveillance. Sam and Dean are reunited.
A/Ns and Warnings: Very dark. Includes torture and rape and very dark violence.
Gabe was usually a fairly cautious guy. Rarely drove over the speed limit, particularly because he routinely carried a fair amount of weaponry and other…toys…that would probably land him a lot of years in prison. Some of it was so high tech not even the military had it in testing yet and probably fell under a whole lot of questionable security clearances, none of which he had.
He made exceptions however, and this was one of them. He had to ping the chip a few times to make sure he hadn’t lost them…and he could only hope he didn’t set off some sort of detector when he did it. He hadn’t known what was going on…not until he’d gotten on the road and his father fed him some of the information through the radio.
Truth was, the whole thing seemed…ludicrous. He’d known Dean and Sam for years, since before his father left NASA and started hunting demons and werewolves. He met Bobby once, but never his son…and while Gabe could picture someone wanting to…own one or both of them, he couldn’t even imagine what it would take.
Dean taught him how to defend himself when he was the pip-squeak geek in Sam’s science class, three years younger than his peers and still completely ahead of them. Dean had taught him how to use his own assets to protect himself…how to think, how to react to trouble…and when all else failed how, where and when to throw a punch.
The look in Dean’s eyes, the desperation in his voice as he ran away…it terrified Gabe, especially matched with the look on John Winchester’s face when he told Ellen no survivors.
Hunters didn’t generally kill people. It was like…a law, as close to one as a thrown together, rag-tag community like this one would ever recognize. Yet, no one questioned him.
He raised the binoculars and adjusted them. He had tracked them to a sprawling compound that gave every indication it was a religious retreat center. He had seen the chopper land on the roof of what appeared to be the central building. To it’s left there was what appeared to be a church building, stained glass windows and all. He panned to the front gates. Men dressed in monk’s robes were talking with uniformed guards.
Lowering the binoculars, he glanced down at the notes in his father’s hand writing on the seat beside him. It was a list of missing hunters…hunters kids, even those who associated with hunters. Some of them were younger than he was.
His ear piece crackled and he pressed the button to receive. “Gabe, any change?”
“No. It looks quiet. Doesn’t look their expecting company.”
“You got the lay of the land?”
“Not yet, well only what I can tell from here. From what I can see from here there’s a church building to the north of the gates. Infra red shows…two people on the main floor…one in the balcony.” He lifted the binoculars and switched them back to infra-red. “There’s…a small basement with a guard and an elevator.”
“To where?”
“Can’t tell, too much distance and interference. The other primary building…looks like a meeting hall…with barracks above. Dining hall….kitchen…more underground stuff.”
He lowered the binoculars and sighed. “What should I do?”
“How far away are you?”
“Their security cameras can’t see me…but that’s in the dark. Visibility will improve when the sun comes up.”
There was a long pause, and Gabe wondered if his father had turned his unit off. “Gabe. No matter what, don’t you go in there without us. You got that?”
There was fear in his father’s voice. “Don’t get caught.”
“Yeah, Dad. I got it.”
“You don’t have any idea what these people are capable of.”
“I got it Dad.”
“Get what you can, but be careful. We’ll be there…soon.”
Dean wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was enough that his feet felt pin prickly and his head was buzzing. The door opened and it took a lot of will power not to look up. “Good morning, slave. I hope your night was pleasant.”
Dean’s eyes rolled closed. He knew that voice. “I’ve come to deliver your punishment, per Master James instructions.”
“Thank you, sir.” Dean said softly. He knew Thomas and his appreciation for punishment. It would be swift and it would be hard. Right to the limits of what Master allowed. Thomas came into his line of sight.
“Got a new crop while you were gone, boy. Broke it in over your brother’s back.”
Sam. He forced himself not to respond, not to react. Thomas would test him, test his conditioning…look for signs that Dean was anything other than an obedient, well trained slave. Dean wouldn’t give him that.
