Fanfic - SPN: Training Day - Ch.8 - The Sweet Deal
Title: Training Day [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Eight: The Sweet Deal
[022.Crushed]
Dean nodded, the ache in his chest spreading even after Sam had withdrawn his power, and he reached to pull back the sheets, but Sam stopped him, gently.
"Wait."
Sam released him from their embrace and headed to the door for a word with the guards. Dean didn't know if Sam's temporary absence from his personal space was intended to give him the minute he'd asked for earlier, but he was thankful for the momentary reprieve either way.
He stood where Sam had left him and tried to understand how they had gotten to this point and what this point was exactly. Sam didn't seem to have everything in place, but a lot of this still must have been pre-arranged. This whole situation had to have been in the works for weeks, at least, before they even came to Colorado, months, even. And whether or not Dean liked to admit it, Sam had probably been priming him for this for even longer.
Sam had set him up without a hint of hesitation.
It reminded Dean about the total lack of remorse Sam had shown that first day when he talked about the armaggedon he had helped to create. He remembered how hard he'd clung to the idea that something had found its way inside Sam and was controlling all of this, that it wasn't really his brother behind those shaded eyes. Sam told him, then, however, how he'd hidden how much he'd changed for all those months they'd been reunited and it had been quite a shock. But it was even more of a shock, now, to think back on all that time on the road, knowing that Sam had been plotting, not just destruction on a massive scale, but he'd also been plotting to own him, to break him, to make him a whore.
He wrapped his arms around his body, jaw clenched, and closed his eyes to block out the sight of his own little pretty prison cell.
How many times when they'd been together had Sam pushed him or tricked him into things, or been more forceful and careless than he should have been with him? Dean had always just brushed it off, because Sam was having a rough time, and because Sam was physically stronger than he used to be, and because he didn't mind giving Sam what he needed, even if he was exhausted or not exactly in the mood, and even if he ended up a little sore. Because he wanted to support Sam however he could and because he didn't want Sam to leave again.
But Sam had been careless because he really hadn't cared anymore. His Sam might have cared about him, the Sam he used to know, but to the Sam he'd picked up in Minnesota, he'd probably always just been a whore.
Dean might have only known it for a few days, but Sam had been using him for almost a year. Sam had taken the Hunt from him now, taken his stuff and made him a prisoner, and Sam had tacked on the formal trappings of total submission. But Dean knew, now, that he had been whoring for Sam since that first time he'd- … and he might have wanted out of this before, but now, he needed to get out of this, needed his Sam, because- … he could barely remember what it was like to have something good in his life, to know that there even was anything good in the world at all.
He felt movement brush past him and he opened his eyes, moving away from the young men stripping the sheets from the bed. He tried to remember if he'd ever seen them before, but he didn't think so. Where had all these people come from? The guards, the woman this afternoon, these two male maid-types? Was Sam really so powerful that he'd just hired or conscripted or maybe even enslaved a whole estate's worth of people to handle things that were beneath him?
The bed-makers weren't looking at him or anything, they were just doing their job, apparently, but Dean just kept moving backward in his confusion until he nearly tripped over a chair. Sam caught him before he hit the ground and hauled him back to his feet, his eyebrow inching upwards.
"You okay?"
It seemed to be a question about his mental state as much as his physical state.
"Yeah. I was just-"
"Thinking too hard."
"What do you expect, Sam?" His voice wasn't angry or loud, he just sounded drained and frustrated, probably because that was most of what he was feeling right then, along with a pretty large dose of betrayal.
Sam looked at him for a long time before nodding slowly. "Respect … obedience … and first-class service."
Dean hung his head at that and when Sam pulled him into his arms, he didn't resist. He just set his head on Sam's shoulder and felt them breathing, not quite in sync.
"You might wish this worked some other way, but it doesn't, and it won't ever work some other way. You're making this harder than it needs to be. We have a nice clean place, cool in the summer, warm in the winter. We have great food and people to prepare it and attend to most of the other mundane things. We have the world at our feet, Dean … or at least I do, and through me, you do too. Why do you feel the need to fight me when this is such a sweet deal and you're not going to win?"
He lifted his head, throat tight, and pulled back a little to look Sam right in the eye. "However you got all this, Sam, it was wrong. However you think you earned this, I know you had to cut some people down and I know that's never going to be alright with me. So, I'm sorry if I can't celebrate the fact that I'm … a slave … to someone who lives like a king, because he's good at being a murderer and a thief."
