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Prime – Prologue


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Sam lay on his belly; every inch of his body hurt. He groaned as consciousness returned and rolled to his side as quickly as his spinning head allowed. Nausea forced what little there was in his stomach out onto the concrete floor.

He wiped his mouth and fell exhausted onto his back, staring up at the concrete ceiling of the Training Cell. In the windowless gloom of the room he couldn’t tell what time it was, hell he didn’t know how long he’d even been there. Right now he was too weak to even care that he was lying naked near a puddle of his own bile, and his mouth felt like a latrine. It had been a long week, a longer four months or was it closer to five? It was hard to keep track of time here in the pens; they played tricks with the lighting and meals—all part of the ‘breaking’ process, he thought wryly. 

His ‘training’ had ramped up these last few weeks and in spite of his plans to lay low, suck it up, and get with the program, his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own and kept getting him in trouble. He had to find a way to give them what they wanted and still keep something of himself intact. If he could make it to the auction block without the trainers actually breaking him, then he’d have a chance at escape, but so far, things seemed to have only gone badly.

He gingerly sat up, the chains attached to his wrists and ankles chained him securely to the floor; there was enough slack for him to lie flat on the concrete or lean against the nearby cell wall, but that’s it. He didn't have the range to stand, certainly can’t make it to the prison style toilet mounted on the far wall of the cell. At least if it came to that he could aim for the corner – the one big benefit of being a guy. He let out a short, bitter laugh that echoed in the clammy cell.

He huddled his knees close to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, shivering in the damp. He felt sick to his stomach and hungry at the same time – how did that work? He was always hungry here; they never fed them enough, and he knew he was becoming gaunt. After a couple of months of deprivation, he could see it in his wrists as they thinned out, still not enough to slip the black Plasticrete bracelets off them, but certainly looser than when they first sealed them on. 

Being naked all the time was probably one of the worst things though; he felt so vulnerable and not in any kind of sexy way. And then there was the was never quiet in the pens; there was always screaming and sounds of pain. Sometimes Sam would curl up into a ball and cover his ears, but he could never block it entirely out; he could still hear it.

The whip marks down his back twinged as he changed position and leaned back against the wall. He’d always known new slaves were taken away for training when they turned sixteen, but he didn’t know the true horror show of what that entailed, not until now. His head dipped in exhaustion, and he gave in to the impulse to drop it to his arms as he rested them on his knees. 

He wanted his life back, wanted his dad back, wanted the god damn glow on his traitorous arm to go out for good. He bit back a sob, none of those things were going to happen. His luck had run out in Chesterton.

He and his dad had been on a hunt for a rugaru. It had been tearing up the community and local cops were mystified by the half-eaten remains, so it was time for a State-sanctioned hunter to step in, and John Winchester was that man. It all seemed to be going well until it wasn’t.

He heard the training cell door rattle and tried to school his features to blankness as the door swung open. As the guard walked in, he tried to suppress the trickle of fear that ran through him. The guard, Trent…Master Trent, was just a bit taller than Sam’s 6’4, but outweighed him by 60 pounds, easy. Sam thought he might have been a linebacker back in the day. Now he was just a solid wall of sadistic muscle fixated on breaking Sam.

Sam kept his head down and resisted the urge to try and crawl away. He waited for the shit to hit the fan.

“Position, slave. You know the score, or do I have to beat you again? You know I love beating you. Did you really think that defending that bit of tail was worth it? She wouldn’t return the favor,” Trent offered companionably as he strode into the cell, his ever present flogger tapping against his booted leg.

Sam swallowed and considered his options. There really weren’t any; there was defiance or obedience. Sam just couldn’t stomach obedience to a bully and rapist at the best of times and these weren’t them. Maybe his standards were too high, certainly a dangerous thing in the pens. He catalogued his list of injuries and figured, what the hell, he could take a little more. He turned his head to the left and spit, directed it at the puddle of vomit on the floor that resulted in a satisfying splash against Trent’s pressed pant leg. He stared up at the guard defiantly.

“Fuck you, Trent.”

The guard grabbed Sam by the collar. He half picked him up off the floor by it and whispered in his ear, “So it’s gonna be like that, is it? Good. You older ones are always more trouble. Gonna be a long day for you, boy. First, I’m gonna beat you raw, then I’m gonna fuck you till you bleed.” 

Trent dropped Sam back on the concrete floor. Sam struggled feebly and tried to kick out at the guard, but his feet couldn’t reach in their chains. All he could do was stay plastered against the cell wall as Trent raised the flogger and began to strike him repeatedly.

Sam curled up in an attempt to protect his tender ribs and groin, but the leather straps fell relentlessly across his squirming body, and soon he was a writhing, aching mass. His back and sides were screaming lines of fire. He tried to crawl further away from the guard, but the chains kept him tethered in place. He bit his lip to hold back the cries that threatened and could feel consciousness begin to slip as Trent laid more strokes across his side. He knew he wasn’t far from screaming.

“Prime! Hold.” 

Sam felt the flogger pause in its work as the order rang out in the training cell. Sam let his rigid body fold the remaining inch or two to collapse, huddled against the wall. He tried not to black out as the pain rippled through him, and he trembled from the adrenaline surge and pain. 

“Stop playing with it and get it to training. You can’t rise to the bait every time a stubborn sec yanks your chain; you’ll end up killing it, and that’s gonna come out of your pay,” the other voice said matter-of-factly.

Sam was grabbed by the collar and dragged out from the wall to lay full length on the floor. As he lay there limp and unresisting, he felt the chains unlocked from his bracelets. 

“Drag it if it can’t walk, but get it to training. And I’ll be speaking with you later.”

From where he lay on the floor, Sam cracked open an exhausted eye and confirmed that the speaker was the head trainer for his section, Gordon. Gordon was a brutal son of a bitch, but he was fair-ish. Rumor among the slaves was that he was a retired hunter. A hunt gone wrong, resulting in a bum leg, had forced him to retire from the life early, and he’d landed here as head trainer of the Center’s Pens. He was at least a cut above Trent.

“Yes sir, will do, I just promised it something before we left here is all.”

Gordon shook his head impatiently and strode out of the cell.

Sam felt himself being dragged to the punishment bench in the corner of the cell. He choked and clawed weakly at the hands on his collar but soon found himself draped kneeling over the bench as Trent attached his manacles to the chains on the each side of the bench. 

Sam kicked out, but Trent leaned down and said, “Uh, uh, none of that, boy,” as he forced the ball gag between Sam’s teeth. “I’d love to hear you scream, but you’ll probably just say something else to piss me off, and I’ll end up beating your ass more than you can take.” 

He heard Trent unzip his pants and pull his dick out.

Sam struggled and cursed behind his gag as the man pulled apart his ass cheeks and lined himself up with Sam’s already puffy and abused hole. He rammed himself in, and Sam screamed behind the ball gag at the rough entry. Uncaring, Trent proceeded to pound into him at a punishing pace, carefully avoiding Sam’s prostate. Sam felt himself tear as Trent forced himself in through tender flesh; the only lubricant being whatever was left from his rape by the guard at the end of his last whipping hours, earlier. 

Sam squeezed his eyes closed and tried to ride it out. His chest was shoved back and forth on the padded bench under the strength of Trent’s assault. The trainer took his time, with more stamina than Sam would have given him credit for. The relentless pounding forced grunts of pain past Sam’s lips as the guard slammed into him. Eventually, his rhythm began to falter and Sam could feel him pull back imperceptibly, just before he shot his load into Sam’s cringing hole. Trent collapsed, panting. Sam shut his eyes in humiliation and sagged weakly against the bench under the man's weight. He was held still, barely breathing, as he waited for Trent to slide his softened dick out of his battered hole.

Finally, Trent pulled out and stood up; he tucked himself in and then unclipped Sam’s manacles from the front feet of the bench. Sam could hear the satisfied smirk in his voice as he slapped his butt, saying, “Get your ass moving slave, or I’ll shove this flogger up that hot little hole of yours.”

Exhausted by his pitiful rebellion and subsequent rape, Sam struggled to get to his feet. He took a step forward, eyes down and stomach rebelling, when dizziness overcame him and he crashed to his knees on the concrete floor. He heard Trent’s tersely worded, “Crawl then, now!” 

As much as a snide remark came instantly to mind, Sam thought he’d rebelled as much as he could take today and began to crawl obediently out of the cell on his shaking hands and knees.

: : :

“Take it back!”

“No, you take it back.”

“You’re a dirty liar, Terry; I’m not a slave.”

“My daddy says you are, says you’re gonna grow up to be one, and I shouldn’t hang out with you anymore.” Terry poked Sam, and the smaller boy fell back, in surprise more than pain, and rubbed his stocky little chest.

“I’m not a slave; why are you being so mean to me?” Sam gazed up at the bigger boy. They had been best of friends since Sam had moved to this town just over a month ago. Inseparable grade one buddies, until now.

“Daddy says when you get older you’ll kneel at my feet and lick them… ha, ha, ha, that would be funny, Sam. Licking feet, eeewwwh, gross.”

“No, take it back or….” Sam whispered fists clenched.

“Or what, Sam? Daddy says I’m gonna grow up to be a Prime, but you’re nothing but a slave. And I know I’m right cause you glow.”

“Nooooo,” Sam launched himself at the other boy, and they scrabbled and rolled around in the dirt of the schoolyard until a teacher came over and pulled the two apart.

“Make him stop saying it, Mrs. Hendrickson, make him stop saying lies…” Sam panted out.

“Now, boys, why are you fighting? You’re friends!”

“He-ee, he said I’m a slave and I gotta lick his feet… Tell him to stop.”

“Now, Terry, stop tormenting Sam. You know that’s not nice.”

“But Daddy said…”

“I don’t care what your dad said, Terry Frederick Mitchell; everyone in our school is equal, and you won’t torment anyone, especially not Sam; he’s your friend. And you and I both know that no one can help how they’re born. Now go and play.” 

She shooed the six-year-old off with a pat on the backside. Sam watched his friend run back to the teeter-totters and turned and started to walk in the opposite direction, unhappily kicking at the ground.

“Wait, Sam, I want to talk to you, sweetie.”

Sam paused and looked around sullenly at Mrs. Hendrickson and her ever present shadow, Silver.

“Sam, honey, do you have an older brother or sister?” Mrs. Hendrickson asked gently.

“No, not anymore. Daddy says Adam got hurt when I was a b-baby, same as mommy. Daddy says they got died in a fire.”

Mrs. Hendrickson blew out a soft breath and chewed nervously on her lip for a moment before saying, “Sam, did your daddy ever talk to you about Primes, about the glowing lights on your arm?”

“No, Daddy says Primes are stupid, that the whole system is stupid. What does that mean, Mrs. Hendrickson?”

“Well you’ll have to talk to your daddy about it, sweetheart; ask him tonight at supper.”

“What Terry said isn’t true, is it, Mrs. Hendrickson? I’m not gonna be a slave, am I? I don’t wanna lick Terry’s feet. He stepped in dog doo this morning. Please don’t make me. I want to grow up to be like my dad. I can do that, right, Mrs. Hendrickson? Daddy says you can be whatever you want, you just need to work hard.”

“If anyone can, you can, Sam. But I think you should talk about this with your daddy tonight. I’ll write you a note to take home.”

“I’m not in trouble, am I?” Sam’s liquid eyes begin to fill. “I don’t wanna be a slave… please don’t make me.”

“Hush now, it’ll all be alright. You go with Silver, and she’ll clean you up. Don’t you worry, sweet boy.” 

Mrs. Hendrickson kissed the softly curling shaggy brown hair and watched as he and her silent slave, Silver, walked back to the classroom. Sammy’s head bowed unhappily.

“Damn,” she whispered to no one but herself.

: : :

10 years later

Sam sat in class on a sunny afternoon in March; the ball field outside the history classroom window still had the odd patch of snow. He turned back to survey the class. He actually enjoyed school in general and at most schools history had been his favorite class, moreover he’d been eager to get to this section of the text. He’d hoped Ms. Pennybaker would cover it before his dad decided they needed to move on.

“So class, just before we finish for the day I want to start in on our next section. I hope everyone did their background reading last night because we’re going to be talking about the Corporate Wars of 2005 and the institution of the Prime Act. It’s an important part of our history and brought about some significant changes to our society. Let’s start with a bit of an overview; we can get into more details in tomorrow’s class. Can one of you tell me why the Prime Act? Why bring it into law. Jamie? Okay Frederica, tell us.”

Ms. Pennybaker pointed to a young girl Sam knew was a pre-sec, Frederica bowed her head and then biting her lip looked up from beneath messy bangs, “Um, well the text said Americans realized their duty to a more ecologically and economically balanced world required it, but I’m not sure I understand that. Why did they think enslaving half the population would save the economy?”

“Excellent question Frederica, anyone know the answer? Justine? No, Samuel?” Sam shook his head, one of the things he hated about his situation was that he could never come out too much on one side or the other. His dad had drilled it into his head, he had to keep a low profile. Ms. Pennybaker half-cheeked it on one of the empty desks, tilted her head and said, “That’s kind of complicated and quite fascinating. Offshore jobs had put a lot of Americans out of work. Oil prices were skyrocketing, and with no manufacturing jobs left in the country, street gangs of the unemployed, desperate and with too much time on their hands, were roaming the cities, burning cars, getting into trouble. They called that time ‘The Great Burning’ and a country-wide curfew was put into effect. There were marches on Wall Street because the divide between the rich and the poor was growing so vast that even working people couldn’t earn a living wage and have enough to feed their kids. Unemployment lines were around the block. It was a second Great Depression in America.

“Okay who can name the president of the day?”

This was a ‘safe’ question so Sam let his hand shoot up. Ms. Pennybaker cast her gaze around the room, “Cherie?”

“Umm, I think it was President Wagner.”

“And what did he do?”

“Didn’t he let millions of immigrants into the country, and everyone lost their jobs?”