It was twenty blows with the crop, five for each wound and five for following Sam. Each delivered precisely, leaving his back hot and welted, but not bleeding. Thomas was good at his job.
Thomas ran a hand down his back, checking for a pain reaction. Dean trembled, but didn’t flinch. “Clean and prepare yourself, slave. Your Master will be in to see you.” Thomas released him from the rack and Dean moved on shaking legs into the bathroom. The water was going to hurt, but Dean held onto the pain. It reminded him why he was there. Why he’d given himself back. For Sam.
Ellen stopped the car outside a small diner. Beside her John sat in a stupor. He hadn’t moved or spoken in a long time. He stared out the window or he stared at the ring on his right hand. She touched his arm. “Let’s get something to eat. “
There wasn’t an immediate response, but she waited and he slowly turned. “John? You need to eat.” He needed a lot more than to eat, but food was just a start of what she had planned.
“Yeah. Okay.”
She smiled softly and got out of the car. In the all night diner she settled them in a booth and bantered with the waitress, easing John out of himself. When they’d ordered and he was hugging a cup of coffee in hands that made it look tiny, she sighed. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. I’ll be back.”
Down the hall where the bathrooms were, Ellen pulled out her phone. “Allen?” She looked up to check on John, and sighed. “No, we’re at a diner. Have you heard from Joe or Bobby?” She sighed again. Nothing about this situation was good. She couldn’t help but see Bobby’s face as he’d walked away. “Okay, are you there yet?”
Ellen put a hand in her pocket and pulled out the small bottle of pills. Allen had given them to her before they separated. “I’m gonna put them in his food.” She didn’t like it, but Allen was right. John was dangerous right now, and he needed something to bring him down. “Okay, here comes our food. I’ll call you when he’s out.”
She cracked two of the capsules from the bottle into her hand and headed back to the table, smiling as the waitress settled their plates. “John, could you reach the table behind you for the ketchup?”
As he turned, Ellen upended her hand over the pile of hash on his plate, watching as the wetness of the food pulled the white powder down quickly. She smiled and took the bottle John handed her. Now, if he would just eat, she wouldn’t have to keep taking the long way to keep them from getting there before things were set up.
He didn’t know anymore which was worse…when they left him alone with Caleb staring at him…or when they were putting him through their paces. He’d managed for a while. The physical stuff was easier. He could disconnect and obey. It wasn’t real. It was just something to survive.
It was the other stuff…the things they made him say…the rules…that was harder. Caleb’s back was bleeding as he knelt in his corner, his body quivering from the last six blows that Thomas had landed on his shoulder blades. “Please.” Sam whispered, closing his eyes.
“Ask for it.”
Sam’s knees were bruised and sore. He rocked forward, holding his stomach. He had no idea how long he’d been gone…His body craved food. The water they’d given him hours before hadn’t helped. “Please.”
The end of the crop was under his chin, tilting his face up to Thomas. “Please what, Slave?”
Sam wasn’t sure anymore what he was supposed to be asking for. “If you pee on yourself, you’ll get ten blows. You know what that means for your boy over there.”
Sam closed his eyes. “Please…may I relieve myself?” He hadn’t…not since…and he wasn’t even sure he could…but it was what Thomas was looking for.
Thomas kicked a bucket toward him. “On your feet. Pee in the bucket.”
Sam stood, moving a little closer and reaching to hold himself. Thomas slapped his hands away with the crop, the leather stinging across both hands and cock. “Didn’t tell you to touch yourself.”
Sam blinked at him, trying to understand, then dropped his gaze to the bucket and shuffled still closer, willing himself to go…willing himself to just let go and do what Thomas wanted, to let this session end. It seemed to take forever, but eventually it came…a slow trickle that fell into the bucket. Thomas laughed as Sam shuffled back again.
“You may beat that record yet, slave.”
