Dynamic Equilibrium - Part Five
5.
When Dean wakes up Monday morning, he’s surprised to see the green figures on the bedside clock displaying 10.08am. He can’t believe he slept through Gabriel getting up. Then again-Dean stretches and rolls onto his back-he’s feeling boneless and refreshed and very well-used, so it’s not really surprising he slept so soundly.
When Dean comes back into the bedroom after showering, the smell of sex almost knocks him on his ass. His dick hardens immediately and Dean scrambles to get the sheets off the bed and into the washing machine. And then he opens the windows and sprays a ton of air freshener around.
He spends most of the day studying for the GED social studies test and when there’s a knock on the front door in the middle of the afternoon he figures it’ll be the Demon Dom from across the road coming to demand an apology.
It isn’t.
It’s a couple of Doms in dark suits who immediately flash DoD badges at him, introducing themselves as Officers Diana Ballard and Pete Sheridan.
“Gabe’s not here,” Dean says.
“We know that, Dean,” says Officer Ballard. “We’re actually here to speak with you.”
Dean glances from one to the other, but can’t get any kind of a read on why they’re here.
“Uh, shouldn’t my Dom be here for that?” he stalls.
“Not for this interview,” Officer Sheridan says. “Show us inside please, Sub Winchester.”
Dean does so, reluctantly. He sits them at the kitchen table and takes a chair opposite them. He doesn’t offer them refreshments.
Officer Sheridan seems a little pissed that Dean didn’t kneel next to them on the floor. He exudes Dom pheromones and postures a lot; trying to stamp his dominance all over Gabriel’s kitchen. Dean watches him out of the corner of his eye while Officer Ballard explains that this is a routine visit to make sure that he’s settled in nicely with his Guardian Dom and isn’t having any problems.
Dean tells her that everything’s going great and Sheridan snorts. And yeah, okay, most Subs would probably say that even if things sucked; it’s not like the system is ever on their side; but Dean doesn’t quite believe that it’s concern for the well-being of a Sub that’s provoking Sheridan’s skepticism. The Dom confirms it when he asks a series of intrusive questions, seemingly fishing for evidence that Gabriel’s a weak, crappy Dom, not up to the job of managing a wayward Sub like Dean. Dean takes great pleasure in giving him excruciatingly intimate details of all the different ways Gabriel dominated him in bed over the weekend.
“I’m tellin’ you man,” he says, “if it was Gabe in that chair right now instead of you, I’d be on the floor, on my knees, just beggin’ to be allowed to suck him off.”
Sheridan’s face is an interesting shade of puce. He turns to his partner and mutters something about inspecting the property to make sure Dom Archangel is providing a suitable environment for his Sub.
“I don’t think Gabe would like you pokin’ around,” Dean says.
Sheridan throws a court order giving him permission to do so on the table in front of Dean and takes off.
“Sorry about that,” Ballard says. “They have history.”
“Maybe you should go with him?” Dean suggests. “Make sure he doesn’t plant something?”
Ballard wrinkles her nose and gives him a stony stare of disapproval, but she goes.
Dean goes back to his studying. When the officers let themselves out twenty minutes later, Dean uses his cell phone to call Gabriel. Gabriel reassures him that it’s perfectly routine for the DoD to conduct a private interview with a Sub under a new Guardianship Order and that while Pete Sheridan is, indeed, a douche-canoe, Diana Ballard is a good egg. Still, when Gabriel gets home (earlier than usual) Dean insists that they go through the house together, looking for anything that might’ve been planted.
“What’s the story with you two, anyway?” Dean asks as they work. “Ballard said you had ‘history’.”
Gabriel has a cherry Tootsie Pop wedged in his mouth and he sighs around it.
“Pete works out of the Custer County Garrison,” he says. “It’s Department policy for Guardianships set up by one Garrison to be inspected by another. It’s supposed to demonstrate transparency, but in reality the expectation is that we’ll just rubber stamp whatever our counterparts have set up. I’ve inspected a few placements that Pete set up and had to report them as unsuitable, which resulted in the Subs being removed. The Doms in question weren’t happy and neither was Pete.”
Dean freezes with his hand down the back of the sofa cushions.
“So those Doms who were here today, they can force me to leave you, if they don’t think you’re suitable, and put me with someone else?”
Gabriel shakes his head and explains that, contrary to popular belief, the DoD has to actually have grounds for a Removal, and, except in cases of dire emergency, the Removing Officer has to obtain a Court Order first.
Having assured himself that nothing is hidden in the sofa, Dean moves on to the book shelf. “What are the grounds for a Removal?” he asks.
Gabriel pulls a face. “Severe abuse or inadequate Guardianship.”
Severe abuse, Dean understands, although he wonders how ‘severe’ it has to be to qualify. He’s not quite sure what Gabriel means by inadequate Guardianship, so Gabriel explains that if Dean was living in Gabriel’s house, scoring and using Zero, going off on Hunts and not spending any time at all with Gabriel, then that would qualify as inadequate Guardianship and Dean would be removed.
Dean frowns. “So basically if a Guardian Dom’s too strict or too lenient, then the Sub’ll get Removed.”
At Gabriel’s nod, he makes a ‘huh’ sound and tilts his head thoughtfully. “What about bonded Subs,” he asks. “Do the same rules apply?”
Gabriel pulls another face. “In theory, yes. In practice,” he sighs. “When a Sub’s under a State Guardianship Order, responsibility for their welfare lies 100% with the State. When a Sub is bonded, responsibility for their welfare lies 100% with their Dom. Same deal when a Sub is under the Guardianship of a Dom from their family of origin or a private Guardianship arrangement set up by a Dom from their family of origin. Their Dom must, of course, obey the law, but anything that goes on behind closed doors is generally considered to be private family business and not the State’s concern. The Department is really reluctant to step in on issues of Dom Violence against Subs when it’s a family matter. They’ll usually step in if the Sub is breaking the law, but not so much if it’s the Dom.”
Dean snorts. “Figures,” he says. They work their way slowly through the downstairs area, before making their way upstairs.
“The last time I saw my Dad,” Dean says suddenly, “was my eighteenth birthday. He was talkin’ about bonding me off to some asswipe Hunting buddy of his,” he turns to Gabriel, his eyes wide with disgust. “Sounds like I did the right thing, getting the Hell outta Dodge. I reckon I’m a lot safer under a State Guardianship Order than I would be if I got bonded.”