“Yes, that’s right Cherie. The Wagner administration boosted immigration by over 200% thinking they could harness cheaper labor and recoup the power and prestige that America had lost to China, but native born Americans were still starving in the streets. Thanks to his legislation, there were even more mouths to feed.”

“So America was massively in debt, there was no work and labor costs were still too high to be internationally competitive. What happened next? Nelson?”

The tall fat boy sitting beside Sam drawled, “The rich got pissed off and took over.”

“And what did they do, Nelson?” The teacher twirled her pencil; it was obvious to Sam this was well rehearsed ground, He sighed, realizing he probably wouldn't hear anything more insightful here than he’d found online. Everyone toed the government’s party line these days.

“They backed the Prime Act to have all first-borns take their rightful place as freemen and any other kids were put to work as slaves.” Nelson sounded so self-righteous Sam wanted to punch him. 

“Well, sort of. But why didn’t they think they’d be affected? Samuel?”

Sam ducked his head and bit his lip. He’d wanted to stay out of this part, he’d have to be careful what he said. Nelson eyed him, ‘Great’ he thought, all he needed was to have his history partner and the son of the mayor, on his wrong side.

“Um, well at the time, a lot of the rich families were only having one child anyway. It was kind of in vogue at the time, so enslaving second and third children wouldn’t really affect them.”

“Yes, that’s right Samuel, having more than one child was considered only something the lower masses did… breed continually. So the wealthier classes were in full support of adopting the Prime Movement. And the economic benefits of a competitive work force would put America back in the game, taking what was essentially the deadweight in society and putting them to work.” Sam swallowed at the teacher's callous assessment of all second-born, Ms. Pennybaker continued, unconcerned that she was offending half the students in the classroom. “The fringe benefit of the legislation was that it would help discourage the masses from overbreeding. It was a win/win for the country. And we have our upper class to thank for their smart thinking. Any questions?” Ms. Pennybaker’s cool gaze slid over the class assessing.

Ian in the back spoke up them and said, “Ms. Pennybaker why do they even let pre-secs go to school like us. Why not just sell them right away. They’re kind of useless?” Sam could see his teacher relax into the question as she turned her pencil in her hands and gazed out the window for a moment. She turned back to the class the party line flowing from her mouth like water. She wagged her pencil at Ian as she started to speak.

“Ian Jones, that is a terrible thing to say about half of our society. Secs are the powerhouse that keeps our economy running now. Earlier when the vote was first passed they tried state run crèches. Frankly, they were poorly run and the secs weren’t very well cared and that in turn meant they weren’t capable of doing many complicated tasks. In the end though the deciding factor to close the crèches came down to the fact that secs there didn’t seem to live very long and that just didn’t make financial sense for anyone.” She paused for a moment next to Sara Fairmont’s desk and looked up and down at the spunky pre-sec until Sara looked away. “Allowing sec children to stay with their families and go to school until they turned sixteen gave us a more educated, happier work force, that lived longer; a real edge in the competitive marketplace. And a more stable worker is more readily able to cope with the varying needs of its Prime population.” 

Ms. Pennybacker sniffed audibly and walked down the aisle of school desks, tapping her pencil on each sec’s desk. “And why shouldn’t the secs parent’s benefit as well? By keeping secs at home, they get extra help around the house or with the family business and save the government money. It’s kind of a win, win, for everyone with sec growing up in a nurturing, loving environment that prepares them for their future role serving society.” Ms. Pennybaker reached her desk and leaned back against it. The satisfied smile on her face suggesting a sec could never dream of a better fate. Sam felt ill.

Sam wanted to cringe when he saw Sara push her glasses up on her nose and raise her hand. At fifteen, she was the second-born daughter of a couple that ran a small local bakery and her days of living free rapidly counting down. Her parents were outspoken critics of the Prime Act and even in the short time Sam had been in town he’d heard about them. It was clear Sara got her activist nature from them, and she often put herself in harm's way with what came out of her mouth. She hadn’t been taken by the Center yet, that would come on her sixteenth birthday when she officially was declared a sec. From what Sam knew of her to date, she would go out kicking and screaming. He had to admit he really admired her. He just couldn’t afford to admire her publically. Sam sighed again, silently. Her fate was sealed; it was just that anytime she started to speak he seriously worried for Sara’s life after she was taken. The center hub wasn’t too far away, and revenge on mouthy secs could easily be taken.

“You have something to add, Sara?” Ms. Pennybaker’s voice took on a distinctly sour note and Sam’s respect for the teacher plummeted.

“But that’s so unfair! This wasn’t something ALL Americans voted for, so how do we know everyone even wanted it? My dad says the heads of big corporations backed the legislation and bought off enough votes to get it passed. They shoved the whole thing through Congress by, like, 51%. That’s a pretty small margin to enslave a whole nation. My mom and dad said their parents were at the protest marches. They didn’t do any good, but at least they tried. Just because the system's been in place for like, fifty years, doesn’t mean it’s right.” Sara looked around the room for support as the Primes glared at her and the pre-secs hid their heads in fear.

The bell rang and Ms. Pennybaker mumbled under her breath just within Sam’s earshot, “Thank God.” And then more loudly, “Well that was an interesting perspective Sara. Now class, be sure to read pages 156-180 of your texts for our next class and we’ll talk about the economic benefits that came out of the passage of the Act and how the Prime system has gradually been adopted by other countries around the world, including China, who abandoned their one child policy in order to adopt the program. There will also be a pop quiz and one of the questions will be to name the members of the Free Alliance and tell me why the twelve countries never adopted the Prime Act.”

Sam shoved his text in his backpack. He’d hoped Ms. Pennybaker’s class would be a bit more balanced, but instead it had been an exercise in propaganda. He heard students yelling from the hallway outside and glanced around, he was the last one left in the room. He had been a bit suspicious when Nelson had shot out of the class so quickly. When he realized Sara was gone too he rushed out the door. He shouldered his way through the circle of chanting Primes.

“Leave her alone, Nelson.” Sam’s arm shot out and stopped the upraised arm from connecting again. 

Sara lay huddled against the locker, a livid bruise already blooming on her cheek, her hands raised up, a pitiful defense to ward off the next blow. Nelson loomed menacingly over her, easily outweighing her by half again, and made another lunge toward her as Sam grappled him back.

“Fuck off, Winchester, she’s sec bait; another month, and I could own her sec ass.”

“Leave the kid alone, Nelson. What’s she ever done to you?”

“She’s breathing, walking, and squawking, Winchester, that’s what. Going on about sec rights. Man, that bitch should be on her knees sucking my cock like a good slave, not mouthing off. Sam, she should know her place.” Nelson turned to look up at Sam and then pointedly at his restrained arm.

Sam gave his schoolmate a hard look as he released him. He quickly spun him by the shoulders and steered him down the corridor away from the shaken girl. “Okay, okay, but let’s get out of here.”

As they headed down the hallway, Sam glanced back and could see her friends timidly coming out to help her, reaching out to gather her scattered books and console the weeping pre-sec. All of them had softly glowing bar codes on their arms.

Nelson continued to rant as they walked down the hall. “Fuck that bitch, fuck her, Sammy, a Prime’s gotta stand up for his rights, or they’ll walk all over you.”

A pace behind, Nelson couldn’t see Sam roll his eyes. He wondered how he’d ended up desk mates with the biggest Prime bigot in the school. If history wasn’t such an important course, he’d blow it off, but he had to pass it to qualify for Stanford. Luck of the draw, the only empty seat left in the class when he’d been dumped here mid-term by his father’s latest lead on a coven of witches, was the one next to Nelson. So he had to put up with the big mouthed lout, at least until the end of term. Sam was determined to pass with flying colors, and if that meant he had to drag Nelson’s sorry ass along too, well he could suck it up. Especially with half of the year’s grade based on a team project with the guy.

Sam sighed; God, his dad so owed him.

Sam pushed his hair out of his eyes and strode toward the exit.

“Hey, where ya going?” Nelson shouted as he stopped at his own locker and noticed Sam had kept moving.

“Gotta get home, Dad’s got some chores for me to do, and I gotta study.”

“No, man, I thought we’d go to the arcade. I got some money off my old man. And I thought we could maybe sneak in, rent a slave, work off a little steam. I’m only a day from legal, they’ll let me in.” Nelson smirked. 

Being the mayor’s son in this one horse town wouldn’t hurt either, and Nelson wasn’t afraid to throw his weight around.

“Uh… can’t, Nelson, not today. Besides, I don’t want you paying my way. I do something like that, I’ll pay myself.” Sam waved and pushed through the lobby doors.

“Come on, man, we gotta’ celebrate. I’m turning 16 tomorrow, and I come into my Prime. Dad’s even talkin’ about buying me my first sec. Could be that Sara bitch if I play my cards right. I saw it on the notice boards; her birthday is comin’ up. To have that little cunt at my feet… Guhhh.”

“God, Nelson, did you, like, lose your compassion gene along the way? They’re people, man… you-you can’t just…”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Sammy, they’re not people - they’re secs. And as soon as they turn 16, we get to treat ‘em like they always should’a been treated – at our feet. I think we should do it like in the South American countries, no pretending they’re real, just take ‘em away at birth. Who says they need to read and write like the rest of us? Suckin’ my dick doesn’t take an education.”

“You are such a pig, Nelson, you know that, right?” Sam huffed.

“Dad’s even gonna let me go to the auction. Buy my first one on my own. Not sure if I want a boy or a girl, but I want ‘em young, though, like me. Hornier that way.” Nelson chuckled evilly, and Sam shook his head in exasperation, trying to hide his disgust as he played along. 

“Anyway, sorry, man, I promised my dad… gotta’ jet. We’ll do something tomorrow – that is your actual birthday, right? Later.” 

And Sam made good on his escape.

: : :

Prime - Chapter 1

: : :

Sam knelt in the back row of the training room where he’d been ordered; the ball gag still in his mouth ensured he couldn’t get himself into any more trouble today with what he said, or at least that’s what he hoped.

Trent had left him dizzy and bleeding, tethered there to listen to the lesson.

It was a session on pleasuring your master, led by a new trainer Sam had never seen before. Sam shivered; new was never better in the pens. Much of his training till now had been how to serve and kneel prettily and proper responses to your master, and that part, at least, was all pure rote memorization. Sam didn’t mind it so much though, he could see the benefit of keeping himself out of trouble. The repeated responses could soon become ingrained, and if the right things came out of his mouth at the right times, it might save him a beating or two. Sam was onboard for that, so he had wearily listened and learned. Now, though, they had moved on to physical responses.

Sam had a bit of an edge because he was older than the other slaves here today; he had actually had real sex with a free person and knew at least some of what was real and what was Center memorex bullshit. Most, as prescribed by law, had just turned sixteen. The black, anonymous Center van would have pulled up to their home early the morning of their sixteenth birthday and dragged them away . 

After their eventual auction by the Center, their families would receive a check for 50% of their sale price, dusting their hands of the shame of ever having borne a sec. Sam knew that many were actually better off at the Center than at home. Often families put minimal effort into their second or third offspring, treating them more as free labor than as people to nurture and love, as their future was already set.

“Slave, when a master approaches you, what is that the proper response?”

Sam was jerked out of his thoughts as two legs appeared in front of him, and he realized the voice was addressing him.

His mind went blank, every trace of training evaporated, and his mouth went desert dry; all he was left with was fear. Sam looked up, dazed, at the new master and glanced hastily back to the ground; mercifully, the hamster finally got back on the wheel, and it finally came to him that the proper response was to kneel, legs spread, and bow his head. Worst case, if he really needed to make amends, to bow all the way to the ground before his master. Having been caught out not paying attention during the lesson, Sam knew he should err on the side of caution, since he was already kneeling. He gingerly lowered his bruised and aching body down so his head was nearly between his spread knees. His wrists connected together behind his back made it hard to balance, but he did his best.

“A bit on the slow side, sec, that is worthy of punishment all on its own, but otherwise the proper response. Kneel up, I want to see your face.”

Sam straightened up but kept his eyes carefully downcast. A hand at his chin forced him to meet his trainer’s eyes.

“A little old to be in training, aren’t you?” the trainer said sternly as he turned Sam’s face from left to right. 

It was nothing that Sam hadn’t heard before since his capture. At twenty-three, he was several years older than most of the other slaves here, aside from the odd slave returned for “reconditioning”. Sam shivered at that thought, but he knew he stood out, and any extra attention here was not a good thing.

With the ball gag in his mouth, Sam had no choice but to nod.

“Well, it’s time for cocksucking 101, boy.” The trainer reached behind Sam’s head and unbuckled the gag. Sam wet his lips and glanced around quickly to see that the room had filled with several other trainers, each positioned in front of a slave.

“When a master approaches you and tells you to suck him off, show me how you’d do it.”

Sam stared at the man and shivered as he felt all eyes in the class on him.

“Ss—sir?” Sam croaked and wet his dry lips again, hesitant as to the next step.

“That’s Master to you, sec. Now get to it.”

Sam glanced at the trainer’s crotch and pulled at his bound hands. The trainer rested his hands on his hips and looked down at him impatiently.

Sam huffed out a resigned breath and leaned in toward the trainer.

The zipper presented a bit of a challenge, and Sam tried to mouth the fly with his lips as he felt the denim encased bulge of the trainer’s growing interest. Sam tried to pull down on the tab with no success when it kept slipping from between his teeth. 

Nervous he was taking too long, he twisted his bound hands and leaned back slightly as he whispered, “M-master, I-I don't know how to do this well.” 

Being raped by the occasional trainer didn’t mean Sam actually knew the finer arts of getting into a man’s pants with his tongue or even how to suck cock; he just knew how to survive a face fucking. He expected the trainer wanted something more refined than that. All Sam’s sexual experience to date had been with girls. He tried to imagine it was just like licking Jess but his imagination seemed to sputter out at that point. 

“Well, here, we’ll make it a bit easier for you.” His master drew down his zipper and pulled his cock from his pants, leaving the hardening organ hanging in front of Sam’s eyes. “But in the future, you will have to just do that with your teeth.”