The door opened behind Thomas and Sam fell immediately to his knees. He knew the footsteps. The way he paused, the way his eyes felt on Sam’s body. “Thomas?”
“We’re making progress, sir.”
“Has he learned to keep his tongue?”
“Better than before.”
“Look up.”
Sam obeyed, then wished he hadn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to rub his eyes and make it go away. “No.” It was barely a breath, barely escaped. “Dean.”
Dean didn’t move, not until James touched his shoulder, then Dean sank to his knees.
“Apparently not.” James said and Sam flicked his gaze up at him. “Slave, tell this boy what happens to slaves who speak out of turn.”
“Punishment.” There was no inflection in the word, nothing to indicate Dean even knew who he was.
“Punishment it is.” James agreed. “Thomas, I believe our rule with this slave was two blows per word.”
Sam stared at Dean, waiting for him to say something…do something. Sam didn’t flinch as the blows landed, didn’t stop looking to his brother…even as Thomas moved over to Caleb and Caleb’s screams leaked out around the gag.
James stepped away from Dean, and Sam thought he saw Dean’s eyes flick to Thomas. It was probably wishful thinking. James had his back to Dean, watching Sam. Thomas was still hovering over Caleb. “What are you slave?” James asked.
Dean’s eyes met Sam’s and held. Steady. “Nothing. No one. Alone, sir.”
“To whom do you belong?”
Sam held his breath as Dean held his eyes. There. Just there. “I belong to my Master, sir. I belong to you.”
“And what is your purpose?”
“To serve your pleasure, sir.”
Sam mouthed Dean’s name as James took another step toward his ass, examining the bruising covering Sam’s back. “Who is this?”
Dean’s eyes rose to James’s back, then went back to Sam’s eyes. The nod was almost imperceptible. “He is nothing, sir. No one. Alone.”
James’s hand fisted in Sam’s hair and pulled his head back. “Do you hear that boy?”
Sam’s breath rasped in and out of his clenched mouth. “Tell me what you are.”
Sam blinked and shook his head, until James pulled his hair even tighter. Sam could feel Dean’s eyes. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t make the words come out. “Nothing.” Dean’s voice was soft, but it jarred Sam.
“N-nothing.” Sam repeated, his eyes closing.
“No one.” Dean’s voice carried something in it that was soothing.
“No one.” Sam’s voice didn’t quaver that time.
“Alone.” Somehow Sam knew Dean’s head would be bowed again if he looked.
“Alone.”
James pulled a little tighter in Sam’s hair, forcing his eyes up. “Again.”
“I-I am nothing. No one. Alone.”
“And to whom do you belong?”
Sam wanted to scream, to thrash…to rip this asshole’s dick from his body…he couldn’t say it…had to say it…He was panting, trying to force the words out. Dean had come. Dean…Dean was there…and himself…more the big brother he remembered in those eyes than he’d seen since this started. He could do this. “You.” It was a tiny sound, but the fierce grip released and Sam’s breathing started to slow as his eyes came back to Dean.
He was aware of Caleb, of Thomas standing over him, of James running a hand over his bruised back. He was aware of the ache in his knees and the burn of the tender skin on the backs of his legs and his ass. More than anything, he was aware of Dean, of every movement, every nuance of his being. He realized he was holding his breath and slowly let it out.
James was behind him, straddling his lower legs, pulling Sam upright against him and pointing. Pointing to Dean. “Now, slave, tell me who is that?”
Sam trembled at the thought of saying those words where Dean would hear him…that he might possibly think Sam believed them…”He…is…nothing.” Sam sobbed and tried to curl forward, but James held him by the shoulders.
“Finish it.”
“No one. Alone.”
“And to whom does he belong?”
“You.”
James squeezed against his shoulders. “Sir.” Sam corrected. “Yours, sir.”
“Thomas, I must say this is quite remarkable work. How long since first contact?”
Thomas left Caleb and came to stand between Sam and Dean, tapping his crop against the top of his boot. “By my calculations, we’re closing in on 72 hours, sir.”