There was a flicker of something in Sam's eyes that wasn't anger right then, a twitch like maybe what he'd said had penetrated that hard dark shell, like maybe the arrow of his words had slid right past this Sam and hit the Sam that might actually give a fuck about all people he'd hurt, about Dean.
But then it was gone and Sam smirked, not quite as convincing as Dean had seen it before, but it was hard and cold nonetheless, and the amusement in his voice was sharp. "Man, do I spoil you! Most slaves would be grateful for a pillow in the little cage in the basement where they're chained whenever they're not being used. … You, however, have everything and you act like its nothing, just because I have a hard job and you don't agree with my politics. … That's really narrow-minded of you, Dean. I thought you were a bigger man than that. … It wounds me. Really, it does." Sam's full-on wicked smirk was back again in a flash, then. "So I'll just have to make sure you pay double in pain tomorrow. And, of course, you'll have to practice comforting me, a lot, since you work so hard to put me down and keep pestering me with all these needless attempts to fight someone with clearly superior abilities. Not to mention how little you actually learned today, which will mean tons of repetition until things start to line up correctly in your obviously slow mind."
Dean tried to keep the challenge in his eyes, but then one of Sam's hands began to trek up from his waist and he could feel the deep ache of fingers pressing into what were probably already layers of bruises on his back. He gasped, leaning deeper into Sam's body, trying to lessen the press of those fingers.
"I will whip you tomorrow morning before I leave and again tomorrow afternoon when I get back. I will use you every time I even think about it and you will beg me for the privilege of that use every single time."
Dean just finally had to look away, trying to twist out of Sam's grasp, but he was held tight and he could feel Sam's heat rising around him as Sam kneaded into his abused body and he gasped through the pain.
"Fighting wins you nothing but more pain and more use. … If that's all you want, then you don't need to fight me, just beg for it, and I'll make sure that you get what you need. If that's not what you want, then you need self-correct whenever you start to be disrespectful or disobedient. … An immediate apology will always lessen your punishment, but it would be even better if you could actually just use that willpower of yours to be good for me. Are we clear?"
It felt like all the walls kept shrinking in on him. The more he fought being caged like this, the less room he was given to fight in. He couldn't give up on fighting entirely, but he'd have to try fighting some other way, because this direct confrontation method seemed to lead one step forward and five steps back. He knew that he wasn't doing so terribly with keeping his head together right then, but he didn't know if he wasn't just speeding up Sam's plans for breaking him by heaping all these backsteps on top of each other.
He cried out as Sam's fingers dug into his back and dragged, as if to claw out muscle, though it didn't feel like they pierced the skin.
"Are. We. Clear?!"
"Yes, sir." The phrase was halfway out of his mouth before Sam had even finished the question.
"Good. … Go get in the bed."
When Sam let him go, Dean sagged, but stepped away, averting his eyes and moved around him to get into the newly made bed. The servants must have left while he and Sam were … talking. He slipped under the covers and tried not to think about how long Sam had been waiting to do this and how long he could stay who he was with Sam pushing him like this.
Sam turned out the light and slid in behind him, spooning into the back of Dean's body, but neither of them said anything and neither of them fell into sleep. After a while, the rhythm of their breathing brought Dean a kind of calm. The arms around him were just warm now, not hot, and it almost felt like all the moments just before sleep back when things had been different, when they'd been good, even when they were tough.
"You're not sleeping, so … what are you thinking about?" Sam's voice was really just Sam this time, no edge.
"Not thinking about anything, Sam." He couldn't mask the sadness that was filling him up right then.
"That's not going to work here either, Dean. I want to know what's going on in that head of yours."
Silence.
"So … tell me." The prodding was still gentle, but Dean knew it didn't have to be.
"I don't know, Sam, just … stuff … nothing, okay?"
"No, not okay. You don't have the right to keep anything from me Dean. So if I tell you to talk, it's an order and I expect you to obey."
The edge was creeping back into Sam's voice and it wasn't like Dean really did have nothing on his mind, he just wasn't much of a talker when it came to his own internal processes. But he wasn't dumb, and as kind as Sam was being at the moment, not following orders meant punishment here, and it just wasn't worth it right then.
"Well … … … when did you … decide … to do this … to own me like this?"
Sam just breathed softly for a moment, seeming to consider the question.
"Probably, the first time you refused me. I couldn't figure out, though, if you'd survive the transition or if I'd just have to kill you anyway. Then after I'd had you again, I knew I'd just have make you survive the change. I set up this little living arrangement so that we would both be comfortable, but you would be secure, and I would still be able to do what I needed to do in the field."