He turns away to search under the bed for any planted evidence of Gabriel’s unsuitability and so he misses the brief look of sorrow that flashes across his Dom’s face.
“Unless you ended up in State, of course,” Gabriel mutters.
Dean frowns. “Yeah. Are those places really as bad as the rumors say?”
Gabriel slurps on his Tootsie Pop. “Yeah,” he says, “they are. The SRA has tried to get them closed down several times, but they’ve gotta tread carefully because a lot of very powerful people have a vested interest in keeping them running.”
By ‘powerful people’ he means Dom Lucien Archangel, eldest son of the DoD’s head honcho Dom Charles Archangel. Lucien runs all the State Homes for Wayward Subs and the word on the Sub grapevine is that those places are little more than hard core brothels; Hell on Earth, Dean once heard the facility in Minnesota described by a Sub who’d been bought from there and had then managed to escape from her new Dom. It’s illegal, of course, to sell people. The fact that the State Homes can do so with impunity speaks volumes of their power and Dean is really very grateful that he didn’t end up in one.
--
Dean spends his days studying for the GED, filling out questionnaires for Sam and looking for Hunts. He’s not Hunting himself; he’s not stupid; but he does call anything he finds in to Bobby. The first time he calls Bobby, the older Hunter is equal parts relieved and pissed.
“You idjit,” he says, “what kinda damn fool Sub single-handedly goes after an Incubus that’s targeting Subs!”
“Right,” Dean snarks, “cuz I should’ve just called the Hunters’ Guild and asked for backup. He was killing, Bobby, and he was escalating. Even if I called you, a couple more Subs, at least, would’ve died before you could send help.”
The older man sighs. “I know, I know. I just…I got that call from the DoD and…the thought that you could’ve ended up in State just makes my skin crawl.”
“Yeah, I lucked out, huh? Sam says he told you what happened.”
“Sam told me you got placed with some DoD Officer,” Bobby says the words DoD Officer the same way he says the words rotting corpse, and Dean can’t help laughing. “Is he treatin’ you right? You’re not gonna get into trouble for makin’ this call are you?”
“Gabe’s cool,” he says. And then, because he can’t help himself; because Bobby’s the closest thing he’s had to a father in eight years, he adds, “I really like him.”
Bobby is cautiously pleased for him and he doesn’t start treating Dean like his brain fell out, just because he’s happily submitting to a Dom.
After that, Dean calls him daily, whether he’s got news of a Hunt to pass on or not.
He calls Ellen too. Bobby had been hinting that maybe he should and then he outright told him that his former Guardian had been updated on his whereabouts and was expecting his call. It went better than Dean expected. Ellen gave him a good telling off and then cried. He promised to keep in contact and he does. He didn’t mention that Ash has had his email address the whole time. Ellen isn’t stupid though; she’s probably got a pretty good idea that it was Ash who removed Dean from the DoD Database.
He talks to Sam sometimes too, but they’re awkward with each other on the phone. Dean has an old, crappy ‘dumb’ phone that can’t do Face-time, but they’ve Face-timed using Gabriel’s phone. While it’s great to see the fit, healthy, good-looking-and huge-man his little brother has grown into, Sam always stares at the fat, ugly DoD collar around
Dean’s neck with disgust, which makes Dean feel really uncomfortable. Mostly they just exchange emails, which they’re both more comfortable with.
Truthfully, Dean’s a little worried about how things are going to go at Christmas. Sam is passionately vocal about Sub Rights and while Dean appreciates his support, he wishes Sam would spend less time telling him how he should feel and more time listening to Dean explaining how he does feel.
“He’s still young,” Gabriel says, when Dean complains to him about it. “He’s still having trouble with the reality of checking his Dom privilege and listening to Subs telling him how to be an ally, rather than just assuming that he’s the expert because he’s a Dom. I think we all struggle with the concept at first. But don’t worry, my br-” he’s overtaken by a coughing fit, “Dr Milton will sort him out. You only want to get smacked down for subconscious dynamicism once by that man, let me tell you.”
“I didn’t know you knew Dr Milton too,” Dean says.
Gabriel busies himself at the stove. “We are related, you know,” he says lightly.
Of course. Gabe’s a nephew of a nephew of a cousin or something. Dean often forgets that Gabriel is an Archangel; he’s not at all like the more high profile members of his family.
“And besides,” Gabe continues, “we’ve met professionally.”
Which makes sense, Dean supposes. Gabriel is a DoD officer who works the Sub Division of Enforcement and Corrections, of course he’s going to have interactions with the SRA. Still, distant family or not, for a low ranked officer like Gabriel to meet the head of the SRA is a pretty big deal. Or maybe Dr Milton is only a toweringly heroic figure if you’re a Sub. Or Sam.
“What do you think of him?” Dean asks.
Gabriel begins to plate their supper and Dean goes to the fridge and gets himself a beer, before pouring his Dom a glass of wine.
“He’s impressive,” Gabriel says, “I have a huge amount of respect for him and I like him a lot. His Dom is a very lucky woman.”
Oh. Dean plays with the label on his beer. “So ‘smart, nerdy, academic’ is your type, then?”
Gabriel stares at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, “which part of my dick constantly up your ass did you miss? If you haven’t figured out yet that you are exactly my type, then I’m obviously not fucking you hard enough or often enough.”
Dean squirms and wills his dick to go down.
“I’m not sexually interested in Dr Milton,” Gabriel says. “I just think that his Dom is incredibly privileged to have a Sub like him bonded to her,” he pauses, and then adds, “you’re actually very like him, Dean.”
Dean snorts. “I didn’t fight for my rights, I hid; pretended to be something I wasn’t. And I’m not smart.”
Gabriel sighs. “I’ve got a bunch of GED practice tests that say differently. Speaking of which, did you book to do the official tests yet?”
Dean tells him that he’s filled out the forms and intends to go in tomorrow.
“Do I need anything from you?” he asks.
“Nope,” says Gabriel. “But call me if they give you any trouble.”
--
Getting behind the wheel of his Baby again feels a little like going home. Dean slides in a Led Zeppelin cassette tape, cranks up the volume and puts Baby into drive. The curtains across the road twitch and Dean waves and smiles at the Demon Dom scowling at him through the gap in them. He revs his engine extra hard for good measure.
Because nowhere in Kearney is very far from anywhere else, it only takes Dean five minutes to drive to the GED Testing Center, which is located at the local Community College.