Sam just stared at him wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open a bit in shock. This was really happening.

“A good place to start, slave, is to nuzzle and lick at the head.” The trainer glanced around the room and ordered, “Everyone, begin.”

Sam closed his eyes and tried to breathe through his nose. Every fiber of his being screamed to jump up and run away. But he couldn’t – his collar was tethered to the floor, and his hands were still clipped behind him. Even if he could rise, there were four guards on duty with whips and stun rods ready to take him down.

Sam could hear the sounds of groaning and wet slurps as the other slaves started their “lesson”.

Sam tried to clear his mind and reminded himself of his goal of escape. This was just another hurdle between him and freedom. He leaned in toward the hardened dick.

Sam licked gently and swirled his tongue around the mushroom head. He tasted salty bitterness on the weeping slit, the trainer’s pre-come. It seemed simplest to slip his tongue up and down the man’s shaft and lap around the base at the opening of the man’s jeans. He knew he was stalling, and at the trainer’s impatient grunt, Sam felt the man’s cock nudge at his lips. As Sam parted his lips in dread and breathed in, the trainer forced himself inside and Sam had to stop himself from panicking; he hastily remembered to cover his teeth. The trainer moved in and out of Sam’s mouth gently at first, giving Sam time to adjust and curl his tongue around the shaft as it thrust in and out of his mouth without being choked.

“Now some masters will want you to suckle them for hours, but I guarantee most of them will want to fuck your face hard and furious first. If your hands are free, use them to caress him. Kiss his body, trail your hands along his sides and use your mouth to lick and nuzzle him. If they’re otherwise occupied, you’d better get good at sucking, fast.” He felt the trainer’s hand trail gently through his hair and shivered at the touch as he was being, essentially, raped.

Sam tried to listen to the trainer's words, but anticipating the cock driving in and out of his mouth took too much of his concentration. He tried to time his breathing as the trainer’s hand tightened in his hair. The man started to force his dick further down his throat, and Sam remembered to swallow to avoid gagging. He’d choked and come close to blacking out in the past; he wanted to try and do this right, for his own survival if nothing else.

He was doing okay right up until the trainer stopped mid-thrust, leaving his cock lodged deep down Sam’s gullet. Sam was unable to breathe as the pole of flesh blocked his air passage. The trainer’s hand held his head in place, and Sam had no choice but to wait. He could feel his throat rippling as it kept trying to swallow and accommodate the lodged flesh. He heard the man bite back a moan and gripped Sam’s hair tighter, forcing his face into the trainer’s crotch. Sam felt the edges of his vision start to blacken just as the trainer finally picked up the pace again, and Sam was able to gasp in quick breaths. He started thrusting into Sam’s mouth in earnest, using both hands now to hold Sam’s head in place. Sam closed his eyes and hoped it would end soon.

With a few more sharp thrusts, the trainer spilled down Sam’s throat. He swallowed quickly, not wanting to be beaten for spitting it out, as the man continued to pulse into him. Sam sucked gently on the softening member until it was finally pulled out of his mouth. Mouth free, Sam took a moment to simply breathe, he’d never been so thankful for oxygen in his life. 

He stretched his jaw at the relief of not having it jacked open and remembered just in time to duck his head submissively and huff out a speedy, “Thank you, Master,” before he needed a reminder. Just another day in slave school.

Sam and the students were given a drink of water and then set to reawakening their master’s interest for round two. 

The end of class left Sam a shivering, sweaty mass; his back was a heated aching mess and his jaw sore and raw from the repeated rounds of cocksucking. 

The trainer had even brought a second group of guards in order to continue their practice uninterrupted. By the end of the session, Sam was so tired he could have collapsed on the floor, but hunger battled equally with fatigue. It had been two days since Sam had last eaten, and he was weak from it. 

Finally, the trainer announced they were done for the day, and Sam and the other exhausted slaves were led crawling out of the room to go back to their area in the sec pens. The sec complex was a huge vaulting space lined with training rooms along the perimeter and defined areas, or ‘pens,’ in the open concept central area. When Sam was first brought to the complex, he had been tossed in with the other new secs picked up that week, mostly sixteen year olds harvested fresh by the Sec Corps. The large group was then further divided up into smaller horde of secs. Sam didn’t know why they were called ‘hordes’, nobody knew why. Or if they did, they hadn't bothered to explain it to Sam. So far though,he had done all his training in that same horde, and the pens that had been assigned to them had become their new home. 

So, like an old workhorse back from a day in the bush, Sam started to crawl faster as he smelled the scent of warm food in the air. Each pen had its own feeding area on one side and sleeping area on the other. Long lines of small, barely man-sized cages or pens where Sam and the rest of his horde spent the night in sleep, usually restless, despite their exhaustion. The cages might fit a sixteen year old girl, but for Sam’s man-sized proportions they were a torment, and far too small to stretch out in. 

As they neared their pens, his stomach began to rumble and growl, from the smell of the hot, oatmeal-like mush that was their normal supper. Even the humiliation of being chained in a stall and forced to kneel cattle-like on all fours his head thrust into a long trough to eat couldn’t deter him. Sam’s pride had had him starving for a while, but the trainers had their methods to fix that. Sam shivered in remembrance of the forced feedings, better the humiliation of eating like a farm animal than having a food tube shoved down your throat and the food plungered in. 

His trainer chuckled, hearing the noise, and ruffled his hair. “Hungry, boy?” the trainer asked.

“Yes, Master,” he croaked out, his voice in ruins.

“Stop, this one goes directly to its cage.” 

A hand suddenly came from behind him and yanked Sam to a stop by his collar, half choking him. He steadfastly kept his gaze down as he tried to stop himself from shivering in Trent’s punishing hold.

“I don’t know, Trent, it ain’t got much meat on its bones, you sure?”

“Yup, Gordon’s orders. This whelp has to learn its place, and it will, one way or the other. And leash and clip him there too. He’s on punishment detail till I say otherwise.”

Sam bit his lip to keep from saying anything, pleading, begging, as the guard redirected him back to the pens and to the too-small cage assigned to him in the rows and rows that defined their horde’s pens. He felt tears in his eyes as the guard clipped his ankles together, and with his arms already locked behind his back, shoved and folded him into the small metal enclosure. The last thing the guard did was clip his leash to the bottom of the cage so he couldn’t raise his head more than a few inches. Sam couldn’t help a whimper from escaping him as the guard walked away, leaving him in this curled up, uncomfortable position for the night. His stomach growled again, and Sam closed his eyes in despair.

He almost sobbed when he heard the guard return and curled up tighter onto himself, trembling. What more were they going to do to him today?

“Hush, boy, drink up, I can’t leave this with you; you’ve got to drink it now.”

Sam lifted confused eyes up as the same guard shoved a pan of water into the slot in the front of the cage. He swallowed and licked parched lips and pushed himself up by the shoulders back onto his knees. He rushed to duck his head in to the pan and sucked back the blissfully cool liquid. He thought he had never tasted water so good, and even his ravaged throat started to feel better as the moisture penetrated.

After he had licked the last drops from the pan, the guard hastily pulled it back out of the slot. 

He whispered a raspy, “Thank you, Master.” 

The guard gave him a hard stare and said, “Don't make me regret this,” and walked away. 

Sam stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that he was still without food, but he curled tighter on the cage floor and tried to concentrate on the fact that there was still some kindness in the world.

: : :

“Come here, Sammy,” Sam heard his dad’s voice call as the front door of the house they were renting slammed closed behind him.

“Comin’, Dad.” Sam closed up his math book and hopped off the bed and rushed down to meet his dad.

“How was school today, sport?” John asked.

“Ah, okay, you know, the usual.” 

Sam flung himself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table as his dad set several bags down on the table and began to unpack supplies. 

Sam let his long legs sprawl out in front of him, one leg jounced nervously up and down as he went on, “Nelson was a dick today; he was harassing this pre-sec in the hall. I hauled him off of her before he could do any real harm, but the guy’s a real jerk. History was sorta cool, though. We’re just getting into the Corporate Wars of 2005 and the institution of the Prime Act. I kinda wished our teacher had been a little more balanced. Why did they think enslaving half the population would save the economy?”

“Oh, Sam.” John scratched his beard and sat heavily on one of the other chairs. “That’s a classic case of big money wanted it passed, and it got passed, whether it got results or not.”

“But Dad, it’s so unfair. Just because…”

“I know, son, but there’s only so much we can do about it. And above all we have to keep you safe, so no heroics in class, right?” John rubbed his face and patted Sam awkwardly on the knee. “Hey, I got ya something!”

John pulled out a battered brown paper bag from among the supplies and passed it to Sam.

Sam tentatively took it and peered inside, but all he could see was black. He had a surprised smile on his face as he looked up at his dad from behind his overlong-hair.

“What is it, Dad?” 

John shrugged with a slightly lopsided grin on his face. He left off stowing away the supplies and came over to stand next to him by the table, saying gruffly, “Open it up and see.”

Sam shook his head a bit; it just wasn’t like his dad to buy presents. They could barely afford to eat regularly on a Hunter’s government stipend. He reached in and felt something hard and cylindrical in the bag, and when he pulled it out, he saw it was two leather cuffs.

The cuffs were buttery soft on the inside and on the outside a rich, deep brown with satanic symbols pressed decoratively into the soft leather. Sam’s eyebrows rose in surprise and then, upon closer inspection, a huff of soft laughter burst from him. The symbols all had some kind of technical error in them, subtle, but rendering each of the black magic sigils useless, which for most of them, Sam recognized was a good thing. 

“Dad…” he laughed outright, “they’re all wrong! What’s this about?” He looked up at his father with a lopsided smile on his face.

“Yeah, well, you and I and a few dozen hunters in the world know that, but to your buddies at school, you’ll be one mean badass and no one would think twice about you wearin’ em, especially when you wear black all the time. I want you to wear them, son... I-I’m worried about the shots failing, and this will give us a little bit of time. It ain’t playtime anymore, Sam. The Center offers rewards now. Even your best friends would turn you in for the chance of a free ride to college for turning in a sec. I-I have to keep you safe, son….Try ‘em on.”

Sam nodded, understanding what his dad was saying. The booster shots that kept the sec bar code, embedded in his right arm from birth, from glowing were growing more and more undependable. Maybe he was just growing too fast, maybe the supply was dodgy, but twice now the shots had worn off early, resulting in him and his dad high tailing it out of town early when Sam’s secret had been discovered. Sam rubbed his leg absently; his limbs ached all the time lately, and he’d grown three inches in the last year. 

He slipped the cuffs on; they hugged his forearms snuggly and were held in place with a line of black snaps. He actually thought they looked kinda cool. Even the designs were neat, and he could see his friends admiring them. 

His large fingers traced the patterns in the leather absently, and he said softly to his father, “So-oo w-why did you have me, Dad…a-after Adam? Did you want me to be a slave? It wasn’t for the money, was it?” He and his father never talked about this stuff. Never spoke about Adam or his mom and when Sam had brought the topic up in the past his dad had always changed the subject. Sam swallowed nervously and bobbed his head. He knew his dad cared about him, but with all the contraceptives available in the world, why had he and his mom even had a second child? He felt a tightening in his chest and gazed steadfastly down at his hands.

John stared at Sam in stunned silence for a moment, then sank down to one knee in front of him and hugged him fiercely to his chest. He grabbed a nearby chair and, pulling it closer, pulled Sam’s long lean body unresisting into his lap. He squeezed him tight and Sam felt himself melt into the warm, safe embrace. It wasn’t often his father actually hugged him, and Sam thought he might be even be too old now for it now. But surrounded by the soft smells of gun oil and old leather, and the scent that was uniquely his dad, he realized he never wanted to be too old for this. 

“God, no, boy, never…we never wanted that. We, your mother and I, always wanted more children. Always, but not as secs. After Adam, we had intended to leave the States and move to Canada. They hadn’t passed a Prime law there; we never believed they would. Thank god for some sanity in the world. We never, never intended for you to become a sec. Not for one second. 

“We were young and in love, and when Mary got pregnant with you it was a tough pregnancy and we couldn’t risk moving then. So you ended up being born here, and we just kind of went with it, and thought we had plenty of time to move to keep you safe. So no, not for one minute did we wish that for you. Then the demon attacked your mom and Adam and…well it seemed like the only good thing to come out of all that sadness was a chance for you to lead a normal life here in the States. I got all Adam’s birth records and hacked into the database and exchanged his name for yours. No one knew there ever was an Adam Winchester; there’s just my first son, Samuel. And with a bit of luck and planning, that’s how things were gonna stay. If we’d had the chance to get to Canada before you were born you’d never even been embedded with the sec code. That was our only mistake, letting that happen, not in having you son, never that.”

John brushed his hair affectionately and Sam squirmed, suddenly embarrassed by his insecurity. He should have known better, trusted his dad more. John slowly released him and Sam eased up onto his feet. “Sorry Dad, I-we just never talked about this stuff before. I-I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“No, Sam. No, I should have talked with you about this before now, hell you’re old enough to want to know the truth. I’m a hell of a hunter son…but not that great a dad.” His father rubbed his neck ruefully and stood himself. Let an arm reach out and squeezed Sam’s arm. 

“But we loved you and wanted you from the beginning, wanted you free, don’t you ever, ever think any different, son. If I could knock down that law today, I would. It’s just wrong. It’s wrong to enslave people; it’s wrong no matter what fancy name or excuse you slap on it. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. And one day, with the work of a lot of good people, those laws are going to be struck down. We just have to all try and do our small part.”

Sam nodded his head solemnly and brushed his hair out of his eyes. 

“Now what do you want for supper, macaroni or spaghetti?” His dad smiled and Sam could see suspicious wetness in the corner of his dad’s eyes.

Embarrassed, Sam said, “Uh, whatever, I’m gonna go put my books away.” He scrubbed his face and smiled wetly at his dad before grabbing his books and retreating to his room. Easing the door closed, he dropped his book bag and flopped down onto the sagging twin bed on his belly. Resting on his elbows, he looked down at the gauntlets, his fingers rubbing absently over the designs in the leather, and wondered what his small part could be.