“And the record was what?”
“Eighty-Nine hours from first contact to absolute submission, sir.”
“Hmmm.” James sounded pleased. “I wouldn’t call this absolute submission…yet.” He moved away from Sam, back to Dean. “I want the record, Thomas. No more rest periods. Break him hard. Break him fast. At the Eighty hour mark I want him in my rooms, ready to beg me to let him serve me.”
John’s gentle snore in the back seat was comforting. Ellen’s shoulder was sore from the way he’d slumped against it, but he was out and she could get them to the rendezvous without worrying about him running off half cocked as soon as they got there.
To someone who knew hunters, it was easy to spot…the late model and largely non-descript cars, dusty from the road and plates from around the country…big trucks and a couple of motor homes…men milling about in what would appear random wandering until anyone really studied it for patterns…The motel was host to at least 30 hunters.
She pulled in beside a mustang that had seen better days and got out, checking John before heading to the door marked 12. She knocked twice and before she hit the third, the door was open and Gabe was ushering her in. “You okay, kid?”
He nodded, but looked spooked. “Dad.” Allen looked up and nodded.
“How is he?”
“Still out. What have we got?”
The little hotel room was decked out in tech gear that would have made Ash’s mouth water. “Video just came up.” Allen said.
“You got video?” Ellen came to stand behind him.
“Gabe hacked their security feed.”
The monitor was split into four pictures that rotated through numerous cameras. Allen’s fingers tracked people and positions, his other hand jotting down notes. “I’m letting them cycle for now, but we can stop individual cameras if we need a better look.”
Ellen nodded absently, her eyes scanning the pictures. There were long corridors lined with doors and vast rooms with cages, some filled, some empty…offices, guard posts. Then Ellen heard a distressed sound and looked up at Gabe. His eyes were riveted on the upper left quadrant. She felt her face redden and her stomach churn. “Well, we know where Caleb is now.” She crossed her arms and tried to look away, but didn’t manage until the picture shifted. “Do we know where that is?”
“We’re still putting together a layout.” Allen pointed to the wall over the dresser and the giant white paper pinned up with a rudimentary blueprint of the compound. “The video will help, but it’s going to take time.”
Ellen nodded and took a deep breath. “Okay. Why don’t I leave you to this and take Gabe? He can bring me up to speed on who’s here, who’s coming and what we still need.” It would also get him away from watching the video of Sam and Dean. Allen nodded, and spared a glance up at his son. Gabe nodded to say he was okay. “I’ll get a couple of guys to haul John into a room and into a bed. His back isn’t going to be happy if I let him sleep it off in the car.”
Allen snorted. “He’s not going to be happy we drugged him, or did anything without him.”
“He will be.” Ellen insisted. “When we get his boys back.”
Dean knew that James was pleased. He was sent to the small cage James kept in his quarters for the slave he was working with when they returned. When he heard James close the door to the room, shutting Dean off from everything but the cage, he collapsed and rubbed a hand over his face.
Sam was okay. Sam was alive and Thomas hadn’t broken him. He was close, Dean could see that. He’d been startled to see Caleb there, and to realize why, but he was fairly certain no one noticed.
They didn’t have long. Thomas would take James at his word. If he let himself think about that…at what was going on in Sam’s cage even then…He shivered, remembering the purple and black of Sam’s back…the way his voice quavered…how Dean’s voice had brought him through it. Sam would submit because Sam trusted Dean.
Eight hours. His chances of seeing Sam again before then were minimal. All he could do was hope Sam understood what he had to do…he had to survive. Whatever that meant.