There’s a hot blonde Dom behind the reception desk. She takes a quick look at Dean, notes the leather jacket with the collar pulled up, the combat boots and the swagger, and gives him the respectful nod that one Dom gives to another. Her whole demeanor changes when he gets close enough for her to see his collar.
“Well, hello, Handsome,” she says, stripping him with her gaze while none-too-subtly scenting him. “Is there something you need?”
Dean suppresses an eye roll and wishes that Gabriel hadn’t thrown out his DomScent artificial pheromone spray. He gives the Dom his most charming, flirtatious smile.
“Yes, actually. I’d like to register for the GED.” He puts the completed registration form and his last High School transcript (which Gabe made the asshats down in Broken Arrow email to him) on the top of the reception desk.
The Dom peers up at the paperwork. “They’re very hard tests, Sweetie. You’ll need to enroll in a course of study first.”
“No I won’t,” Dean says. “I just need to sit the tests. How soon can I sit for them?”
The Dom looks at the paperwork dubiously. “Why the rush?” she asks. “Does your Dom know you’re here?”
“Look, lady, I just wanna book to sit the GED tests. I’ve got all the paperwork, I’ve got the fee. Let’s just get me booked in.”
The Dom sits back and folds her arms across her chest, frowning up at Dean with disapproval. “Now then, Sweetie,” she says, “that pushy attitude’s, not very sublike, is it?” She smiles patronisingly. “Why don’t we try that again, this time using our sublike manners?”
Dean has a brief fantasy where he reaches across the desk and grabs the smug Dom by her throat.
He could play the demure Sub here; make himself less visible, lower his expectations, let the Dom treat him as some kind of lesser, more childlike creature; and he’d probably be able to get the booking made.
Or he could fight for his right to equal treatment.
As soon as Dean had presented, his Dad had done a complete 180 in the way he treated his son, monitoring his every word and gesture, constantly on his back about posture, policing the way he dressed, calling him out all the freaking time for unsublike behavior. Not long after he presented Dean was sitting on the sofa one evening watching TV with Sammy. Dad came into the room and looked at Dean with such disapproval that Dean started cowering on the spot.
“Close your legs, Dean,” he said in a despairing voice. “I won’t have you shaming the family, Boy. I expect proper, sublike behaviour from you. Sitting with your legs spread is as good as issuing an invitation to a Dom to come and take you.”
The conversation was still running through Dean’s mind when his Dad started teaching him the Sub presentation positions, all of which required him to have his legs spread. Doms were pretty fucked up, Dean decided. They expected Subs to be demure and virginal and complete sluts, all at the same time.
Dean looks up at the receptionist and smiles.
“We could try it again,” he says, getting out his cell phone, “or we could call the local branch of the SRA, who I have on speed dial, and tell them that the GED Testing Center is breaking the law and refusing a Sub access to education.”
The Dom scowls and takes his paperwork. “The fee is $120.00,” she says.
Dean gets his wallet out and begins to count out the cash.
“We don’t take cash,” she says smugly. “Card payment only.”
“But…this is legal American tender!”
The Dom shrugs. “It’s company policy. The boss doesn’t want us carrying cash on the premises, for security reasons. Do you have a card?”
Dean used to have several, all in different names. Gabriel made him cut them all up.
He shakes his head and the Dom smiles; it’s a little too tight to be a triumphant smile, but it’s close. “Well then,” she says,
“I guess you’ll have to come back when you can bring your Dom in with you, along with their credit card.” She turns back to her computer monitor, dismissing him.
“Can you take a credit card payment over the phone?” Dean asks.
She sighs and tells him that they can, so Dean calls Gabriel. Last time he called Gabriel at work the DoD had just conducted a surprise interview and inspection and Dean had been pretty freaked, so the fact that Gabriel answers on the second ring and is obviously concerned for Dean’s welfare isn’t unexpected.
“Everything’s fine,” Dean reassures him. “I just need to borrow your credit card. Apparently the GED Testing Center doesn’t accept cold hard American cash. Downright un-American of them if you ask me, but it’s policy apparently…You don’t have to come down; you can just give it to them over the phone…Okay. Hang on.”
Dean turns to the receptionist. “My Dom wants to talk to you. His name’s Gabriel Archangel.”
The receptionist pales, just a little.
Dean listens to a satisfying chorus of ‘Yes sir, yes sir,’ from the receptionist and when she hangs up and gives him the phone back her smile is fake, but she’s nothing but polite to him from then on. He books to do the Math and Science tests the following Tuesday, the Writing and Reading tests the following Wednesday and the Social Studies test the following Thursday. Bookings made, Dean gathers up his receipts, his wallet and his cell phone and turns away from the desk.
“Make sure you give those receipts to your Dom,” the receptionist says.
Dean turns and gives her a small salute. “Thanks for your help, Sweetie,” he says.
Later that night, when Gabriel has Dean tied to their bed and is forcing orgasm after orgasm after orgasm out of him, he tells Dean how proud it makes him that Dean stood up for his rights.
--
Dean sits the GED tests. He thinks he did alright, but the results won’t be available for eight to ten weeks; possibly longer given that they’re coming up to the Holiday period.
Dean puts the GED out of his mind and concentrates on answering Sam’s questionnaires and helping Bobby do research for Hunters.
Dean hates research. It’ boring and it makes his trigger finger itchy, but at least it’s something productive he can do. If he can’t save people and hunt things himself, then at least he can help other Hunters to do it.
But he’s bored and he’s miserable and Gabriel notices right away.
He comes home from work one day and sits Dean down at the kitchen table. Dean’s mind has already strayed to handcuffs and whipped cream, so he’s thrown off balance completely when Gabriel says, “I had a long chat with Bobby Singer today.”
Dean wrenches his mind around from kinky sex on the kitchen table to ‘oh shit, am I in trouble?’
“I’m not Hunting,” he says. “I promised you I wouldn’t and I’m not.”
“I know,” Gabriel rubs a hand over his jaw. “But you want to Hunt and from what Bobby says, you’re damn good at it.”
Dean stares at his Dom, heart squeezing and shoulders tightening.
“I trust you, Dean,” Gabriel says, “right up until the point where there’s a Hunt close by, people are dying and nobody else can get there as fast as you. And then, you won’t give a damn about the law or yourself or the consequences, you’ll just go gank the monster and save the people.”