"Are you out making war, Sam? … Is that what 'in the field' means? … Burning down cities? … Making humans into slaves? … Killing people who rebel? … Is that where you go when you're not here?" Dean felt like already knew the answer, his tone almost as emotionless as Sam's so often was these days. But he still had to ask, had to know for sure how far Sam had fallen.
"That's not really any of your business. Whores don't need to know about politics, Dean. You just need to know how I like to use you when I'm here … and how to behave when I'm not. Understand … whore?"
Dean ground his teeth together, almost immediately and violently upset, maybe because Sam wouldn't let him know about anything beyond his supposed status as a whore … or maybe because Sam hadn't denied that he went out killing and enslaving people. Dean knew he couldn't show that anger, though, or risk even more pain tomorrow. So he just said what he was expected to say. "Yes … sir."
"Then shut up and sleep. You need your beauty rest after all. I mean, that's the main reason I keep you, right? So … you might want to good care of yourself, because you need to be pleasing to me, don't you … whore?"
Dean took a deep breath, willing his teeth apart as he tried to keep himself calm enough to not do something suicidal, like slam his elbow back into Sam's ribs. His head ached with the effort of it, but his eyes began to feel gritty with oncoming sleep. "Yes, sir."
"Oh, now see … you can be such a good boy, Dean. You're never going to win, so you don't need to fight me all the time. Everything will work out just fine as long as you keep being good, okay? Just like this. Are you going to be a good boy for me, Dean?"
"Yes, sir." Dean heard the defeat in his own voice, but he knew that still didn't mean he'd ever really stop fighting, stop trying to win this. He'd just have to keep that fight inside and stay alert enough to see the makings of an exit sign whenever they appeared.
"Go to sleep then."
Dean nodded, his eyelids heavy, and Sam nuzzled into him, kissing his hair.
"Oh, and … you won't be cutting your hair any time soon, by the way." Sam's voice was a low rumble, his lips brushing over Dean's ear. "I want something I can hold onto when I'm using you."
He didn't know why Sam's words made his cock twitch, but he let go of his worry as quickly as it came to him. And he whispered "yes, sir" as bone-deep fatigue pulled him down into sleep.
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
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Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Eight: The Sweet Deal
[022.Crushed]
Dean nodded, the ache in his chest spreading even after Sam had withdrawn his power, and he reached to pull back the sheets, but Sam stopped him, gently.
"Wait."
Sam released him from their embrace and headed to the door for a word with the guards. Dean didn't know if Sam's temporary absence from his personal space was intended to give him the minute he'd asked for earlier, but he was thankful for the momentary reprieve either way.
He stood where Sam had left him and tried to understand how they had gotten to this point and what this point was exactly. Sam didn't seem to have everything in place, but a lot of this still must have been pre-arranged. This whole situation had to have been in the works for weeks, at least, before they even came to Colorado, months, even. And whether or not Dean liked to admit it, Sam had probably been priming him for this for even longer.
Sam had set him up without a hint of hesitation.
It reminded Dean about the total lack of remorse Sam had shown that first day when he talked about the armaggedon he had helped to create. He remembered how hard he'd clung to the idea that something had found its way inside Sam and was controlling all of this, that it wasn't really his brother behind those shaded eyes. Sam told him, then, however, how he'd hidden how much he'd changed for all those months they'd been reunited and it had been quite a shock. But it was even more of a shock, now, to think back on all that time on the road, knowing that Sam had been plotting, not just destruction on a massive scale, but he'd also been plotting to own him, to break him, to make him a whore.
He wrapped his arms around his body, jaw clenched, and closed his eyes to block out the sight of his own little pretty prison cell.
How many times when they'd been together had Sam pushed him or tricked him into things, or been more forceful and careless than he should have been with him? Dean had always just brushed it off, because Sam was having a rough time, and because Sam was physically stronger than he used to be, and because he didn't mind giving Sam what he needed, even if he was exhausted or not exactly in the mood, and even if he ended up a little sore. Because he wanted to support Sam however he could and because he didn't want Sam to leave again.
But Sam had been careless because he really hadn't cared anymore. His Sam might have cared about him, the Sam he used to know, but to the Sam he'd picked up in Minnesota, he'd probably always just been a whore.