Title: Setting Up
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean(overall), John, Bobby, Ellen, Dean/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3026
Summary: A sequel to Anything which was a Christmas request from nanakomatsu, Nothing, Something, To Be Good, Broken, To Be Strong, Nothing, No One, Alone, Yours, Mine, Better, Choice, Gathering, Betrayal, Taken, Remember, Training and Conflagration. Ellen and Allen conspire to force John to sleep in hopes that he'll get together enough to contribute to the coming fight. Gabe tracks Dean to a compound and the hunters set up surveillance. Sam and Dean are reunited.
A/Ns and Warnings: Very dark. Includes torture and rape and very dark violence.
Gabe was usually a fairly cautious guy. Rarely drove over the speed limit, particularly because he routinely carried a fair amount of weaponry and other…toys…that would probably land him a lot of years in prison. Some of it was so high tech not even the military had it in testing yet and probably fell under a whole lot of questionable security clearances, none of which he had.
He made exceptions however, and this was one of them. He had to ping the chip a few times to make sure he hadn’t lost them…and he could only hope he didn’t set off some sort of detector when he did it. He hadn’t known what was going on…not until he’d gotten on the road and his father fed him some of the information through the radio.
Truth was, the whole thing seemed…ludicrous. He’d known Dean and Sam for years, since before his father left NASA and started hunting demons and werewolves. He met Bobby once, but never his son…and while Gabe could picture someone wanting to…own one or both of them, he couldn’t even imagine what it would take.
Dean taught him how to defend himself when he was the pip-squeak geek in Sam’s science class, three years younger than his peers and still completely ahead of them. Dean had taught him how to use his own assets to protect himself…how to think, how to react to trouble…and when all else failed how, where and when to throw a punch.
The look in Dean’s eyes, the desperation in his voice as he ran away…it terrified Gabe, especially matched with the look on John Winchester’s face when he told Ellen no survivors.
Hunters didn’t generally kill people. It was like…a law, as close to one as a thrown together, rag-tag community like this one would ever recognize. Yet, no one questioned him.
He raised the binoculars and adjusted them. He had tracked them to a sprawling compound that gave every indication it was a religious retreat center. He had seen the chopper land on the roof of what appeared to be the central building. To it’s left there was what appeared to be a church building, stained glass windows and all. He panned to the front gates. Men dressed in monk’s robes were talking with uniformed guards.
Lowering the binoculars, he glanced down at the notes in his father’s hand writing on the seat beside him. It was a list of missing hunters…hunters kids, even those who associated with hunters. Some of them were younger than he was.
His ear piece crackled and he pressed the button to receive. “Gabe, any change?”
“No. It looks quiet. Doesn’t look their expecting company.”
“You got the lay of the land?”
“Not yet, well only what I can tell from here. From what I can see from here there’s a church building to the north of the gates. Infra red shows…two people on the main floor…one in the balcony.” He lifted the binoculars and switched them back to infra-red. “There’s…a small basement with a guard and an elevator.”
“To where?”
“Can’t tell, too much distance and interference. The other primary building…looks like a meeting hall…with barracks above. Dining hall….kitchen…more underground stuff.”
He lowered the binoculars and sighed. “What should I do?”
“How far away are you?”
“Their security cameras can’t see me…but that’s in the dark. Visibility will improve when the sun comes up.”
There was a long pause, and Gabe wondered if his father had turned his unit off. “Gabe. No matter what, don’t you go in there without us. You got that?”
There was fear in his father’s voice. “Don’t get caught.”
“Yeah, Dad. I got it.”
“You don’t have any idea what these people are capable of.”
“I got it Dad.”
“Get what you can, but be careful. We’ll be there…soon.”
Dean wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was enough that his feet felt pin prickly and his head was buzzing. The door opened and it took a lot of will power not to look up. “Good morning, slave. I hope your night was pleasant.”
Dean’s eyes rolled closed. He knew that voice. “I’ve come to deliver your punishment, per Master James instructions.”
“Thank you, sir.” Dean said softly. He knew Thomas and his appreciation for punishment. It would be swift and it would be hard. Right to the limits of what Master allowed. Thomas came into his line of sight.