Dean drops his head, unable to meet Gabriel’s eyes, because it’s true. One day it’s going to happen. And he’s going to let his Dom down, even though he doesn’t want to, because his own conscience won’t let him do anything else.
“And in my heart of hearts,” Gabriel continues softly, “I won’t even be able think you did wrong.”
Dean raises his head slowly, his eyes uncertain.
“I don’t want you breaking the law, Dean,” Gabriel’s eyes are uncompromising. “The law sucks ass, but I can’t lose you to the system. I won’t. So,” he claps his hands together and grins wickedly. “We just have to change the law.”
“Oh,” says Dean. “Is that all?”
Gabriel tells him to call his brother. “Maybe he’d like to use his thesis to put the Hunters’ Guild under the microscope.”
All those questionnaires he’s filled in for Sammy float into Dean’s mind and the thrust of all the questions is suddenly blindingly obvious.
Back in Dean’s grandparents’ day, a Sub’s place had been in the home. End of story. No further correspondence will be entered into. Of course, there’d always been Subs working the streets, or in brothels, but the best a Sub could hope for back then as far as legitimate, respectable self-support was concerned was to be under the Guardianship of a Dom who was prepared to pay them a small wage for duties above and beyond standard home duties. Usually this was caring for the children in a household which had lost its Sub. Occasionally it was secretarial work for a businessdom who worked from home. Nowadays, in theory, a Sub could work any job he or she wanted to, provided they had the permission of their Dom. There were a lot of Subs in the workforce; mostly in the caring or service professions. The biggest problem was that the workforce was, well, dominated by Doms and had been for generations. All the positions of power were held by a Dom and the general attitude was that Subs simply weren’t up to some jobs; like anything that involved being in charge or having power. Sometimes a Sub did manage to break through the glass ceiling, but those Subs were always privileged in a host of other ways, such as Dr Milton who was a genius from a powerful, wealthy family.
The SRA had done great work over the last decade, getting Subs access to education without needing the permission of their Dom. They’d done great work getting legislation in place that prevented most workplaces from discriminating on the basis of dynamic.
But there wasn’t anything that legislation could do about entrenched attitudes, and those attitudes meant that where two candidates were the same in every way, except for their dynamic, inevitably it would be the Dom chosen for the role. And a lot of professions were exempt from the legislation.
The Hunters’ Guild is one of the oldest, most powerful guilds in the country. They are steeped in archaic tradition and they are exempt from discrimination legislation.
And Sammy? Sammy loathes them with a fiery passion. The Hunters’ Guild did their best recruiting in the aftermath of a supernaturally-caused death. The ashes of their home in Lawrence had still been hot when John Winchester had signed an employment contract with the Hunters’ Guild. Sam blamed the Guild for their nomadic lifestyle, for their father’s frequent absences and for his drinking; for their failure to have a normal life.
Dean’s cell phone is out of his pocket and he’s calling Sam before he’s even decided what he’s going to say.
Sam is pleased to hear from him and immediately begins to ask questions about one of the answers he’d given on the last questionnaire.
“Shut up for a minute,” Dean says and Sam immediately falls silent.
“Dean? What’s wrong?” he asks when the silence goes on too long.
“Are you going after the Hunters’ Guild?” Dean blurts.
Sam’s silence tells him everything he needs to know.
“You’re gonna stop,” Dean says. “Right now. Target the cops or the military instead. The Hunters have way too much power. They could turn up on your doorstep in the middle of the night and drag you off to the compound, tell everyone you’ve been turned. And by morning? You would be.”
The Hunters scare the crap out of Dean and not just because of Gordon. For all that Dean will happily impersonate a cop, the FBI or the NSA, he’s never been game to flash a fake Hunter’s license; he wouldn’t put it past them to have some kind of enchantment in place that would be able to tell and punish the fake Hunter accordingly.
Sam sighs. “All I’m doing is writing a thesis about labor laws and workplace discrimination,” he says. “But I’ve got Dr Milton’s backing and yes, the SRA are going to use it as a springboard to launch a new campaign. And yes, we’ll be targeting the Hunters’ Guild. But Dean, it’s highly unlikely that they’d go after me, especially if they’re already in the spotlight. It’d be easier for them to overturn their ban on Subs working as Hunters and then just practice the same kind of quiet discrimination that everyone else does.”
Dean frowns. “Well how does that help then?”
“A-Rome wasn’t built in a day, we’ve gotta take baby steps. And B-when they decide that they’re gonna start allowing Subs into the Hunters’ Guild, someone’s gotta be first. And no one would be a better first than you.”
Dean flicks his eyes up to Gabriel and then rubs a hand across his jaw “So…you’re doing this for me?”
Across from him, Gabriel rolls his eyes and gives him a ‘well duh’ look. Dean suspects Gabriel might have had a good idea what Sammy was up to all along, and just wanted Dean to get with the program.
“Dean,” Sammy’s voice is deadly serious. “Hang up. I’m gonna Face-time you on Gabriel’s phone. I need to be looking at you when I say this.”
Sam hangs up. Gabriel’s cell phone rings before Dean can freak out too much.
He crosses to sit next to Gabriel and looks at Sam’s earnest, puppy dog expression with foreboding.
“Man, I'm telling you, give me five minutes with some clippers,” he says, trying to diffuse the tension he’s feeling.
Sam pulls a face and runs a hand through his long bangs. “I don’t remember Mom,” he says abruptly. “And Dad was absent for most of my first ten years. And I don’t mean physically-although he left us alone a lot more than he should have-more that he was emotionally absent. He made no attempt to parent you and he abdicated parenting me to you. Until you presented and then he was on your back all the time; it was like miraculously, overnight, you suddenly weren’t competent any more, and I just didn’t understand it. And then, suddenly, you were gone. He just dumped you at Ellen’s place and I never saw you again,” Sam looks like he’s about to cry and Dean shifts uncomfortably. Sam takes a deep breath, clearly making an effort to rein in the obvious emotion. “You were everything to me,” he says quietly. “Mom, Dad, Dom, Sub. Everything. And as soon as you were no use to him as a Hunter, he abandoned you. You know what he used to say to me, Dean? After I presented? ‘It should’ve been you, Sammy, you should’ve been the Sub. At least your brother wanted to Hunt.’” Sam blinks back tears. “If I can right that wrong, if I can give you Hunting, then maybe, in some small way, it makes up for me having all the choices that you wanted, but didn’t get.”