: : :

The next morning, Sam awoke stiff and sore; his back still ached from the beatings, and he was unable to shift around much until the guards worked their way down the line of cages and pulled him out. 

Sam was so crippled up from being bound, the guard had to shove his numb limbs into the proper kneeling position in front of his cage. He knelt, head down and silent as they released the rest of the secs. He tried not to draw any attention to himself, as he hungrily anticipated breakfast. It would be another tasteless meal of mash, but at this point, Sam would chew on wood chips he was so hungry. 

A guard approached him and Sam snuck a darting glance up through his hair, thinking it was time to be led to the feeding area. When he saw Trent’s smirking face looking down at him, Sam quickly lowered his head and tried to control his breathing. Trent reached down and yanked his head back, staring into Sam’s eyes.

“Think it’s as simple as that? You defy me, make me look the fool in front of Gordon, and you think all that happens is a slap on the wrist and a missed meal? Not so much, slut, you’re on my radar now, and I’m gonna make sure we break you of all your bad little habits. Can’t have your new master buying an unbroken slave.” 

“Clean ‘em up and take him directly to 603 for today; he’ll be one of their guinea pigs.” 

Sam’s tether was unhooked, and his leash was tugged up and handed to another guard. Sam staggered weakly to his feet, and as the tether pulled him forward, he swallowed hard and resolved to keep his mouth shut and not cry. He needed to survive this, needed to wait for a chance to escape; his dad would expect no less of him.

The class turned out to be a continuation on the cocksucking theme of the day before, this time with the slaves practicing their technique on three strapped down victims who had the misfortune, like Sam, to be labeled troublemakers. Sam was led to a low platform, bent suddenly and unceremoniously forward, and a plug of some kind was shoved up his sore and aching hole. Sam struggled and yelped, but he was manhandled by the guards until he lay supine, his arms and legs pinned in a spread eagle position to the dais. 

A cock ring was put on him, and the guards shoved his head to the side and gave him a hypodermic shot in the neck. A final parting gift from the guards was a ball gag shoved in his mouth and strapped around his head. Sam was left there, panting, as a tight hot tide of heat spread through him and he felt his cock unwillingly harden. Dread filled him at the idea of what would come next. Soon, a line of slaves was brought in to kneel beside his platform near his waist, and ‘practice’ began.

It wasn’t too bad at first; he just had to put up with the fumbled attempts at blow jobs by nervous sixteen-year-olds, with teeth scrapes and the odd successful technique that, that in spite of himself, slowly made him harden further. As the hour wore on, his cock became increasingly sensitive as too many inexperienced mouths and too many teeth worked him over. A guard came around and unsnapped the four victims' cock rings. Sam was hard as steel and sighed as the ring came off thinking relief was soon at hand. But there was no relief, his cock stayed hard and aching and no amount of friction or touching could bring him to completion. He began to suspect the shot was the culprit. Coming soon was not his biggest concern, as the pain of being so roughly handled by the novice sex slaves increased. He had one near bite incident when the plug in his ass was suddenly turned on and vibrations caused him to almost arch off the platform into a sec’s startled mouth. Fortunately, he escaped with only teeth grazes. Sam tried to grit his teeth against the ball gag as the vibrating demon pounded his prostate, tormenting him to an even darker shade of plum.

As the students were lead away for a water and food break at lunch, Sam felt the plug turn off and, exhausted, he slumped against the dais. His dick was still hard and aching, and after gulping a mouthful of water from a serving slave he fell into a restless sleep. 

When the slaves returned from their lunch, Sam almost sobbed as he felt the plug’s vibrations click back on, and up a few notches. He closed his eyes and groaned. He was nearly frantic; his prostate was being massaged mercilessly, and his dick, still at attention, felt like the skin was going to peel off it at any moment.

The afternoon wore on and Sam started to lose consciousness. He would wake screaming through his gag as a new slave latched on. He was so weak from lack of food and insufficient water that he thought he would die on the table, and began to toss his head back and forth, mewling pitifully. He could hear the other slave-guinea pigs in similar situations, grunting and pleading behind their gags.

Later in the afternoon, they came around and watered the circle of slaves kneeling around Sam, and slipped Sam’s gag off for a few blessed moments. Water was trickled down his parched and aching throat. If Sam had had any voice left, he would have begged, pleaded, anything to be let go, but he realized the slave slowly drizzling water into his mouth had no power to free him, and from her sad, fearful expression would help if she could. Sam groaned as the guard returned all too soon to snap the ball gag back on.

By the time the day was over, Sam had passed out a total of four times, and guards had had to splash water on him to keep him conscious. The students were leashed and led out to go to supper while guards came over and gave each of the test subjects another shot in the neck. When his turn came Sam felt a warm tingle all over his genitals from the shot kicking in. A guard unchained Sam from the platform and forced him to kneel. He grabbed him by the neck, and bent him forward so his forehead was pressed flat to the floor and proceeded to grasp the hated plug and started rocking it in and out of Sam’s ass making sure to hit Sam’s prostate. Sam felt a begrudging arousal and his cock twitched. The shock of his orgasm hit him. He screamed as he came, his dick so sore by then even orgasm was agony. The guard brusquely removed the butt plug and Sam flopped down onto the platform exhausted and hurting. When the guard attached the leash to his collar and tugged, Sam was unable to stand. He was forced to crawl out of the room on his hands and knees. 

He shakily followed the guard down the corridor, thinking he would be led back, hungry and thirsty, to his cage again. He was ready to break down and cry when his suspicion was confirmed a few minutes later when he saw Trent standing in the corridor, whip in hand. Sam choked back a moan and felt a trickle of fear go down his spine as they approached, and he tried to suppress the full on body shudder that ran through him. Just as he and the guard neared Trent, Gordon appeared around the corner. 

Gordon stopped beside them and said to the guard, “Take that slave to the feeding area, and make sure it eats its ration. We need to have something left to sell at the end of the training. Trent, I have a few things to talk over with you.”

The guard nodded, and Sam almost collapsed on the floor in relief. He barely felt the tug on his leash, he was so pitifully relieved as the guard turned and moved toward the feeding area. Sam collapsed in the feed stall the guard lead him to, nearly too drained to eat. 

As the guard chained his leash to the stall’s eyebolt, he dropped his head into the pan of water and drank and drank. He was so tired he was barely able to gulp the meager portion of warm grain thrust under his nose before he fell asleep. He had to be woken by the guard to return to his cage in the pen for the night.

: : :

Sam awoke in the middle of the night. The pens were dark and quiet, and he didn’t know what woke him. He held perfectly still to not give away the fact that he was conscious. Barely opening his eyes, he tried to look around. In the dim light of the pens, he nearly startled as he made out the silhouette of a man standing just outside his cage looking down at him.

A match lit in the darkness briefly illuminated Trent’s face. Sam’s breath hitched, and he knew he had given himself away. Trent blew out the match and snorted softly.

“You think your life is hard now, slave? I’m thinking of buying your pretty ass. Show you what a real master does with a pathetic, sneaky little sec like you. Then we’ll see.” 

Sam’s heart clenched, beating suddenly so fast he thought it might burst. He tried not to whimper as Trent sauntered away in the darkness.

: : :

Chapter Text

Prime - Chapter 2

: : :

“Run, Sam, run!” his father called out.

The rugaru had doubled back on them, entirely circumventing the trap they had so carefully set for it on the outskirts of the graveyard, and now it had appeared between them and was bearing down on Sam. His dad took aim, but the creature was moving too fast, and the shotgun blast slammed harmlessly into a tree trunk as it sped past.

Sam ran, long legs eating up ground as his father struggled to catch up. Risking a quick glance back over his shoulder, Sam’s finger twitched on the flamethrower. He didn’t even have a chance to scream before he was suddenly yanked backwards.

Clawed hands grabbed him, razor sharp talons digging into his arms. He felt the hot breath of the beast and needle sharp teeth start to sink into the meat of his shoulder, when another shotgun blast went off. He felt, as much as heard, the impact of the shot as it slammed into the rugaru’s back and propelled them both forward. He barely had time to fling his arms up in front of him before they smashed full length into the trunk of a tree. Sam’s head bounced off the unforgiving surface, his breath punched out of him as the beast's full weight hit him. The impact jarred the flamethrower’s nozzle completely out of his hands. He and the creature slid to the forest floor. Sam, dazed, battled to stay conscious.

The rugaru was the first to recover and agonizing pain ripped through his shoulder when it scrambled to a crouch on top of him. Sam screamed as clawed hands dug into his arm, pinning it to the ground. The beast reared back its head, and roared. Sam knew he was moments away from death, soon jagged teeth would descend and end it all. His father’s hoarse cry behind him heralded a third shotgun blast, and he could feel the rugaru flinch as some part of the scattershot caught it. The creature shifted to turn and snarl at his father, repositioning its claws, and Sam cried out again in pain.

Suddenly it leapt, launching itself at his father and Sam was free to roll over careful of the heavy tank on his back and sit up. Dazedly he struggled to stand, grunting in pain when he put weight on one hand to lever himself up, realizing it was bleeding profusely. He heard another shotgun blast and forced his unwilling body to its feet. With no time for anything he else, he shoved his bleeding right arm under his armpit and clamped down to help stop the flow. With his good left he searched wildly for the end of the nozzle; his hand sweeping down the side of the tank on his back to find the trailing hose as he watched the creature charge toward his father. His fingers followed the line of the tubing till they found the trigger, thankfully it was still lit, he juggled it up in front of him, but even as he leveled it, he knew it was too late. A fourth shot by his father's had caught the creature full in the chest and brought it down, but not before it had raked an angry swath across his father’s throat with its vicious claws.

“Dad, no!” Sam cried out as he staggered over to him, using his good hand to shove aside the stunned body of the beast that half covered his father. The rugaru was still twitching, and once safely clear of his father, Sam let the flames sweep out over it. The creature screamed a terrible high pitched shriek as it was bathed in fire, thrashing and rolling. Sam stood grimly over it, pouring liquid flame on the body until it was finally still. As soon as the creature stopped moving, Sam dropped the tank and knelt down beside his father, not waiting to see the charred corpse revert back to its human shape.

Sam's eyes swam with tears. Arterial pulses of blood gushed to pool on the ground faster than it could soak in. Horrible strangled gasping sounds emerged with the red that welled from his father’s mouth. Falling to his knees, Sam rushed to staunch the bleeding. There was so much blood. It covered his skin and coated his jacket, and mixed with the blood Sam was losing as he fought passing out…a fight he realized slowly he was losing. Sam clung to his father, helpless, as he bled out before his eyes. Grief rushed over him in a black wave and the ground rose up and claimed him.

: : :

The antiseptic smell and throbbing pain were the giveaway. Before even opening his eyes Sam knew he was in a hospital. His eyelids were crusty and stuck together, and when he was finally able to crack them open he looked blearily around. He reached up to rub them and vaguely noted the IV dripping a clear liquid into his arm, he grimaced and nearly pulled it out, but his other hand felt strangely heavy. He looked down and it was swaddled in bandages. He decided to leave it; anything else would take energy he didn’t have at the moment . He was the lone occupant in the room, monitor beeping gently at his side. A bare fluorescent tube above the head of the bed weakly illuminated the room: white walls, pastel drapes, and cheap utilitarian sheets, definitely a hospital.

He felt so weak and disoriented he could barely keep his eyes open. He could see the lights of the city through the large windows that spanned the top half of one wall. He licked his dried, cracked lips, and tried to remember what had happened. How did he get here? Where was his dad?

His fingers trailed across the covers as he tried to feel for the call button he knew must be there somewhere. He groped around with his good hand until he finally found it and pressed the button repeatedly.

The night nurse coming into the room startled Sam, and he realized he’d fallen back to sleep. He blinked up at her and tried to speak, his mouth too dry to spit the words out. The woman took in the situation. Her eyes met Sam’s wide, confused ones, and she spoke soothingly.

“Sam, can you hear me? I know you’re uncomfortable, we’ve had you out for a while to help you heal and you’ve woken up a little early on us. You’re okay, everything is fine. I’ll get you something to drink and call the doctor. You’ll feel better soon. Just hang in there, and try to stay calm.”

: : :

Half an hour later, the doctor on call had come in to see him. He’d run a few simple tests and poked and prodded him. He gave a few instructions to the nurse and promised Sam his regular doctor would check in on him in the morning. As he lay there after they left, Sam tried to remember what had happened, but it was a complete blank.

Sam floated in and out of fitful sleep. At some point he became aware that the nurse, who had introduced herself as Sara, had returned to the room to check on him. When she saw he was awake, she gently brushed sweat dampened hair from his eyes.

“How are you doing Sam? Can I do anything for you?”

Sam shook his head, unsure. He didn’t know what he wanted at the moment. He stared at her in confusion.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Sam?” Sara asked sympathetically.

“M-my dad and I, we were in the woods…hunting.” Sam’s wrecked voice croaked out. The nurse brought a straw to his lips, and the ice water was a balm to his throat.

“Sam, you’ve been hurt pretty bad. You have a concussion. Try and stay calm, okay?”

“W-where’s my dad, is he okay?” Sam looked around quickly and the room spun. He dropped his head back on the pillow and just from the look on the nurse’s face he knew it was bad.

“We can talk about it in the morning. You should rest now.”

“No, my-my dad, where is he. He should be here. Was he hurt?” Sam’s rising panic helped cut through his exhaustion.

“There was… something happened Sam. Your father was attacked. You were, too. I’m sorry Sam, but – but your dad didn’t make it.”

Sam looked at the nurse and he felt his heart clench so tight he couldn’t breathe. His dad was dead? He tried to comb through his memory, but there was still nothing….

The nurse was talking again, and Sam looked up, confused.