“Got a new crop while you were gone, boy. Broke it in over your brother’s back.”
Sam. He forced himself not to respond, not to react. Thomas would test him, test his conditioning…look for signs that Dean was anything other than an obedient, well trained slave. Dean wouldn’t give him that.
It was twenty blows with the crop, five for each wound and five for following Sam. Each delivered precisely, leaving his back hot and welted, but not bleeding. Thomas was good at his job.
Thomas ran a hand down his back, checking for a pain reaction. Dean trembled, but didn’t flinch. “Clean and prepare yourself, slave. Your Master will be in to see you.” Thomas released him from the rack and Dean moved on shaking legs into the bathroom. The water was going to hurt, but Dean held onto the pain. It reminded him why he was there. Why he’d given himself back. For Sam.
Ellen stopped the car outside a small diner. Beside her John sat in a stupor. He hadn’t moved or spoken in a long time. He stared out the window or he stared at the ring on his right hand. She touched his arm. “Let’s get something to eat. “
There wasn’t an immediate response, but she waited and he slowly turned. “John? You need to eat.” He needed a lot more than to eat, but food was just a start of what she had planned.
“Yeah. Okay.”
She smiled softly and got out of the car. In the all night diner she settled them in a booth and bantered with the waitress, easing John out of himself. When they’d ordered and he was hugging a cup of coffee in hands that made it look tiny, she sighed. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. I’ll be back.”
Down the hall where the bathrooms were, Ellen pulled out her phone. “Allen?” She looked up to check on John, and sighed. “No, we’re at a diner. Have you heard from Joe or Bobby?” She sighed again. Nothing about this situation was good. She couldn’t help but see Bobby’s face as he’d walked away. “Okay, are you there yet?”
Ellen put a hand in her pocket and pulled out the small bottle of pills. Allen had given them to her before they separated. “I’m gonna put them in his food.” She didn’t like it, but Allen was right. John was dangerous right now, and he needed something to bring him down. “Okay, here comes our food. I’ll call you when he’s out.”
She cracked two of the capsules from the bottle into her hand and headed back to the table, smiling as the waitress settled their plates. “John, could you reach the table behind you for the ketchup?”
As he turned, Ellen upended her hand over the pile of hash on his plate, watching as the wetness of the food pulled the white powder down quickly. She smiled and took the bottle John handed her. Now, if he would just eat, she wouldn’t have to keep taking the long way to keep them from getting there before things were set up.
He didn’t know anymore which was worse…when they left him alone with Caleb staring at him…or when they were putting him through their paces. He’d managed for a while. The physical stuff was easier. He could disconnect and obey. It wasn’t real. It was just something to survive.
It was the other stuff…the things they made him say…the rules…that was harder. Caleb’s back was bleeding as he knelt in his corner, his body quivering from the last six blows that Thomas had landed on his shoulder blades. “Please.” Sam whispered, closing his eyes.
“Ask for it.”
Sam’s knees were bruised and sore. He rocked forward, holding his stomach. He had no idea how long he’d been gone…His body craved food. The water they’d given him hours before hadn’t helped. “Please.”
The end of the crop was under his chin, tilting his face up to Thomas. “Please what, Slave?”
Sam wasn’t sure anymore what he was supposed to be asking for. “If you pee on yourself, you’ll get ten blows. You know what that means for your boy over there.”
Sam closed his eyes. “Please…may I relieve myself?” He hadn’t…not since…and he wasn’t even sure he could…but it was what Thomas was looking for.
Thomas kicked a bucket toward him. “On your feet. Pee in the bucket.”
Sam stood, moving a little closer and reaching to hold himself. Thomas slapped his hands away with the crop, the leather stinging across both hands and cock. “Didn’t tell you to touch yourself.”