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Back to Masterpost
When Dean wakes up Monday morning, he’s surprised to see the green figures on the bedside clock displaying 10.08am. He can’t believe he slept through Gabriel getting up. Then again-Dean stretches and rolls onto his back-he’s feeling boneless and refreshed and very well-used, so it’s not really surprising he slept so soundly.
When Dean comes back into the bedroom after showering, the smell of sex almost knocks him on his ass. His dick hardens immediately and Dean scrambles to get the sheets off the bed and into the washing machine. And then he opens the windows and sprays a ton of air freshener around.
He spends most of the day studying for the GED social studies test and when there’s a knock on the front door in the middle of the afternoon he figures it’ll be the Demon Dom from across the road coming to demand an apology.
It isn’t.
It’s a couple of Doms in dark suits who immediately flash DoD badges at him, introducing themselves as Officers Diana Ballard and Pete Sheridan.
“Gabe’s not here,” Dean says.
“We know that, Dean,” says Officer Ballard. “We’re actually here to speak with you.”
Dean glances from one to the other, but can’t get any kind of a read on why they’re here.
“Uh, shouldn’t my Dom be here for that?” he stalls.
“Not for this interview,” Officer Sheridan says. “Show us inside please, Sub Winchester.”
Dean does so, reluctantly. He sits them at the kitchen table and takes a chair opposite them. He doesn’t offer them refreshments.
Officer Sheridan seems a little pissed that Dean didn’t kneel next to them on the floor. He exudes Dom pheromones and postures a lot; trying to stamp his dominance all over Gabriel’s kitchen. Dean watches him out of the corner of his eye while Officer Ballard explains that this is a routine visit to make sure that he’s settled in nicely with his Guardian Dom and isn’t having any problems.
Dean tells her that everything’s going great and Sheridan snorts. And yeah, okay, most Subs would probably say that even if things sucked; it’s not like the system is ever on their side; but Dean doesn’t quite believe that it’s concern for the well-being of a Sub that’s provoking Sheridan’s skepticism. The Dom confirms it when he asks a series of intrusive questions, seemingly fishing for evidence that Gabriel’s a weak, crappy Dom, not up to the job of managing a wayward Sub like Dean. Dean takes great pleasure in giving him excruciatingly intimate details of all the different ways Gabriel dominated him in bed over the weekend.
“I’m tellin’ you man,” he says, “if it was Gabe in that chair right now instead of you, I’d be on the floor, on my knees, just beggin’ to be allowed to suck him off.”
Sheridan’s face is an interesting shade of puce. He turns to his partner and mutters something about inspecting the property to make sure Dom Archangel is providing a suitable environment for his Sub.
“I don’t think Gabe would like you pokin’ around,” Dean says.
Sheridan throws a court order giving him permission to do so on the table in front of Dean and takes off.
“Sorry about that,” Ballard says. “They have history.”
“Maybe you should go with him?” Dean suggests. “Make sure he doesn’t plant something?”
Ballard wrinkles her nose and gives him a stony stare of disapproval, but she goes.
Dean goes back to his studying. When the officers let themselves out twenty minutes later, Dean uses his cell phone to call Gabriel. Gabriel reassures him that it’s perfectly routine for the DoD to conduct a private interview with a Sub under a new Guardianship Order and that while Pete Sheridan is, indeed, a douche-canoe, Diana Ballard is a good egg. Still, when Gabriel gets home (earlier than usual) Dean insists that they go through the house together, looking for anything that might’ve been planted.
“What’s the story with you two, anyway?” Dean asks as they work. “Ballard said you had ‘history’.”
Gabriel has a cherry Tootsie Pop wedged in his mouth and he sighs around it.
“Pete works out of the Custer County Garrison,” he says. “It’s Department policy for Guardianships set up by one Garrison to be inspected by another. It’s supposed to demonstrate transparency, but in reality the expectation is that we’ll just rubber stamp whatever our counterparts have set up. I’ve inspected a few placements that Pete set up and had to report them as unsuitable, which resulted in the Subs being removed. The Doms in question weren’t happy and neither was Pete.”
Dean freezes with his hand down the back of the sofa cushions.
“So those Doms who were here today, they can force me to leave you, if they don’t think you’re suitable, and put me with someone else?”
Gabriel shakes his head and explains that, contrary to popular belief, the DoD has to actually have grounds for a Removal, and, except in cases of dire emergency, the Removing Officer has to obtain a Court Order first.
Having assured himself that nothing is hidden in the sofa, Dean moves on to the book shelf. “What are the grounds for a Removal?” he asks.
Gabriel pulls a face. “Severe abuse or inadequate Guardianship.”
Severe abuse, Dean understands, although he wonders how ‘severe’ it has to be to qualify. He’s not quite sure what Gabriel means by inadequate Guardianship, so Gabriel explains that if Dean was living in Gabriel’s house, scoring and using Zero, going off on Hunts and not spending any time at all with Gabriel, then that would qualify as inadequate Guardianship and Dean would be removed.
Dean frowns. “So basically if a Guardian Dom’s too strict or too lenient, then the Sub’ll get Removed.”
At Gabriel’s nod, he makes a ‘huh’ sound and tilts his head thoughtfully. “What about bonded Subs,” he asks. “Do the same rules apply?”
Gabriel pulls another face. “In theory, yes. In practice,” he sighs. “When a Sub’s under a State Guardianship Order, responsibility for their welfare lies 100% with the State. When a Sub is bonded, responsibility for their welfare lies 100% with their Dom. Same deal when a Sub is under the Guardianship of a Dom from their family of origin or a private Guardianship arrangement set up by a Dom from their family of origin. Their Dom must, of course, obey the law, but anything that goes on behind closed doors is generally considered to be private family business and not the State’s concern. The Department is really reluctant to step in on issues of Dom Violence against Subs when it’s a family matter. They’ll usually step in if the Sub is breaking the law, but not so much if it’s the Dom.”
Dean snorts. “Figures,” he says. They work their way slowly through the downstairs area, before making their way upstairs.
“The last time I saw my Dad,” Dean says suddenly, “was my eighteenth birthday. He was talkin’ about bonding me off to some asswipe Hunting buddy of his,” he turns to Gabriel, his eyes wide with disgust. “Sounds like I did the right thing, getting the Hell outta Dodge. I reckon I’m a lot safer under a State Guardianship Order than I would be if I got bonded.”