“Sam, you have to give yourself time, you’re recovering from a vicious attack and memory loss is a side effect of the concussion. It should all come back to you in a day or so, just try and be patient. I’m sorry for your loss, Sam. If it’s any comfort, the police said he died instantly, and they found the charred remains of the thing your dad was hunting, too. It was quick, your father wouldn’t have suffered.”

Sam nodded jerkily and looked out the window into the night. A single tear rolled down his cheek, he didn’t have the strength at the moment to brush it away.

The nurse handed him a tissue and said kindly, “But you survived, Sam and I’m sure your dad would be happy about that. You need to concentrate on getting well now.”

Sam nodded, unable to do more than that right now.

Sensing his distress, Sara offered him another drink. The cold water as it flowed through the straw and filled his mouth eased some of the sour taste away. She looked at him with a soft smile and said, “Try and get some sleep; it’ll be better in the morning.”

Dizziness and grief weighed Sam down like an anchor, and he had drifted off before the door closed behind her.

: : :

He still felt tired, not the bone deep exhaustion of the night before, but weary. In the pale morning light, Sam wondered how long had he been here. His whole body felt achy, and other than the problems with his head and arm, he thought a few ribs might be bruised as well. He didn’t have a mirror, but he could feel the scruff of a couple of day’s growth. He was pretty sure he was scraped and battered from here to hell and back, but he’d survive.

Sam was distracted from his musings when a different nurse, much younger, entered the room with a tray. “Good morning! I heard someone’s up and awake a bit ahead of schedule. You must be thirsty,” the overly chipper nurse enthused.

“Uhhh, yea,” Sam replied scratchily, his voice was still wrecked, but the smell of orange juice on her tray piqued his interest.

The nurse quickly set the tray down, “Here you go; we have both juice and water. I’d go for the juice myself – give you some extra energy, after being out the last few days. I’m Madison, by the way. My friends call me Maddy.” She smiled brightly at Sam and put straws in both the cups, then bustled around the room checking his chart and IV, not really waiting for a response.

Sam reached out for the cup and carefully lifted it closer. He was surprised at how weak he felt. “Umm...,” he mumbled between sips of the tart liquid. “Ah, how long have I been here?”

“It’s only been three days. They put you in an induced coma more as a precaution than anything, you should be fine though. The doctor will be here shortly to explain everything.”

While Maddy made small talk Sam’s mind wandered. Three days, his dad had been gone for three days while he lay here unconscious. He’d have to look after the body soon, salt and burn it like his dad had made him promise, but he wasn’t even sure when he could get out.

He looked out the window, the sun was rising and it looked like it was going to be a clear, bright day, But not for his father. Sam felt an unaccustomed tightness around his eyes.I It wasn’t fair, his father was dead and it shouldn’t be a fucking bluebird of happiness day… Guilt swelled over him and he wished he had just another day–hell, another hour – with his dad, anything except this vast empty feeling. He wanted Jess here. Wanted her to hold him and tell him it was going to be all right, tell him he’d be okay, that his dad dying wasn’t the end of the world. But right now, right now it felt like the end of the world and he couldn’t remember a god damn thing.

Sam looked up to find Maddy standing by the bed watching him, waiting for the answer to some question he hadn’t heard. He didn’t have the energy to ask what he’d missed, not with that soft pitying look in her eyes. So he mumbled, “Yeah, that’s good...” and hoped it was a vague enough statement to keep her happy and make her leave.

Maddy nodded and said tentatively, “I-I wanted to say I was sorry about your dad, Sam. They said he was a hunter.” At Sam’s nod Madison continued, “Are you a hunter too?”

He flinched at that and shook his head no, he hoped the sharp stabbing pain to his heart didn’t show, “No, uhhh… lawyer, or almost a lawyer. One more year…Stanford.”

“Oh, sorry, I’m such an idiot. You probably don’t want to be talking about this with a perfect stranger…I’m sorry, Sam. Everyone says I’ve got a big mouth.”

“No, Madison, Maddy… it’s okay. It was just … there’s just me and my dad.”

“Yea, that’s like my family – there’s just me and my mom. I always wanted to be a nurse. My mom wanted me to go for full doctor, but I knew it just wasn’t me. You have to go with your heart, you know?”

Sam smiled a bit grimly and leaned back on the pillows He was tired and ready for another nap, already. Madison slipped the rolling table to the side and added, “You rest. You’ve worn yourself out talking with me. The doctor will be here in a while, and can tell you exactly what’s going on.”

: : :

The sound of someone entering the room woke him, he opened his eyes to see Maddy and a man in a white coat and stethoscope who must surely be his doctor, come up to his bed. He wondered how, after three days of sleeping round the clock, he could still be tired enough to have slept again. From the sky outside he thought it must be late afternoon. The doctor quietly checked his chart, humming absently to himself, Maddy hovering expectantly nearby.

When she noticed he was awake, she moved over to his side. Taking his good hand, careful of the catheter, she gently squeezed it and said, “Sam, I want to introduce you to Doctor Carson. He’s been watching over you for the last little while.”

“Hi, Sam,” the doctor said, smiling gently. “How you feeling, son?”

Sam hoisted himself up a bit higher on the bed before answering, “Umm, good I guess.” His voice still came out a bit rough, he looked up at the doctor, feeling a bit like a bug under a microscope.

“Let’s do some quick tests, shall we?” the doctor said as he brought out his penlight and reached out to gently pull up Sam’s eyelid. “Just follow the light with your eyes. Yes, that’s good.” He tested each pupil’s reactions, then moved on to checking his wrist joint, heart rate, and other basic reflexes. “So how're you feeling, Sam, any dizziness, nausea? Any stiffness in your back or legs?”

“U-um no, I feel pretty good. Kinda dizzy, just a slight headache and my ribs are pretty tender. Am I gonna be okay?”

“Yes, but you were pretty beaten up when you came in here. With the slight concussion, I understand you're experiencing some memory loss, but that should only be temporary. You’ve got a severe laceration across that one arm; we had to treat it with some stitches and an antibiotic cover, and several of your ribs are cracked. You’re going to have to take it easy for several weeks.

“We’ll run some more in-depth tests tomorrow, but it looks like so far, so good. I’d say stick to light foods, soups, clear liquids for the next couple of days, nothing too heavy. We’ll have to keep that wrist covered for another day or so.” The doctor lifted his bandaged arm and Sam jolted in the sudden realization that his leather gauntlets were gone. Sam did a fast count in his head and felt even dizzier, he could feel sweat started to pop out on his brow.


Oblivious of Sam’s sudden nervousness the doctor gently rotated his arm checking for bleeding and continued, “The claws of that thing tore your arm up pretty bad, you’re lucky you had those leather arm braces on, they probably saved you from more severe damage. We’ll change the bandages in a couple of days and you’ll be able to take a shower then. It’ll be another 8 or 9 days before we remove stitches and another 7 to 10 days to resume full mobility and at least 90% of functional capacity of the forearm to be safe. For now it just needs time to heal.”


The doctor released his arm and Sam had to control the urge to snatch it up against his chest and hide it. The doctor continued, “So, I’m afraid you’ll be with us a bit longer. We can make you a bit more comfortable though. For starters, we’ll remove that catheter, but leave you on the fluids for a while. At least you’ll be able to use the facilities on your own.” The doctor smiled kindly. “Well that’s about it for now, Sam. And I’m sorry about your father.” Dr. Carson patted his shoulder in sympathy and Sam felt his throat swell with emotion.


“I’ll check in on you later, then.”


The doctor headed out of the room but Maddy stayed behind to remove the catheter and swap out the IV for a new one. Afterward she asked Sam, “So anything I can get for you, Sam? You okay? You don’t look so good.”


Sam looked up at her. “I-I ddidn’t catch that – how soon did the doctor say till the bandages can come off my arm, Madison?” He hoped he sounded casual as he felt sweat begin to trickle down the sides of his forehead.

“Probably in the next day or so. You okay, Sam? You don’t look so good.”

“Ummph, no, I’m good, just my head aches. Dd-do you know if they brought my knapsack in with me? Was any of my stuff saved?” Sam asked hopefully.

“Well your arm braces; the one was ruined completely but we kept the other. It’s in the knapsack they brought with you. It’s here in your locker. I’ll go get it for you.”

Sam tried not to breathe out a sigh of relief as Maddy brought his worn khaki knapsack to him.

“I don’t want to keep you, Maddy, I just want to look through my stuff. There were some papers of my dad’s….”

Sam was grateful when Madison took the hint and with a bright smile said, “Yeah, and I’ve got work to do anyway. I’ll check in on you later, Sam. Buzz if you need anything in the meantime.”

As the door swung closed behind her, Sam opened the knapsack and started rummaging through it, using his wrapped arm to hold the bag. It wasn't an easy task one-handed, with the IV lines still attached to his good hand.

He was trying to stay calm. It had been a lucky break that the rugaru had torn up his code arm. If the shot had worn off already, at least the bandages had hidden the code's blue glow while he’d been out. He tried to remember the longest a shot had ever lasted. It was under a week; well over the time since Sam had last taken his shot. He’d never expected to languish unconscious in the hospital for days.

“Damn it,” he breathed as the IV line from the catheter caught on the knapsack and tugged painfully.

If he could take his shot now, the suppressant would kick in right away and hide the bar code. The bandages could come off in a couple of days, and no one would be the wiser.

“Where are you?” he said out loud as he rummaged through the sack, finally resorting to dumping the contents on his lap in front of him. He set his laptop aside surprised that it looked to be in one piece and sifted through various supplies, maps and notebooks; there it was, his back up kit.

Sam bit back a sob as he saw the damp stain on the outside leather of the case and the weirdly bent angle of it. It had been crushed in the fight. Biting his lip, he unzipped the pouch to get at the kit’s contents, still hoping for a miracle. That hope was soon dashed as he surveyed the broken glass shards inside.

The backup vial of suppressant his dad had made him travel with at all times was completely destroyed. When they came to remove the bandages, they would discover his secret and that would be all she wrote. Goodbye freedom.

Sam hung his head wearily and at random picked up the remaining leather gauntlet from the bed. Worn soft and supple from years of use, it had been made by his father to help keep him safe. What had kept his father safe he wondered bitterly? Sam’s hand clenched harder on the brace when he saw a dark spray pattern across the surface and swallowed hard when he realized he was probably looking at his father’s dried blood.

He felt the room start to spin and it all came rushing back at him, his father's face as the blood flowed out of him, Sam’s hands pushing down on torn flesh, the horrible gurgling sounds his father had made. It hadn’t been quick watching his father bleed out through his fingers.

The slam of his body against the tree and the digging pain of the rugaru’s claws into his shoulder and arm. Dizzy and bleeding grasping for the rifle. The rugaru, wraith thin and bloody claws. They'd laid a trap for at the edges of the cemetery where it had been dragging its kills. He'd been home for the summer, helping his father out before his last year at Stanford and the career that waited for him afterward.

The room tilted threateningly and he tried to comprehend a world that didn’t contain his father. His larger-than-life Dad, the wide gentle smile that could light up a room; the look on his face when he really laughed, eyes crinkling, head thrown back, that deep rich chuckle filling up all the empty spaces in Sam.

The thing Sam had always admired most about his father, though, was his sense of right and wrong, and his abiding dedication to helping people. After he’d sent the demon who had attacked their family back to hell, his dad had made it his mission to do good in the world. It was part of the reason Sam had wanted to be a lawyer: to make a difference in his own way, to do his small part and make his dad proud.

Guilt sliced through him. Sam had never really wanted to take up the family business of hunting. Once he’d gone to school, he’d thrown himself into his studies. Maybe if he had worked half as hard at being a good hunter, his dad would still be alive. The reality of it slammed into him, tears burning down his cheeks. His father was gone. He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye. The pain that cut through his heart with that knowledge made the agony of his body pale in comparison.

Sam scrubbed his bandaged hand across his eyes and tried to concentrate on the issue at hand, staying free. He tried to come up with a stall tactic, but the only real solution was to get out of the hospital as fast as he could. He thought briefly of trying to call Jess, but she was in Canada at the Farm for the summer. Maybe one of his Stanford friends? Truth was they were so far from Stanford, even if he connected with someone, they couldn’t get here in any kind of good time.

He continued to sift through the contents of the bag and saw that his wallet and credit cards, both real and fake, were all still there. If he could get out of the hospital, he could hole up in a motel somewhere, get his bearings, heal, and call friends then. He also needed to somehow get ahold of more suppressant before his code started to transmit and they tracked him down through the internal GPS. Getting the suppressant had always been something his dad had done. Sam took a deep breath and pushed back the emotions threatening to overwhelm him at the thought of his father. His next step definitely needed to be escape.

Sam stuffed everything back in the knapsack, including the damaged suppressant case. No use leaving any more clues than necessary for the hospital to uncover after his sudden departure. He’d have to figure out a good cover story for booking from the hospital later on, but for now, he just needed to put one foot in front of the other and get out.

He decided to start by turning off the heart rate monitor and then he pulled off the little clamp on his index finger. He nodded to himself, satisfied he wouldn’t light up the nurse’s station. Next he yanked off the tape holding the IV in place on his hand and then gently eased out the IV needle. Cursing softly, he tossed the thing on the floor.

Now the hard part, getting dressed. He’d had a change of clothes in his knapsack, but he didn’t think it would be all that easy getting his uncooperative body into them. His arm protested, just reaching back enough to untie the knot holding the hospital gown closed in back, and Sam felt another wave of dizziness as he eased the garment off. He groaned in pain with the movement; his ribs felt like someone had put a clamp around him and was squeezing hard. He tried to sit up to slip his own grey t-shirt on, threading his bandaged arm through the material and moving to slide it over his head. He had to bite his lip to stay conscious when he eased the fabric down the final few inches around his waist. He was forced to lean back against the pillows for a breather.

At this rate, he smirked, he’d be lucky to make it out of the room by nightfall, let alone before a nurse stopped in. Pushing himself back up to sitting, he briefly debated boxers or no boxers, but decided leaving was more important than modesty. Commando it was. He couldn't risk that one extra step, especially at the speed his weakened body was able to move.