Dean might have only known it for a few days, but Sam had been using him for almost a year. Sam had taken the Hunt from him now, taken his stuff and made him a prisoner, and Sam had tacked on the formal trappings of total submission. But Dean knew, now, that he had been whoring for Sam since that first time he'd- … and he might have wanted out of this before, but now, he needed to get out of this, needed his Sam, because- … he could barely remember what it was like to have something good in his life, to know that there even was anything good in the world at all.
He felt movement brush past him and he opened his eyes, moving away from the young men stripping the sheets from the bed. He tried to remember if he'd ever seen them before, but he didn't think so. Where had all these people come from? The guards, the woman this afternoon, these two male maid-types? Was Sam really so powerful that he'd just hired or conscripted or maybe even enslaved a whole estate's worth of people to handle things that were beneath him?
The bed-makers weren't looking at him or anything, they were just doing their job, apparently, but Dean just kept moving backward in his confusion until he nearly tripped over a chair. Sam caught him before he hit the ground and hauled him back to his feet, his eyebrow inching upwards.
"You okay?"
It seemed to be a question about his mental state as much as his physical state.
"Yeah. I was just-"
"Thinking too hard."
"What do you expect, Sam?" His voice wasn't angry or loud, he just sounded drained and frustrated, probably because that was most of what he was feeling right then, along with a pretty large dose of betrayal.
Sam looked at him for a long time before nodding slowly. "Respect … obedience … and first-class service."
Dean hung his head at that and when Sam pulled him into his arms, he didn't resist. He just set his head on Sam's shoulder and felt them breathing, not quite in sync.
"You might wish this worked some other way, but it doesn't, and it won't ever work some other way. You're making this harder than it needs to be. We have a nice clean place, cool in the summer, warm in the winter. We have great food and people to prepare it and attend to most of the other mundane things. We have the world at our feet, Dean … or at least I do, and through me, you do too. Why do you feel the need to fight me when this is such a sweet deal and you're not going to win?"
He lifted his head, throat tight, and pulled back a little to look Sam right in the eye. "However you got all this, Sam, it was wrong. However you think you earned this, I know you had to cut some people down and I know that's never going to be alright with me. So, I'm sorry if I can't celebrate the fact that I'm … a slave … to someone who lives like a king, because he's good at being a murderer and a thief."
There was a flicker of something in Sam's eyes that wasn't anger right then, a twitch like maybe what he'd said had penetrated that hard dark shell, like maybe the arrow of his words had slid right past this Sam and hit the Sam that might actually give a fuck about all people he'd hurt, about Dean.
But then it was gone and Sam smirked, not quite as convincing as Dean had seen it before, but it was hard and cold nonetheless, and the amusement in his voice was sharp. "Man, do I spoil you! Most slaves would be grateful for a pillow in the little cage in the basement where they're chained whenever they're not being used. … You, however, have everything and you act like its nothing, just because I have a hard job and you don't agree with my politics. … That's really narrow-minded of you, Dean. I thought you were a bigger man than that. … It wounds me. Really, it does." Sam's full-on wicked smirk was back again in a flash, then. "So I'll just have to make sure you pay double in pain tomorrow. And, of course, you'll have to practice comforting me, a lot, since you work so hard to put me down and keep pestering me with all these needless attempts to fight someone with clearly superior abilities. Not to mention how little you actually learned today, which will mean tons of repetition until things start to line up correctly in your obviously slow mind."
Dean tried to keep the challenge in his eyes, but then one of Sam's hands began to trek up from his waist and he could feel the deep ache of fingers pressing into what were probably already layers of bruises on his back. He gasped, leaning deeper into Sam's body, trying to lessen the press of those fingers.
"I will whip you tomorrow morning before I leave and again tomorrow afternoon when I get back. I will use you every time I even think about it and you will beg me for the privilege of that use every single time."
Dean just finally had to look away, trying to twist out of Sam's grasp, but he was held tight and he could feel Sam's heat rising around him as Sam kneaded into his abused body and he gasped through the pain.
"Fighting wins you nothing but more pain and more use. … If that's all you want, then you don't need to fight me, just beg for it, and I'll make sure that you get what you need. If that's not what you want, then you need self-correct whenever you start to be disrespectful or disobedient. … An immediate apology will always lessen your punishment, but it would be even better if you could actually just use that willpower of yours to be good for me. Are we clear?"
It felt like all the walls kept shrinking in on him. The more he fought being caged like this, the less room he was given to fight in. He couldn't give up on fighting entirely, but he'd have to try fighting some other way, because this direct confrontation method seemed to lead one step forward and five steps back. He knew that he wasn't doing so terribly with keeping his head together right then, but he didn't know if he wasn't just speeding up Sam's plans for breaking him by heaping all these backsteps on top of each other.