He turns away to search under the bed for any planted evidence of Gabriel’s unsuitability and so he misses the brief look of sorrow that flashes across his Dom’s face.
“Unless you ended up in State, of course,” Gabriel mutters.
Dean frowns. “Yeah. Are those places really as bad as the rumors say?”
Gabriel slurps on his Tootsie Pop. “Yeah,” he says, “they are. The SRA has tried to get them closed down several times, but they’ve gotta tread carefully because a lot of very powerful people have a vested interest in keeping them running.”
By ‘powerful people’ he means Dom Lucien Archangel, eldest son of the DoD’s head honcho Dom Charles Archangel. Lucien runs all the State Homes for Wayward Subs and the word on the Sub grapevine is that those places are little more than hard core brothels; Hell on Earth, Dean once heard the facility in Minnesota described by a Sub who’d been bought from there and had then managed to escape from her new Dom. It’s illegal, of course, to sell people. The fact that the State Homes can do so with impunity speaks volumes of their power and Dean is really very grateful that he didn’t end up in one.
--
Dean spends his days studying for the GED, filling out questionnaires for Sam and looking for Hunts. He’s not Hunting himself; he’s not stupid; but he does call anything he finds in to Bobby. The first time he calls Bobby, the older Hunter is equal parts relieved and pissed.
“You idjit,” he says, “what kinda damn fool Sub single-handedly goes after an Incubus that’s targeting Subs!”
“Right,” Dean snarks, “cuz I should’ve just called the Hunters’ Guild and asked for backup. He was killing, Bobby, and he was escalating. Even if I called you, a couple more Subs, at least, would’ve died before you could send help.”
The older man sighs. “I know, I know. I just…I got that call from the DoD and…the thought that you could’ve ended up in State just makes my skin crawl.”
“Yeah, I lucked out, huh? Sam says he told you what happened.”
“Sam told me you got placed with some DoD Officer,” Bobby says the words DoD Officer the same way he says the words rotting corpse, and Dean can’t help laughing. “Is he treatin’ you right? You’re not gonna get into trouble for makin’ this call are you?”
“Gabe’s cool,” he says. And then, because he can’t help himself; because Bobby’s the closest thing he’s had to a father in eight years, he adds, “I really like him.”
Bobby is cautiously pleased for him and he doesn’t start treating Dean like his brain fell out, just because he’s happily submitting to a Dom.
After that, Dean calls him daily, whether he’s got news of a Hunt to pass on or not.
He calls Ellen too. Bobby had been hinting that maybe he should and then he outright told him that his former Guardian had been updated on his whereabouts and was expecting his call. It went better than Dean expected. Ellen gave him a good telling off and then cried. He promised to keep in contact and he does. He didn’t mention that Ash has had his email address the whole time. Ellen isn’t stupid though; she’s probably got a pretty good idea that it was Ash who removed Dean from the DoD Database.
He talks to Sam sometimes too, but they’re awkward with each other on the phone. Dean has an old, crappy ‘dumb’ phone that can’t do Face-time, but they’ve Face-timed using Gabriel’s phone. While it’s great to see the fit, healthy, good-looking-and huge-man his little brother has grown into, Sam always stares at the fat, ugly DoD collar around
Dean’s neck with disgust, which makes Dean feel really uncomfortable. Mostly they just exchange emails, which they’re both more comfortable with.
Truthfully, Dean’s a little worried about how things are going to go at Christmas. Sam is passionately vocal about Sub Rights and while Dean appreciates his support, he wishes Sam would spend less time telling him how he should feel and more time listening to Dean explaining how he does feel.
“He’s still young,” Gabriel says, when Dean complains to him about it. “He’s still having trouble with the reality of checking his Dom privilege and listening to Subs telling him how to be an ally, rather than just assuming that he’s the expert because he’s a Dom. I think we all struggle with the concept at first. But don’t worry, my br-” he’s overtaken by a coughing fit, “Dr Milton will sort him out. You only want to get smacked down for subconscious dynamicism once by that man, let me tell you.”
“I didn’t know you knew Dr Milton too,” Dean says.
Gabriel busies himself at the stove. “We are related, you know,” he says lightly.
Of course. Gabe’s a nephew of a nephew of a cousin or something. Dean often forgets that Gabriel is an Archangel; he’s not at all like the more high profile members of his family.
“And besides,” Gabe continues, “we’ve met professionally.”
Which makes sense, Dean supposes. Gabriel is a DoD officer who works the Sub Division of Enforcement and Corrections, of course he’s going to have interactions with the SRA. Still, distant family or not, for a low ranked officer like Gabriel to meet the head of the SRA is a pretty big deal. Or maybe Dr Milton is only a toweringly heroic figure if you’re a Sub. Or Sam.
“What do you think of him?” Dean asks.
Gabriel begins to plate their supper and Dean goes to the fridge and gets himself a beer, before pouring his Dom a glass of wine.
“He’s impressive,” Gabriel says, “I have a huge amount of respect for him and I like him a lot. His Dom is a very lucky woman.”
Oh. Dean plays with the label on his beer. “So ‘smart, nerdy, academic’ is your type, then?”
Gabriel stares at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, “which part of my dick constantly up your ass did you miss? If you haven’t figured out yet that you are exactly my type, then I’m obviously not fucking you hard enough or often enough.”
Dean squirms and wills his dick to go down.
“I’m not sexually interested in Dr Milton,” Gabriel says. “I just think that his Dom is incredibly privileged to have a Sub like him bonded to her,” he pauses, and then adds, “you’re actually very like him, Dean.”
Dean snorts. “I didn’t fight for my rights, I hid; pretended to be something I wasn’t. And I’m not smart.”
Gabriel sighs. “I’ve got a bunch of GED practice tests that say differently. Speaking of which, did you book to do the official tests yet?”
Dean tells him that he’s filled out the forms and intends to go in tomorrow.
“Do I need anything from you?” he asks.
“Nope,” says Gabriel. “But call me if they give you any trouble.”
--
Getting behind the wheel of his Baby again feels a little like going home. Dean slides in a Led Zeppelin cassette tape, cranks up the volume and puts Baby into drive. The curtains across the road twitch and Dean waves and smiles at the Demon Dom scowling at him through the gap in them. He revs his engine extra hard for good measure.
Because nowhere in Kearney is very far from anywhere else, it only takes Dean five minutes to drive to the GED Testing Center, which is located at the local Community College.