He pushed his legs into the jeans while still sitting on the bed, and noticed absently that he’d lost weight while he was under; they were baggier than usual. It was slow going, and Sam could feel the runnels of sweat down his back from the effort of shimmying into them. He was finally able to lift his hips high enough to jerk them up over his butt. His legs trembled from the strain of holding himself up, and he weakly flopped back down and concentrated on zipping up his fly without taking skin samples.

Dressed, finally, he lay trembling on the bed, fully clothed but completely exhausted. He started to re-evaluate his plan of escape to a motel and wondered if he could just find a broom closet in the basement to recoup in before making a full break for it. He didn’t think he’d be able to make it the whole way at the rate he was going. He'd be happy to just find a safe spot to hide until he could gather his strength.

Plan B. in hand, Sam sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful to keep his butt firmly on the mattress. He hoped like hell his legs would support him, but he couldn’t assume anything.

He let one foot touch the floor and sighed when it stayed where he wanted it and didn’t shoot out from under him, or collapse outright. He felt slight tingles in his foot, like it had fallen asleep, but not as bad as he might have thought after being off them for so long.

He gingerly lowered his other leg to the floor and tried to keep a firm hold of the mattress with his hands. He took up his knapsack from the bed and slung in over his shoulders. Still upright a few moments later, Sam grinned like a loon and decided it was now or never, and took his first tentative steps toward the door. He should have known it was all going too smoothly. Just as he reached the door, he felt a wave of weakness pass through him and he clutched weakly at the door jamb as he felt himself fall.

The last thing he remembered was seeing Maddy's panic stricken face come into view as he gazed up at the ceiling. Then it was all darkness.

: : : 

Chapter Text


Prime - Chapter 3

: : :


He could hear Maddy’s voice as he opened his eyes. He started to sit up and turn toward the sound and felt a jerk on his arm as something trapped it in position. His good arm was handcuffed to the raised side rails on the bed. Just beyond it, he could see a tray holding bloody bandages… and the pieces started to fall together.

He glanced over at Maddy, who stood near the door, talking with someone in a dark uniform. He could catch a glimpse of her face, stricken and twisted with sorrow. He looked down at his right arm; the bandages were gone. Without its sheltering cover, beneath the stitches and butterfly clips holding his torn flesh together, the blue glow of his sec code could be seen through the pale flesh of his forearm. 

He fell back onto the pillow and closed his eyes in despair. All the years hiding successfully in plain sight, only to be tripped up in the hospital by some torn stitches. There was no talking his way out of this one. There was only waiting for the fallout. 

Sam felt eyes on him and opened his to see the uniformed man had turned and was surveying him coolly while Maddy, with a torn but resigned expression on her face, left the room. Sam schooled his features to hopefully show nothing and waited for the man to speak. 

“So, Samuel Winchester,” the man drawled it out, savoring the name on his lips like a fine wine, “son of John Winchester, a government certified hunter, a Ghost right here, right under our very noses.”

Sam studiously kept his mouth shut. There didn’t seem anything to say.

“Attending four years of undergrad and two damn semesters of law school. Would have graduated this year if we hadn’t detected you. A sec in our own legal system for Christ’s sake. Boy, you got nerve. I’ll give you that.”

Sam nervously licked his lips but said nothing. “Have you nothing to say for yourself, boy?” the man said disdainfully.

The man suddenly loomed over him and grabbed him by the throat and began to squeeze. Sam strained back against the cop’s hold, his vision blackening at the edges. His chained arm jerked against the bed rail, but he had enough presence of mind not to fight back and try to stay still beneath the sec cop’s hold.

“How many of your Stanford buddies knew your secret, sec? I bet they won’t hold up too well under Sec Corps scrutiny.” 

The cop let go of Sam’s neck, a satisfied sneer on his face. Sam felt fear like an icy dagger in his chest as his worst nightmare, dragging his friends down with him, came to life before his eyes. His breathing sped up, he couldn’t let that happen, “No, no one knew but me, aa-and my dad. That’s all, just us…an-and my dad’s g-gone.” Sam’s ribs were screaming in pain and it seemed suddenly very hard to breathe.

“You’ll address me properly, sec, or I’ll drag you out of that bed and beat you right here. Wanna’ try that again?”

Sam’s fists tightened at his sides, but he had nothing to bargain with, nothing to use as leverage against the cop. The man could destroy his friend’s lives with a word, innocent or not. He felt his gorge rise up, and despair had his teeth clenched so tight he thought he heard one crack. 

All his life he’d seen secs bow and scrape to freemen and all his life he had considered himself lucky he wasn’t one of them. So lucky that fate – hell, his dad – had saved him and he didn’t have to bend or grovel for every last thing. All that was out the window now, he couldn’t have his friends lives ruined because of him. Couldn’t let Jess suffer for the mistake of having gotten to know him, suffer for Sam being what he was and having the audacity to want more. So, he bowed his head briefly as he tried to convince himself this was only temporary, a step to survive until he could escape, that this wasn’t giving up. He licked his lips and unclenched his fists and swallowed hard. He fought to swallow down his pride, his hope; fought to submit and be the thing he’d never wanted to be and give the man what he wanted, “Ss-sorry sir. I’m sorry, please...” Sam begged. 

“You’re trying my patience, Sam.”

Sam’s tongue darted out nervously to moisten his lips again, no quarter given. “I’m sorry, mm-master…please...”

Sam's gut wrenched as the words left his mouth, the sick taste of bile on his tongue as pieces of himself were stripped away.

The cop’s smile was thin and cruel as he looked down at Sam, “Now that’s much better. Remember what you are, Ghost. Or it will be remembered for you.”

“Yes, Master,” Sam whispered. 

“Now of course we want to know how you hid from us for so long. Who helped you, etc, etc, but the doctor says you’re in rough shape right now, so you’ll have a brief reprieve until we transfer you to the pens. Then we’ll get all the answers we need, Ghost. You’ll tell us everything we want to know and kiss our feet when we’re done.”

The sec cop closed in on Sam his face looming before his, and Sam cringed back into his pillow before he could stop himself. The cop reached out and gently pushed the hair from Sam’s eyes. “And you know how we’ll know you’re telling us the truth?”

Sam shook his head mutely; he didn’t even want to imagine.

“Cause you’ll be screaming.”

: : :

Sam was hauled out in chains onto the edge of the stage as they finished up the bidding on the slave before him. The two guards on either side of him each held leads attached to the collar around his neck, and with his hands clipped behind him, he could do little to cover his nakedness. Not that it seemed all that pressing an issue right now in his drugged haze. 

He dropped his head slightly and gazed out at the crowd from beneath his overlong bangs. He could hardly see anything. Bright lights were directed toward the stage, obscuring the audience, he could just make out the well dressed crowds in the amphitheater style seating stacked in higher and higher rings around the front of the stage. 

He heard the smack of a gavel as the current auction finished, and the tall, slim black boy he seemed to remember being called ‘Arlen’ was dragged stumbling off the other side of the stage. In a distanced, abstract way, Sam was aware that he should be nervous, that his life was about to take another abrupt turn with his sale here tonight. He had lost so much of himself here in the pens, so much that had been core to his sense of self carved away, till he was a thin hollow shell of who he had been. He remembered when making it through the pens and training had been just a means to an end. Now he wasn’t so sure. His head lolled to the side weakly and he blinked at the lights overhead, a shudder went down his spine. He was suddenly grateful for the drugs that kept him safely wrapped in a blanket of foggy haze, distancing him from this harsh reality. With his responses numbed, at least maybe he wouldn’t show them his fear. 

With a flick of the auctioneer’s wrist, Sam was hauled to the center of the stage. Sam squinted against the light, standing at the epicenter, seeing the audience became impossible. 

The auctioneer followed them to center stage and looked Sam up and down. Clicking off his headset, he said disparagingly to the guards, “Jesus, can’t you guys feed these things? It’s all skin and bones! And it’s been beaten. How am I supposed to make my bonus with this kind of product? Tell Gordon he’s going to hear from me about this. This is the fifth one in this batch that’s been substandard. You’re killing me here! Thank god it’s hung or the whole thing would be a wash. Christ!” 

Angry, the auctioneer spun on his heel, clicked on his mike, plastered on a fake smile for the crowd, and began his sales patter. “And next up for bid, this fine specimen. Male, 6’4”, hazel eyes. Some small amount of scarring, but as you can see, nothing to detract from the overall package. A little older than our normal crop at 24, but still young enough to have lots of energy.” The auctioneer chuckled dirtily at that, and the audience guffawed with him. “This one has been hiding out as a Ghost with its family. As you can see from its catalogue No 7288-732, it has a Hunter background and would make an excellent researcher or bait for any of you Hunters in the crowd. It was taking law at university until it was discovered, so secretarial work is also an option to keep you ladies on task. Because it went loose for so long, some special handling has been required here at the center, but I am assured it was thoroughly broken in training and is quite tame now. It has a state witnessed high fertility rate, and with equipment like this, it would make an excellent breeder for your stock or your business.”

Sam shivered as he listened to the auctioneer’s spiel and wanted to scream that he wasn’t an animal for sale, but it was all a muzzy haze with the drugs and aphrodisiacs that were flowing through his veins. Some part of him knew he wasn’t theirs to offer up for so many degrading purposes, but his lips and tongue just didn’t seem to want to work right at the moment. Besides, he wanted to get sold, he remembered that, wanted to get out of the training center, then he could escape. He couldn’t escape the Center – they’d been holding and breaking in slaves for decades. He could more easily break into Fort Knox. He needed to be on the outside.

Sam jerked slightly and tried not to balk as the guards pulled on his collar to turn him in a slow circle, showing him off to the crowd like a horse at a bloodstock auction. He gnawed on his lip as he was lead around the stage. The auctioneer approached and started pointing to various parts of Sam’s body as he described his physique.

Sam’s fuzzy drug wrapper was both a blessing and a curse as he stood there unable to move when the auctioneer’s bamboo rod reached out to his genitals to slip behind them and hold them up for the crowd’s perusal. Sam knew he should feel utterly humiliated. The cock ring on his dick and the blowjob from the young female slave before he had been brought up on stage assured that everyone in the crowd had a good eyeful of the breadth and length of his assets as he stood hard and leaking at center stage. But with the drugs running through his system, he just couldn’t care.

He was forced to kneel with his knees spread; the auctioneer’s bamboo rod pushed his chin up and back to display the long line of his naked chest and neck to the crowd as the auctioneer’s hands ran across his chest and tweaked his nipples to hard points. He could feel the tension on his leashes as the guards pulled slightly, expecting him to bolt upright. But in drugged bliss, Sam simply focused on the bright lights overhead and knelt there like a good boy. The auctioneer strutted around him and continued to brag about how tame he was, until he was satisfied his point was driven home with the nervous matrons in the crowd, and he got the bidding started. Sam was finally able to lower his head and hide behind his hair as he knelt, squinting out at the crowd.

He was suddenly jarred back to reality when he heard Trent’s voice out of the crowd with the opening bid of $100,000 prime. He stiffened in horror and found it suddenly hard to breathe, shocked that the guard had actually followed through on his threat. He felt a fine tremble skitter through his body at the thought of being Trent’s sec. He didn’t think he would survive long as the sadistic guard’s slave. Or if he did, it would be as a truly broken one.

He breathed out a tiny breath of relief when a lifetime later, bidding hit $200,000 and Trent’s bids dropped off. Sam had officially moved beyond Trent’s reach and pay grade.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall down onto his chest, but he listened as carefully as the haze would allow. Bidding seemed to be between three people, a cool executive sounding woman, and two men. One man had a thick Texan accent and sounded like he came straight off the farm, while the other seemed all business. 

The auctioneer motioned to the guards, and Sam found himself forced to his feet and brought to stand between two columns on a slightly raised dais. His arms were unclipped from each other and chains were attached from the manacle on each arm to the nearest pillar. He could hear a slight whir faintly above the murmur of the crowd and he felt the chains start to retract. They pulled up so far that each arm was pulled up above his head and out toward either pillar. The guards shackled his legs to the bottom of the two columns, and he was soon held spread-eagle between the pillars on the stage almost on tiptoe. The muscles of his arms and legs were pulled so taut by the chains that they trembled with the strain. Sweat clung to Sam's oiled skin, and his erection bobbed against his stomach: all of him on display. He could hear the auctioneer’s voice as the bidding intensified.

“So we’re coming down to the home stretch folks, and who will take home our lovely beauty?”

The platform Sam was standing on began slowly to rotate and he felt a presence near him. One of the guards stepped up onto the slowly turning dais beside him. The guard ran his hand down Sam’s back, and snaking further between his cheeks, started to play with the butt plug buried deep in Sam’s hole. Sam had nearly forgotten about the hated plug put there earlier in the day, when he’d been scrubbed, prepared, and pumped full of drugs. The guard began to push it gently back and forth, deliberately making sure it hit his sweet spot. Sam bit his lip and tried not to move against the short thrusts. The guard casually reached around to stroke Sam’s hard and aching cock in time with the thrusts of the butt plug and Sam bit back a moan. 

“Wouldn’t you all like to take home this tall drink of water, have him come in your hand? Do with him as you please?” 

The auctioneer’s oily words slid into Sam’s ears as the guard sped up the pounding on his prostate. Each slam back in of the butt plug massaged that sparking place, and Sam grimaced, and tried to still his hips, but the guard kept hitting his prostate like a bull’s eye. Sam whined as he felt his arousal cycle higher.

“…five hundred thousand dollars. Do I hear 6? Six. Do I hear 6.5? Seven hundred thousand dollars. So, do I hear eight hundred thousand prime?”

Lust and drugs began to blot out his awareness of the watching crowd and, helpless to stop, Sam began to move into the warm hand that enclosed his cock. The auctioneer’s drone continued in the background and he threw his head back and rocked harder into the guard’s fist. He bit his lip to hold back the moans threatening to pass his lips, his drug-addled mind unable to focus now on why he shouldn’t be enjoying this.