He cried out as Sam's fingers dug into his back and dragged, as if to claw out muscle, though it didn't feel like they pierced the skin.
"Are. We. Clear?!"
"Yes, sir." The phrase was halfway out of his mouth before Sam had even finished the question.
"Good. … Go get in the bed."
When Sam let him go, Dean sagged, but stepped away, averting his eyes and moved around him to get into the newly made bed. The servants must have left while he and Sam were … talking. He slipped under the covers and tried not to think about how long Sam had been waiting to do this and how long he could stay who he was with Sam pushing him like this.
Sam turned out the light and slid in behind him, spooning into the back of Dean's body, but neither of them said anything and neither of them fell into sleep. After a while, the rhythm of their breathing brought Dean a kind of calm. The arms around him were just warm now, not hot, and it almost felt like all the moments just before sleep back when things had been different, when they'd been good, even when they were tough.
"You're not sleeping, so … what are you thinking about?" Sam's voice was really just Sam this time, no edge.
"Not thinking about anything, Sam." He couldn't mask the sadness that was filling him up right then.
"That's not going to work here either, Dean. I want to know what's going on in that head of yours."
Silence.
"So … tell me." The prodding was still gentle, but Dean knew it didn't have to be.
"I don't know, Sam, just … stuff … nothing, okay?"
"No, not okay. You don't have the right to keep anything from me Dean. So if I tell you to talk, it's an order and I expect you to obey."
The edge was creeping back into Sam's voice and it wasn't like Dean really did have nothing on his mind, he just wasn't much of a talker when it came to his own internal processes. But he wasn't dumb, and as kind as Sam was being at the moment, not following orders meant punishment here, and it just wasn't worth it right then.
"Well … … … when did you … decide … to do this … to own me like this?"
Sam just breathed softly for a moment, seeming to consider the question.
"Probably, the first time you refused me. I couldn't figure out, though, if you'd survive the transition or if I'd just have to kill you anyway. Then after I'd had you again, I knew I'd just have make you survive the change. I set up this little living arrangement so that we would both be comfortable, but you would be secure, and I would still be able to do what I needed to do in the field."
"Are you out making war, Sam? … Is that what 'in the field' means? … Burning down cities? … Making humans into slaves? … Killing people who rebel? … Is that where you go when you're not here?" Dean felt like already knew the answer, his tone almost as emotionless as Sam's so often was these days. But he still had to ask, had to know for sure how far Sam had fallen.
"That's not really any of your business. Whores don't need to know about politics, Dean. You just need to know how I like to use you when I'm here … and how to behave when I'm not. Understand … whore?"
Dean ground his teeth together, almost immediately and violently upset, maybe because Sam wouldn't let him know about anything beyond his supposed status as a whore … or maybe because Sam hadn't denied that he went out killing and enslaving people. Dean knew he couldn't show that anger, though, or risk even more pain tomorrow. So he just said what he was expected to say. "Yes … sir."
"Then shut up and sleep. You need your beauty rest after all. I mean, that's the main reason I keep you, right? So … you might want to good care of yourself, because you need to be pleasing to me, don't you … whore?"
Dean took a deep breath, willing his teeth apart as he tried to keep himself calm enough to not do something suicidal, like slam his elbow back into Sam's ribs. His head ached with the effort of it, but his eyes began to feel gritty with oncoming sleep. "Yes, sir."
"Oh, now see … you can be such a good boy, Dean. You're never going to win, so you don't need to fight me all the time. Everything will work out just fine as long as you keep being good, okay? Just like this. Are you going to be a good boy for me, Dean?"
"Yes, sir." Dean heard the defeat in his own voice, but he knew that still didn't mean he'd ever really stop fighting, stop trying to win this. He'd just have to keep that fight inside and stay alert enough to see the makings of an exit sign whenever they appeared.
"Go to sleep then."
Dean nodded, his eyelids heavy, and Sam nuzzled into him, kissing his hair.
"Oh, and … you won't be cutting your hair any time soon, by the way." Sam's voice was a low rumble, his lips brushing over Dean's ear. "I want something I can hold onto when I'm using you."
He didn't know why Sam's words made his cock twitch, but he let go of his worry as quickly as it came to him. And he whispered "yes, sir" as bone-deep fatigue pulled him down into sleep.
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
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