There’s a hot blonde Dom behind the reception desk. She takes a quick look at Dean, notes the leather jacket with the collar pulled up, the combat boots and the swagger, and gives him the respectful nod that one Dom gives to another. Her whole demeanor changes when he gets close enough for her to see his collar.
“Well, hello, Handsome,” she says, stripping him with her gaze while none-too-subtly scenting him. “Is there something you need?”
Dean suppresses an eye roll and wishes that Gabriel hadn’t thrown out his DomScent artificial pheromone spray. He gives the Dom his most charming, flirtatious smile.
“Yes, actually. I’d like to register for the GED.” He puts the completed registration form and his last High School transcript (which Gabe made the asshats down in Broken Arrow email to him) on the top of the reception desk.
The Dom peers up at the paperwork. “They’re very hard tests, Sweetie. You’ll need to enroll in a course of study first.”
“No I won’t,” Dean says. “I just need to sit the tests. How soon can I sit for them?”
The Dom looks at the paperwork dubiously. “Why the rush?” she asks. “Does your Dom know you’re here?”
“Look, lady, I just wanna book to sit the GED tests. I’ve got all the paperwork, I’ve got the fee. Let’s just get me booked in.”
The Dom sits back and folds her arms across her chest, frowning up at Dean with disapproval. “Now then, Sweetie,” she says, “that pushy attitude’s, not very sublike, is it?” She smiles patronisingly. “Why don’t we try that again, this time using our sublike manners?”
Dean has a brief fantasy where he reaches across the desk and grabs the smug Dom by her throat.
He could play the demure Sub here; make himself less visible, lower his expectations, let the Dom treat him as some kind of lesser, more childlike creature; and he’d probably be able to get the booking made.
Or he could fight for his right to equal treatment.
As soon as Dean had presented, his Dad had done a complete 180 in the way he treated his son, monitoring his every word and gesture, constantly on his back about posture, policing the way he dressed, calling him out all the freaking time for unsublike behavior. Not long after he presented Dean was sitting on the sofa one evening watching TV with Sammy. Dad came into the room and looked at Dean with such disapproval that Dean started cowering on the spot.
“Close your legs, Dean,” he said in a despairing voice. “I won’t have you shaming the family, Boy. I expect proper, sublike behaviour from you. Sitting with your legs spread is as good as issuing an invitation to a Dom to come and take you.”
The conversation was still running through Dean’s mind when his Dad started teaching him the Sub presentation positions, all of which required him to have his legs spread. Doms were pretty fucked up, Dean decided. They expected Subs to be demure and virginal and complete sluts, all at the same time.
Dean looks up at the receptionist and smiles.
“We could try it again,” he says, getting out his cell phone, “or we could call the local branch of the SRA, who I have on speed dial, and tell them that the GED Testing Center is breaking the law and refusing a Sub access to education.”
The Dom scowls and takes his paperwork. “The fee is $120.00,” she says.
Dean gets his wallet out and begins to count out the cash.
“We don’t take cash,” she says smugly. “Card payment only.”
“But…this is legal American tender!”
The Dom shrugs. “It’s company policy. The boss doesn’t want us carrying cash on the premises, for security reasons. Do you have a card?”
Dean used to have several, all in different names. Gabriel made him cut them all up.
He shakes his head and the Dom smiles; it’s a little too tight to be a triumphant smile, but it’s close. “Well then,” she says,
“I guess you’ll have to come back when you can bring your Dom in with you, along with their credit card.” She turns back to her computer monitor, dismissing him.
“Can you take a credit card payment over the phone?” Dean asks.
She sighs and tells him that they can, so Dean calls Gabriel. Last time he called Gabriel at work the DoD had just conducted a surprise interview and inspection and Dean had been pretty freaked, so the fact that Gabriel answers on the second ring and is obviously concerned for Dean’s welfare isn’t unexpected.
“Everything’s fine,” Dean reassures him. “I just need to borrow your credit card. Apparently the GED Testing Center doesn’t accept cold hard American cash. Downright un-American of them if you ask me, but it’s policy apparently…You don’t have to come down; you can just give it to them over the phone…Okay. Hang on.”
Dean turns to the receptionist. “My Dom wants to talk to you. His name’s Gabriel Archangel.”
The receptionist pales, just a little.
Dean listens to a satisfying chorus of ‘Yes sir, yes sir,’ from the receptionist and when she hangs up and gives him the phone back her smile is fake, but she’s nothing but polite to him from then on. He books to do the Math and Science tests the following Tuesday, the Writing and Reading tests the following Wednesday and the Social Studies test the following Thursday. Bookings made, Dean gathers up his receipts, his wallet and his cell phone and turns away from the desk.
“Make sure you give those receipts to your Dom,” the receptionist says.
Dean turns and gives her a small salute. “Thanks for your help, Sweetie,” he says.
Later that night, when Gabriel has Dean tied to their bed and is forcing orgasm after orgasm after orgasm out of him, he tells Dean how proud it makes him that Dean stood up for his rights.
--
Dean sits the GED tests. He thinks he did alright, but the results won’t be available for eight to ten weeks; possibly longer given that they’re coming up to the Holiday period.
Dean puts the GED out of his mind and concentrates on answering Sam’s questionnaires and helping Bobby do research for Hunters.
Dean hates research. It’ boring and it makes his trigger finger itchy, but at least it’s something productive he can do. If he can’t save people and hunt things himself, then at least he can help other Hunters to do it.
But he’s bored and he’s miserable and Gabriel notices right away.
He comes home from work one day and sits Dean down at the kitchen table. Dean’s mind has already strayed to handcuffs and whipped cream, so he’s thrown off balance completely when Gabriel says, “I had a long chat with Bobby Singer today.”
Dean wrenches his mind around from kinky sex on the kitchen table to ‘oh shit, am I in trouble?’
“I’m not Hunting,” he says. “I promised you I wouldn’t and I’m not.”
“I know,” Gabriel rubs a hand over his jaw. “But you want to Hunt and from what Bobby says, you’re damn good at it.”
Dean stares at his Dom, heart squeezing and shoulders tightening.
“I trust you, Dean,” Gabriel says, “right up until the point where there’s a Hunt close by, people are dying and nobody else can get there as fast as you. And then, you won’t give a damn about the law or yourself or the consequences, you’ll just go gank the monster and save the people.”