“Seven hundred thousand dollars. Do I hear 7.5? Do I hear 7.5? Eight to the gentlemen in the back. 8.5, do I hear 8.5?…”

Sam thrust faster back and forth as the bidding continued furiously around him. He mewled slightly in disappointment as the hand went away, only to have the cock ring holding him grasped and released. Sam sagged slightly in his bonds as he felt the hand catch him up again, stroke, and with one more slam home of the butt plug, Sam was arching up into the hand and coming. Sam’s breath hitched, and he gasped, as white ropey lines shot from his dick and splattered over the guard’s hand and his chest and the honey gold wood of the dais floor.

“…Going once… who wants to see this boy come home with them? Come for them? Going twice….Sold for eight hundred thousand prime to the man in the back. You can pick up your merchandise in the back. Lot 732. And please have your decision ready on branding, neutering, and muting for the officers. And now next up, a fine sampling…”

Sam hung slumped in his bonds as the chains were lowered, he crumpled to the stage floor onto his knees. The guards busied themselves unclipping his ankles and the spotlight slid stage right to where a female slave was now on display. The auctioneer turned off his mic and scowled at them, “Just think what I could get for something that was wasn’t subpar goods to begin with.”

All Sam wanted to do was curl up and sleep but he tried to focus on what the auctioneer had said, it was important… branding, neutering, muting …what the fuck? 

He’d heard of the practices before, had run into more than a few slaves that had been branded, even a few castratos. Sam shuddered at the mental image that left him with, but to have his vocal cords severed…Sam shivered in his post-orgasm drugged haze and tried to imagine never being able to speak again. 

The guards hauled him impatiently to his feet and clipped his hands together again behind his back, and shoved him forward toward the exit. The guard that had jerked him off wiped his come covered hand off on Sam’s chest in disgust.

“Fuck. What they won’t have us do for an extra buck,” the guard grumbled, and they jerked his leashes, hauling him off the stage.

: : :

It was kind of funny how people treated you when they thought you were a slave. Dr. Carson had become oddly formal and wouldn’t look Sam in the eyes anymore, couldn’t wait to sign him out of the Prime ward and into the Sec one for the remainder of his time there. Maddy just got this wide-eyed look every time she saw Sam, but she didn’t try to speak to him, which was just as well as the last thing the sec cop had done was put a bit in Sam’s mouth before handcuffing his remaining free hand to the other bedrail.

“Watch him,” he said to the second sec cop as he went out into the hallway to speak with the doctor.

The second cop looked at Sam with a sneer and ran a hand down his chest. “So, a Ghost lawyer, will wonders never cease? Bet you worshiped at the altar of ‘Ghost One’ and ‘Free Sec Radio’ hmmm? Well, we’ll do a little freeing of your sec ass before we’re through.” 

The man’s hand slid lasciviously down Sam’s chest and under the hospital gown he was wearing when he woke up , coming to rest on his uninterested shaft. The cop rolled his fingers around Sam’s dick, fondling the flaccid member. Sam gritted his teeth and tried to stop himself from lunging against the handcuffs holding him to the bed and arching away. Tried to will his cock to stay down. There was nothing the least bit arousing about this situation, just humiliating, and Sam feared it was just a taste of things to come.

“My you’re a big boy, aren’t you?” the cop cooed as his hand traveled down Sam’s cock and shifted to cup his balls and roll them in his hand, squeezing harder than would ever be considered pleasurable. Then the fingers moved onward to run along his perineum, travelling up towards the crease of his ass. Sam clenched and began to pull away in spite of himself.

The cop’s other hand reached out and grasped Sam’s neck, pressing down on his windpipe like he was squashing a bug, effectively choking him. “You don’t move, sec, till I say you can. Hold still or I’ll rip your fucking balls off.” 

Sam froze and his breath wheezed out from behind the bit in panic. He twisted his cuffed hands, useless as the cop’s fingers continued to travel up Sam’s crease, rubbing between the mounds until one long digit forced its way past the tight ring of muscle and inside him. Sam was no virgin but he’d never been into guys before and had never experienced anything like this dry, thrusting finger working its way forcefully and painfully into his ass, soon to be joined by a second finger.

Sam gritted his teeth on the bit and turned his head away, but the cop loosened his hold on his windpipe and grabbed his chin, jerking it back so he was forced to look at him.

“You don’t turn away, bitch, you don’t move till I say you can.”

Sam swallowed and looked at the cop’s face, his body shaking slightly in shock as he tried not to acknowledge the invading fingers, now numbering three, pumping into him. “Yeah, gonna ride you good, boy. Just wait until we have you safely strapped down in the sec ward.” 

Just then a gasp was heard behind them and Sam’s gaze darted to where Maddy stood, mouth wide and hands trembling so bad on the lunch tray she carried that the dishes had started to rattle. Sam could feel his face turn bright pink. It was one thing to be the sec cop’s fuck toy, but in the presence of witnesses... he wanted to curl up and disappear. 

The cop’s fingers casually withdrew and patted Sam’s hospital gown back into place as they slid out. “Go on, nurse, put the tray by the bed,” the cop said blandly as he turned and pulled a white hankie from his jacket pocket to wipe his hand off with. 

“Y-you can’t dd-do that to him…” Maddy stuttered. “It’s wrong! Leave him alone.” 

Sam’s teeth clenched on the bit again, and he had to look away. He wanted to plead with his eyes for Maddy to not make this worse than it already was, not to tangle with these men, but he knew it would do no good, and he couldn’t watch the train wreck that was to come.

“What? Are you one of those sympathizers? Are you disloyal to the state, girl?” The cop’s sneering voice seemed loud in the room. 

“Nn-o of cc-ourse not, bbb-uut you can’t do that to him.”

“It’s a slave, isn’t it? You see the sec code on its arm, right?” 

The cop turned and hauled Sam’s handcuffed arm around so the soft blue of the barcode glowed in the room. Maddy nodded mutely in acknowledgement, her eyes dropping in defeat toward the hospital floor. 

“Then I can do anything I want to it. Get out of here before we look into your background, see how many Ghosts you’ve helped. Maybe you knew about him all along?” 

Maddy bit her lip and, sparing a guilty look at Sam, fled the room.

“I see you’re making friends as usual, Bishop.” The lead cop returned to the room and took in the scene of the fleeing nurse.

“Fuck you, Murphy, she’s a sec sympathizer.” 

“More like a horny kid who’d just had her wet dream turn into a project that needed saving from the big bad Sec Corps.” Murphy had a cruel smile on his face as he stared down at the bound Sam. “And I just got our transfer moved up. Sam’s going to the Sec ward this afternoon. Doc insists though that he stay there for the next four or five days.”

“Well, that’s a good thing. It’ll give us plenty of time with our new boy, here. Show him how things work for his kind in the real world. This ain’t Stanford, and he’s no Prime. And besides, there’s no use wasting a perfectly good virgin on the Center,” Bishop said matter-of-factly.

“No, there certainly isn’t,” Murphy agreed, licking his lips.

Sam was pathetically glad of the bit in his mouth that stopped the words that wanted to boil out of him. The intelligent lawyer in him wanted to protest angrily, the midnight freedom fighter in him wanted to snarl in defiance, and the coward in him wanted to curl up in fear and whimper. 

He shivered and tried to get control of his scattered thoughts, to look anywhere but at the two sec cops looming over him. He clamped down harder on the bit and wished he were braver, wished his dad were here. He’d seen the deplorable conditions slaves were often kept in, had lived all his life with the possibility that one day it could be him with a collar around his neck, answering 'Master' to some dick Prime. He had just never actually believed it would really happen. But it had, and he didn’t like the gut level feeling of helplessness he felt. 

“So how many hours till they move him?” Bishop asked, and Sam closed his eyes in despair.

: : :

Chapter Text


Prime – Chapter 4

: : :

“Come on Sam… it’s downloaded.” Sam heard Jess’s voice from the other room. He rushed to finish dishing up their supper in the tiny kitchen of the campus apartment they shared. It was a compact one-bedroom with dilapidated University-supplied furniture that was long past its best-before date, but it boasted a tiny living room and, better than that, a queen sized bed. Though when Sam’s feet dangled exposed and cold in wintertime over the edges of that bed, he often plotted smuggling a king-sized mattress into the building. But it was home, and they were together, so it was damn near perfect.

Jess introduced him to the guilty pleasure of listening to Free Sec Radio broadcasts, underground vids carefully renamed and redistributed P2P, and widely circulated by the impassioned and optimistic university crowd. 

The first time he listened to Ghost One, he fell just a little in love with the gravely, synthesized voice of the front man for the Freedom Movement, and the digitized outline of his face. If he squinted, he imagined he might recognize the guy if he saw him on the street, but he knew he was just fooling himself. All he could make out was a blobby, blurred shadow sitting casually in front of the Free Sec Radio banner that always hung in the background of the vids. 

He and Jess huddled around the computer screen, suppers balanced on their knees, the volume not too loud so prying ears wouldn’t overhear the treasonous broadcasts. They sat there like acolytes of some groupie cult, barely taking a bite, not wanting to miss a word of the broadcast.

Afterward, as Jess made coffee, Sam threw himself onto their little sofa, huffing out a breath in amazement. 

“Damn, he’s smart. So smart, ya’know? He never comes at the sec issue head on, talks about repercussions and parables, scenarios that parallel real life Prime/Sec situations. He doesn’t use those exact words, but everyone knows what he’s talking about. Ya’ just gotta admire the guy, he just dances on the knife-edge of sedition and outright treason. He’ll make those Sec Cops work hard at throwing him in jail, that’s for sure. If they ever catch him, that is. 

“And he’s just what we need. Ghost One is the conscience of a nation that can't stand to look at itself in the mirror. Every one of his broadcasts makes us take a hard look at what we, as a society, are moving toward.” Sam shook his head in admiration for the man. “And his signoff, 'This is Ghost One signing off. Remember, He who is brave is free,' never fails to send shivers down my spine.”

Jess nodded in agreement and they curled up on the couch together.

“You know, it’s been me and my dad for so long, I-I just hadn’t realized how bad it was out there. How bad it is for the secs. I mean, I’ve seen stuff, bad stuff, but somehow I thought campus wouldn’t be as bad. But it's even worse in some ways. I mean, I watch these poor kids–god, kids same age as you and me, kids who could be students themselves, except they were born out of order – and here they are, trailing silently around after some student master, and they're treated like shit. Maybe not all of them, but I’ve seen enough sec rapes and beatings at frat parties to last a lifetime. I mean, we’re here at Stanford – supposedly a pinnacle of human achievement and higher learning – and if the abuse of secs is this bad here, what’s it like out in the real world? I don’t know." Sam shook his head again. "I just wish I could do more, ya’know? Helping to write new legislative trial balloons that would help secs in what, maybe 10-15 years if Professor Reed can get any of them passed–it just doesn’t seem immediate enough. I wish I could do something real, tangible, with real results.”

“Ahh, you know Sam, if you’re really serious about this, maybe there is.”

Sam could almost feel Jess holding her breath.

“What do you mean?”

“Umm, I mean I wasn’t just the ‘Communications Officer’ for the rally by accident, Sam. I’m part of something.”

“Like what?” Sam ran his hands through his hair and breathed out. This was so exactly what his father wanted him to avoid. But Sam didn’t care.

“I mean I’m a part of the movement.To make a difference. I’m part of a Ghost Runner unit here at the campus. And – I’m taking a big chance here even telling you – but I think the difference you want to make, you could do that with us. I-I could introduce you, if you want. We help with intelligence work, and rehab of secs once we’ve managed to free them. There is even a more active group that helps free them, but it’s pretty dangerous work. You don’t have to get in that deep if you don’t want to. They've helped some of them reach safety at The Farm. That’s where I worked last summer. It’s located in Canada and it makes it safe for the secs, but Sam, so many of them are broken. It takes everything I have to not quit school and work there full time. The only thing holding me here is, the more I learn, the more I can help.” She drew her legs up, arms around her knees, her eyes seeking his. “So, what do you think Sam?”

Sam's look of surprise at the activities Jess had managed to keep secret from him gave way to one of admiration, and then a wide, dimpled smile. He leaned across, gathering her into a hug with those long arms of his, and laughed. “What do I think? I think I’m the luckiest man in the world to have met you. You give me everything I need, and this right here? You’ve restored some of my faith in the goodness of humanity. I was starting to think every student here was a dick. I’m in, I’m totally in. This is exactly what I want to become involved in.” He hugged Jess tighter and kissed her deeply.

“Maybe one day I’ll even get to meet Ghost One,” he grinned, confessing to and inviting her to mock his hero-worship.

: : : 

Lightning flashed across the night sky as a tall figure strode through the grey sheets of rain.

The walkie-talkie’s squawk cut sharply through the pervasive pattering sound.

“Coming up on you. Three minutes, tops. No one else is on the road. Over.”

Large, practiced hands flipped the spike belt out across the rain-slicked road. A quiet, nervous titter from someone in the back could be heard over the rain.

“Okay, so we all know what we have to do. No screw ups, and no one gets hurt. Stay on your guard.” Sam’s voice was grim. 

He knew they were all eager and excited, but this was life and death stuff they were into. Whether they fully appreciated the danger they put themselves in by taking part in this mission or not, Sam did. And he intended to keep them all safe, and have all of them get out alive and free.

Right on schedule, the eighteen wheeler rolled around the turn in the road, easily 10 miles an hour over the speed limit. There was a wet skid as the driver hit the brakes, too late to stop the truck from rolling through the spike belt, then there was the helicopter-sound of flapping torn rubber. The truck wobbled precariously as the tires blew and shredded, and the lumbering squeal of a possible jackknife had them all holding their breath. The truck careened along the deserted highway, running on its rims, finally grinding to a jerky stop once it hit the gravel shoulder, tipped at a precarious angle against the soft dirt of the embankment some 600 feet beyond the spikes. The scraping thumps of displaced cargo moving inside the container could be heard through the rain, as well as small whimpering sounds.