Sam blinked at him, trying to understand, then dropped his gaze to the bucket and shuffled still closer, willing himself to go…willing himself to just let go and do what Thomas wanted, to let this session end. It seemed to take forever, but eventually it came…a slow trickle that fell into the bucket. Thomas laughed as Sam shuffled back again.
“You may beat that record yet, slave.”
The door opened behind Thomas and Sam fell immediately to his knees. He knew the footsteps. The way he paused, the way his eyes felt on Sam’s body. “Thomas?”
“We’re making progress, sir.”
“Has he learned to keep his tongue?”
“Better than before.”
“Look up.”
Sam obeyed, then wished he hadn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to rub his eyes and make it go away. “No.” It was barely a breath, barely escaped. “Dean.”
Dean didn’t move, not until James touched his shoulder, then Dean sank to his knees.
“Apparently not.” James said and Sam flicked his gaze up at him. “Slave, tell this boy what happens to slaves who speak out of turn.”
“Punishment.” There was no inflection in the word, nothing to indicate Dean even knew who he was.
“Punishment it is.” James agreed. “Thomas, I believe our rule with this slave was two blows per word.”
Sam stared at Dean, waiting for him to say something…do something. Sam didn’t flinch as the blows landed, didn’t stop looking to his brother…even as Thomas moved over to Caleb and Caleb’s screams leaked out around the gag.
James stepped away from Dean, and Sam thought he saw Dean’s eyes flick to Thomas. It was probably wishful thinking. James had his back to Dean, watching Sam. Thomas was still hovering over Caleb. “What are you slave?” James asked.
Dean’s eyes met Sam’s and held. Steady. “Nothing. No one. Alone, sir.”
“To whom do you belong?”
Sam held his breath as Dean held his eyes. There. Just there. “I belong to my Master, sir. I belong to you.”
“And what is your purpose?”
“To serve your pleasure, sir.”
Sam mouthed Dean’s name as James took another step toward his ass, examining the bruising covering Sam’s back. “Who is this?”
Dean’s eyes rose to James’s back, then went back to Sam’s eyes. The nod was almost imperceptible. “He is nothing, sir. No one. Alone.”
James’s hand fisted in Sam’s hair and pulled his head back. “Do you hear that boy?”
Sam’s breath rasped in and out of his clenched mouth. “Tell me what you are.”
Sam blinked and shook his head, until James pulled his hair even tighter. Sam could feel Dean’s eyes. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t make the words come out. “Nothing.” Dean’s voice was soft, but it jarred Sam.
“N-nothing.” Sam repeated, his eyes closing.
“No one.” Dean’s voice carried something in it that was soothing.
“No one.” Sam’s voice didn’t quaver that time.
“Alone.” Somehow Sam knew Dean’s head would be bowed again if he looked.
“Alone.”
James pulled a little tighter in Sam’s hair, forcing his eyes up. “Again.”
“I-I am nothing. No one. Alone.”
“And to whom do you belong?”
Sam wanted to scream, to thrash…to rip this asshole’s dick from his body…he couldn’t say it…had to say it…He was panting, trying to force the words out. Dean had come. Dean…Dean was there…and himself…more the big brother he remembered in those eyes than he’d seen since this started. He could do this. “You.” It was a tiny sound, but the fierce grip released and Sam’s breathing started to slow as his eyes came back to Dean.
He was aware of Caleb, of Thomas standing over him, of James running a hand over his bruised back. He was aware of the ache in his knees and the burn of the tender skin on the backs of his legs and his ass. More than anything, he was aware of Dean, of every movement, every nuance of his being. He realized he was holding his breath and slowly let it out.
James was behind him, straddling his lower legs, pulling Sam upright against him and pointing. Pointing to Dean. “Now, slave, tell me who is that?”
Sam trembled at the thought of saying those words where Dean would hear him…that he might possibly think Sam believed them…”He…is…nothing.” Sam sobbed and tried to curl forward, but James held him by the shoulders.
“Finish it.”
“No one. Alone.”
“And to whom does he belong?”