Dean drops his head, unable to meet Gabriel’s eyes, because it’s true. One day it’s going to happen. And he’s going to let his Dom down, even though he doesn’t want to, because his own conscience won’t let him do anything else.
“And in my heart of hearts,” Gabriel continues softly, “I won’t even be able think you did wrong.”
Dean raises his head slowly, his eyes uncertain.
“I don’t want you breaking the law, Dean,” Gabriel’s eyes are uncompromising. “The law sucks ass, but I can’t lose you to the system. I won’t. So,” he claps his hands together and grins wickedly. “We just have to change the law.”
“Oh,” says Dean. “Is that all?”
Gabriel tells him to call his brother. “Maybe he’d like to use his thesis to put the Hunters’ Guild under the microscope.”
All those questionnaires he’s filled in for Sammy float into Dean’s mind and the thrust of all the questions is suddenly blindingly obvious.
Back in Dean’s grandparents’ day, a Sub’s place had been in the home. End of story. No further correspondence will be entered into. Of course, there’d always been Subs working the streets, or in brothels, but the best a Sub could hope for back then as far as legitimate, respectable self-support was concerned was to be under the Guardianship of a Dom who was prepared to pay them a small wage for duties above and beyond standard home duties. Usually this was caring for the children in a household which had lost its Sub. Occasionally it was secretarial work for a businessdom who worked from home. Nowadays, in theory, a Sub could work any job he or she wanted to, provided they had the permission of their Dom. There were a lot of Subs in the workforce; mostly in the caring or service professions. The biggest problem was that the workforce was, well, dominated by Doms and had been for generations. All the positions of power were held by a Dom and the general attitude was that Subs simply weren’t up to some jobs; like anything that involved being in charge or having power. Sometimes a Sub did manage to break through the glass ceiling, but those Subs were always privileged in a host of other ways, such as Dr Milton who was a genius from a powerful, wealthy family.
The SRA had done great work over the last decade, getting Subs access to education without needing the permission of their Dom. They’d done great work getting legislation in place that prevented most workplaces from discriminating on the basis of dynamic.
But there wasn’t anything that legislation could do about entrenched attitudes, and those attitudes meant that where two candidates were the same in every way, except for their dynamic, inevitably it would be the Dom chosen for the role. And a lot of professions were exempt from the legislation.
The Hunters’ Guild is one of the oldest, most powerful guilds in the country. They are steeped in archaic tradition and they are exempt from discrimination legislation.
And Sammy? Sammy loathes them with a fiery passion. The Hunters’ Guild did their best recruiting in the aftermath of a supernaturally-caused death. The ashes of their home in Lawrence had still been hot when John Winchester had signed an employment contract with the Hunters’ Guild. Sam blamed the Guild for their nomadic lifestyle, for their father’s frequent absences and for his drinking; for their failure to have a normal life.
Dean’s cell phone is out of his pocket and he’s calling Sam before he’s even decided what he’s going to say.
Sam is pleased to hear from him and immediately begins to ask questions about one of the answers he’d given on the last questionnaire.
“Shut up for a minute,” Dean says and Sam immediately falls silent.
“Dean? What’s wrong?” he asks when the silence goes on too long.
“Are you going after the Hunters’ Guild?” Dean blurts.
Sam’s silence tells him everything he needs to know.
“You’re gonna stop,” Dean says. “Right now. Target the cops or the military instead. The Hunters have way too much power. They could turn up on your doorstep in the middle of the night and drag you off to the compound, tell everyone you’ve been turned. And by morning? You would be.”
The Hunters scare the crap out of Dean and not just because of Gordon. For all that Dean will happily impersonate a cop, the FBI or the NSA, he’s never been game to flash a fake Hunter’s license; he wouldn’t put it past them to have some kind of enchantment in place that would be able to tell and punish the fake Hunter accordingly.
Sam sighs. “All I’m doing is writing a thesis about labor laws and workplace discrimination,” he says. “But I’ve got Dr Milton’s backing and yes, the SRA are going to use it as a springboard to launch a new campaign. And yes, we’ll be targeting the Hunters’ Guild. But Dean, it’s highly unlikely that they’d go after me, especially if they’re already in the spotlight. It’d be easier for them to overturn their ban on Subs working as Hunters and then just practice the same kind of quiet discrimination that everyone else does.”
Dean frowns. “Well how does that help then?”
“A-Rome wasn’t built in a day, we’ve gotta take baby steps. And B-when they decide that they’re gonna start allowing Subs into the Hunters’ Guild, someone’s gotta be first. And no one would be a better first than you.”
Dean flicks his eyes up to Gabriel and then rubs a hand across his jaw “So…you’re doing this for me?”
Across from him, Gabriel rolls his eyes and gives him a ‘well duh’ look. Dean suspects Gabriel might have had a good idea what Sammy was up to all along, and just wanted Dean to get with the program.
“Dean,” Sammy’s voice is deadly serious. “Hang up. I’m gonna Face-time you on Gabriel’s phone. I need to be looking at you when I say this.”
Sam hangs up. Gabriel’s cell phone rings before Dean can freak out too much.
He crosses to sit next to Gabriel and looks at Sam’s earnest, puppy dog expression with foreboding.
“Man, I'm telling you, give me five minutes with some clippers,” he says, trying to diffuse the tension he’s feeling.
Sam pulls a face and runs a hand through his long bangs. “I don’t remember Mom,” he says abruptly. “And Dad was absent for most of my first ten years. And I don’t mean physically-although he left us alone a lot more than he should have-more that he was emotionally absent. He made no attempt to parent you and he abdicated parenting me to you. Until you presented and then he was on your back all the time; it was like miraculously, overnight, you suddenly weren’t competent any more, and I just didn’t understand it. And then, suddenly, you were gone. He just dumped you at Ellen’s place and I never saw you again,” Sam looks like he’s about to cry and Dean shifts uncomfortably. Sam takes a deep breath, clearly making an effort to rein in the obvious emotion. “You were everything to me,” he says quietly. “Mom, Dad, Dom, Sub. Everything. And as soon as you were no use to him as a Hunter, he abandoned you. You know what he used to say to me, Dean? After I presented? ‘It should’ve been you, Sammy, you should’ve been the Sub. At least your brother wanted to Hunt.’” Sam blinks back tears. “If I can right that wrong, if I can give you Hunting, then maybe, in some small way, it makes up for me having all the choices that you wanted, but didn’t get.”
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