“You.”
James squeezed against his shoulders. “Sir.” Sam corrected. “Yours, sir.”
“Thomas, I must say this is quite remarkable work. How long since first contact?”
Thomas left Caleb and came to stand between Sam and Dean, tapping his crop against the top of his boot. “By my calculations, we’re closing in on 72 hours, sir.”
“And the record was what?”
“Eighty-Nine hours from first contact to absolute submission, sir.”
“Hmmm.” James sounded pleased. “I wouldn’t call this absolute submission…yet.” He moved away from Sam, back to Dean. “I want the record, Thomas. No more rest periods. Break him hard. Break him fast. At the Eighty hour mark I want him in my rooms, ready to beg me to let him serve me.”
John’s gentle snore in the back seat was comforting. Ellen’s shoulder was sore from the way he’d slumped against it, but he was out and she could get them to the rendezvous without worrying about him running off half cocked as soon as they got there.
To someone who knew hunters, it was easy to spot…the late model and largely non-descript cars, dusty from the road and plates from around the country…big trucks and a couple of motor homes…men milling about in what would appear random wandering until anyone really studied it for patterns…The motel was host to at least 30 hunters.
She pulled in beside a mustang that had seen better days and got out, checking John before heading to the door marked 12. She knocked twice and before she hit the third, the door was open and Gabe was ushering her in. “You okay, kid?”
He nodded, but looked spooked. “Dad.” Allen looked up and nodded.
“How is he?”
“Still out. What have we got?”
The little hotel room was decked out in tech gear that would have made Ash’s mouth water. “Video just came up.” Allen said.
“You got video?” Ellen came to stand behind him.
“Gabe hacked their security feed.”
The monitor was split into four pictures that rotated through numerous cameras. Allen’s fingers tracked people and positions, his other hand jotting down notes. “I’m letting them cycle for now, but we can stop individual cameras if we need a better look.”
Ellen nodded absently, her eyes scanning the pictures. There were long corridors lined with doors and vast rooms with cages, some filled, some empty…offices, guard posts. Then Ellen heard a distressed sound and looked up at Gabe. His eyes were riveted on the upper left quadrant. She felt her face redden and her stomach churn. “Well, we know where Caleb is now.” She crossed her arms and tried to look away, but didn’t manage until the picture shifted. “Do we know where that is?”
“We’re still putting together a layout.” Allen pointed to the wall over the dresser and the giant white paper pinned up with a rudimentary blueprint of the compound. “The video will help, but it’s going to take time.”
Ellen nodded and took a deep breath. “Okay. Why don’t I leave you to this and take Gabe? He can bring me up to speed on who’s here, who’s coming and what we still need.” It would also get him away from watching the video of Sam and Dean. Allen nodded, and spared a glance up at his son. Gabe nodded to say he was okay. “I’ll get a couple of guys to haul John into a room and into a bed. His back isn’t going to be happy if I let him sleep it off in the car.”
Allen snorted. “He’s not going to be happy we drugged him, or did anything without him.”
“He will be.” Ellen insisted. “When we get his boys back.”
Dean knew that James was pleased. He was sent to the small cage James kept in his quarters for the slave he was working with when they returned. When he heard James close the door to the room, shutting Dean off from everything but the cage, he collapsed and rubbed a hand over his face.
Sam was okay. Sam was alive and Thomas hadn’t broken him. He was close, Dean could see that. He’d been startled to see Caleb there, and to realize why, but he was fairly certain no one noticed.
They didn’t have long. Thomas would take James at his word. If he let himself think about that…at what was going on in Sam’s cage even then…He shivered, remembering the purple and black of Sam’s back…the way his voice quavered…how Dean’s voice had brought him through it. Sam would submit because Sam trusted Dean.
Eight hours. His chances of seeing Sam again before then were minimal. All he could do was hope Sam understood what he had to do…he had to survive. Whatever that meant.