“What the hell?” 

The driver shot out of the truck and clambered down from the awkward angle of the listing cab. He looked wildly around, trying to turn on a flashlight one-handed while maintaining a tight hold on the shotgun with his other hand. 

As the flashlight finally snapped on, a soft, deep voice, calm as velvet, came out of the darkness just behind the driver. “Stop right there, and drop the gun, and no one gets hurt.” 

The driver spun around, gun raised.

: : :

The rain continued in battering waves as the students hurried across the quad. No one wanted to get any wetter than they had to. 

Sam heard his name called impatiently as he rushed for cover.

He turned as he reached the archway of the Science Building, spotting Tom as he rushed toward him. 

“You did it, you did it,” Tom huffed out, breathless.

“Okay, okay, take it easy, Tom. Not so loud for Christ’s sake.”

“Sam… I-I didn’t think it would be this bad.” Tom shivered and looked a little green as he stared at Sam. “God, Sam, what they’ve done to them.”

“I know, Tommy. Let’s check in with Rachel. She’s probably had a chance to look them all over by now, and I’m sure there are more supplies she’ll need.”

: : : 

Sam’s favorite had to be Samantha, Little Sam for short. The little girl was around 6 or 7 years old. No one knew for sure, and there sure as heck hadn’t been any birthday parties ever held for this slave-born child. He could only guess based on relative size. 

It was one of the most insidious aspects of the Prime Act. Any children conceived by secs were automatically born into slavery, thus creating a whole second class of citizens who had never known even a brief taste of freedom. She’d been slave to a rich actress, and when she’d gotten too big to fit easily into the wheel well of the woman’s limos without cramping her, she’d been ordered put down. 

Sam sneered mentally at the shallow cruelty of the jet set. It was all the rage with the rich and famous; don’t sell slaves you’ve grown tired of, put them down. That way your secrets died with them, and no celebrity tell-all based on information tortured out of slaves could feed the tabloids.

Sam glanced behind him as he entered the basement. No one was around as he entered the storage room, no one to see him hit the switch and enter the rooms hidden behind the back shelving unit.

It was kind of like entering the Bat Cave, Sam mused. Who knew that, with a little application of engineering, you could have your own secret door right here in the Science building. 

He ducked his head; the old, arched brick passageway wasn’t exactly built with Sam’s height in mind. As he walked down the dark hallway, he felt the chill of the basement recede. The door at the end of the corridor had a Prohibition-style sliding panel; it slid open at his soft tap, and dark eyes surveyed him calmly. 

“Umm, you gonna let me in, Andy?” 

Sam gave a small smile as he looked into Andrew’s nervous face. The door creaked open and accompanying warmth bathed Sam as he entered the room.

Rows of cots lined the room. There was soft chatter from the small groups of people scattered about the long, dark room. Wires were threaded through hooks in the ceiling to allow blankets to partition off parts of the area, and the smells of cooking permeated the small space. It seemed too quiet for as many people as were here in this room. Even after they'd been here for weeks, the quiet still surprised him. But these weren’t ordinary people, these were all former slaves.

A small bundle rushed out of one of the groups and flung itself at Sam. Small arms flung around his legs, and little hands clutched at his pantlegs and hung on. Sam wasn’t going anywhere with this little lodestone attached. 

“What’s this?” Sam said softly. He’d learned loud noises only startled the room’s tenants. “Is this a barnacle?” he teased. 

The little blond head shook, head still buried in Sam’s legs. 

“Is this a koala?” 

The little head shook negatively again; now shy blue eyes crept up to carefully watch him. 

“I know! It’s a monkey?” 

Laughing, Sam swung down and collected his clinging monkey into his arms, hefting the small child up to his chest. Soft giggles erupted from the girl, and Sam’s heart broke once again as the little face glanced up at him. A long scar ran along one side of the child’s face where cruel hands had lashed out in punishment. The bright blue eyes gazed up at him adoringly, and Sam gave his little barnacle a gentle squeeze. 

“So how’s school?” Sam asked. “What did Jess teach you today, little monkey?” The little girl glanced down at her hands, then back up again, and smiled. 

“I can write my name!” the shy voice whispered out. Like so many of the slave-born, Little Sam had little to no education. She hadn’t even known the letters of the alphabet when she’d first arrived. “Your name, WOW, that’s great. I bet it’s spelled a lot like mine,” Sam enthused.

The lighting smile struck again, and the little girl offered, “S. A. M., that’s me!”

“It certainly is. You’re Sam, and I’m Sam, but you’re way prettier than me.” Sam gave the little girl a sloppy, noisy zerbert kiss on her scarred cheek, evoking a new stream of soft, delighted giggles. “I brought you something, Samantha. I hope you like it.”

Still holding the child in his arms, he reached into a pocket and brought out a little package wrapped in pink tissue paper. “Take a look.” Sam nudged the present into the little girl’s hands. 

Her eyes went wide. Sam thought this might be the first thing anyone had ever given the child, and he had to clamp down on his emotions. He didn’t want to cry in front of her.

Clever little fingers opened the package, careful not to tear the bright wrapping paper as they unfolded the present inside.

“Oh, it’s so pretty,” the little girl breathed out so softly Sam could barely hear her.

“You like?” Sam asked quietly. “They’re your very own stars, so you can always make a wish upon them.” 

Sam glanced down at the little silver necklace; a series of small stars and a smiling moon dangled from the delicate chain.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Sammy.” 

“Here, I’ll put it on you.” 

Sam settled the girl down on the nearest bunk and knelt down on one knee to put the necklace on. The chain was long enough for her to pull over her head at any time or lift up and see the moon and stars, nothing resembling the cruel closeness of the collar they had cut off the child’s neck when they’d first retrieved her. 

Sam bowed his head and swept an imaginary hat back after he put on the necklace. “There, milady, now you sparkle like a star.” 

Samantha’s painfully thin arms wrapped themselves around Sam once more, and then the little girl was off in a mad dash to show her friends. Sam hoped that the other children, who were older, wouldn’t mind, but that’s what the candy in his other pocket was for. 

After dispensing the treats to squeals of glee, Sam watched protectively as they oohed and awed over Samantha’s necklace. He then made his way over to Jess in the far corner. 

A makeshift classroom had been set up and Jess, along with other volunteers, spent time tutoring the former slaves who wanted to brush up on their reading, or in the case of the children, gave them the basic skills.

“Um… Hey you.” Sam leaned down and gave Jess a kiss. She leaned into him and he caught the light scent of her perfume and reveled in the way she fit perfectly in the circle of his arms. He felt her burrow closer and then she tipped her head up at him and laughed. “Hiya.”

Sam laughed and squeezed her tight, before glancing around the room. "So, how’s it going?”

Jess took a few minutes to brief her latest student before she stood up and led him off to a secluded corner to talk. “How do you think it’s going?” she huffed. “Twenty-six adults, all with various stages of mental and physical abuse: four of them can’t even talk, Sam, they burned out their vocal cords. Five sec-born ranging in ages from 6 to 12 who don’t even know their letters and numbers, let alone how to read. Not even their letters. What the hell? I knew things were bad, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“I know, but you’re doing the best you can, and I can see a difference. They’re…happier.” 

“But it’s so little, I have to go to my regular classes and work, and the little bit of time I get to be here always seems rushed. I—I just feel so guilty.” She leaned into him and hid her head in his chest. He hugged her, wrapping his large hands around her smaller frame to try and comfort as he rested his chin on her bowed head.

“Remember the first time we met?”

“Who could forget? It was crazy, the first big abolitionist rally of the semester. And I was in charge of ‘Communications’.”

Sam grinned, a wide relaxed smile on his face. “Yeah, that’s code for ‘the girl suckered into making signs’ – too many signs, as I recall. They were all over the ground and you kept dropping them.”

“Well, a real gentleman would have helped me sooner.”

“A real gentleman wasn’t available. All you had was me, and I usually avoided those things like the plague.” Sam didn’t mention it was because his dad had warned him repeatedly about how dangerous it was for him at the university, and he had taken it to heart. He had to keep a low profile, and not raise any flags.

“But my gentlemanly instincts did eventually kick in when I saw you, all pitiful and stuff, in the middle of the Quad, students streaming around you and nobody stopping to help.

“That’s when I leapt into action and put my fiendish plan into play.” Sam puffed out his chest heroically and Jess laughed.

“And what, pray tell, fiendish plan was that?” Jess looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. He just hoped his face didn’t have that goofy expression it usually wore where Jess was concerned.

“Why, to steal your heart, dear lady. Who knew picking up a few signs would get me in good with one of the prettiest abolitionists on campus?”

“A totally selfish move. You just used me to make more friends on campus, you bookworm.” Jess’s smile softened the accusation.

“Who, me? I introduced you to all my buddies at the chess club, how exciting was that? Seemed a fair exchange to meeting the rebel subculture I didn’t even know existed. Face it Jess, you corrupted a minor. I was innocent until I met you. Now I’m a felon, a regular Clyde to your Bonnie.”

“Innocent,” Jess snorted. “You don’t have an innocent bone in your body. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if you arranged the whole thing ahead of time, somehow."

“Well, how else was I going to insinuate myself into your life and find out if you already had a boyfriend or not? Now I’m a freedom fighter with the hottest girlfriend on campus, making a difference.”

“Humph," she muttered. “Some difference, half of them are still catatonic.”

“That’s not true. I’m no expert but I can see improvement already, in how they’re acting, speaking…god, smiling. You are helping, Jess. You're making a difference.” He reassured her.

“But we only have them for another couple weeks until they’re shipped out. It’s not nearly enough time. Some of them are just now getting to the point where they’ll try to speak.”

“This is no place for these folks full time, Jess. There's no light, no air. They must be going stir crazy, not seeing the sun. The Farm will be a much better place, and safer. They’ll be in Canada, and free; no one will be able to take them back once they’re across the border. Then they’ll really start to heal. Jeff is just getting everything ready. Besides, there’s always the summer break, you could go out and tutor them there. We just have to get them somewhere safe, and fast.”

“I don’t understand it, Sam. Why don’t people see how evil the system is? They were going to put all these people down like dogs. It-it’s not right.”

Jess leaned back and unconsciously rubbed her hands over Sam’s arm braces. The black leather, even softer now with age and use, so much a part of Sam he never thought about them now. They were just always there.

“I know, baby, I know. But like my dad always says, we all do what we can, and we will make a difference. Hey, at least you see some results for your efforts.” Sam laughed softly and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “All I’ve got to show for my work is rejection letters, refusal notices, and overturned motions.”

She squeezed hard on the braces under her hands to emphasize her words. “But you’re making a difference too, Sam,I know you are. There’s more buzz about abolition. The student union’s ready to come out on our side.” 

“Yeah, that’s all good stuff,” Sam agreed, “but in the real world, no one wants to back the Abolitionist Bill, or even our toned-down Prime Amendments. No one wants to risk being associated with it. Thank god for Professor Reed; he’s a real hero, risking his job to represent the movement here at the university. All I know is it’s wrong, and we have to keep trying.” 

He leaned down and kissed Jess, lips meeting softly. Jess sighed into him as her mouth opened for his; the soft swipe of his tongue had her relaxing into his hold as he explored her mouth. He caught himself though, and gently withdrew, settled his forehead against hers, and breathed deeply. He squeezed her briefly and stepped away. This was not the time or the place.

“I-I’ve got to go talk to Josh, see how we’re going to handle the move. There’s still a lot of risk just getting them out past the campus guards to join up with the Ghost Runners, now that Josh isn’t heading up the night shift. Shit, I wish he hadn’t broken his arm on this last run. We really need him.”

Jess nodded in sympathy. 

Sam chewed on his lip and thought who might be a likely replacement for Josh. He didn’t have a whole lot of volunteers to choose from. God knows he was the first to understand how dangerous it was to become involved in the movement, knew his dad would kick his ass if he found out. He was playing with the worst kind of fire. If the police found out Jess was aiding slave escapes, that could mean heavy fines, but if they somehow found out about him…long time association with a Ghost could mean instant enslavement for Jess, and Sam couldn’t have that on his conscience. That’s why he’d never told her about himself. Wanted her to always be able to take a polygraph about him and pass. If he was a better man he wouldn’t have gotten involved with her at all, but he couldn’t seem to stay away. He suspected she knew though, had put the clues together herself, maybe caught a glimpse of his bare arm after a shower or just put one and one together. But if she had, she kept it to herself. 

“Sam? Sam, are you listening to me?” Jess laughed. 

Sam shook his head slightly as he snapped back into the present . “Oh, shit, sorry, babe, I guess I just wandered off there for a moment. What were you saying?”

“I said I just got a new vid of Ghost One; wanna watch it later?”

“Mm yeah, that would be great.”

: : : 

They smashed the lock on the container and backed the two minivans up next to the crash site. Time was of the essence. Sam took point and was first in, Hank behind him. As the doors flung open, Sam put his arm over his face and tried to breathe through the soft cloth of his jacket. The stink of penned-up humanity was acrid inside the container, and fear radiated from the human cargo.

None of the cages had been locked down, of course, since the truck carried only worthless cargo, and the cages had all slid to the front of the container as the driver had put on the brakes. The biggest trouble would be the second layer of cages stacked on top; some had fallen sideways, their contents flung around inside.

The first cage Sam approached held a 20-something man inside. The man looked up fearfully and scrambled instinctively to kneel. It was an impossible task kneeling within the askew cage on the upturned bars. Sam came closer and could see the slave’s naked body shivering in the cold night air, not just from the temperature.

Sam held out his hands, palms upturned in a calming gesture and tried to make his voice as calm and soothing as possible, “It’s alright, it’s alright, no one is going to hurt you. We’re here to help.”

Sam knew speed was of the essence and went ahead and snapped open the lock on the cage with the bolt cutters. He knelt down as he swung open the cage door.

“It’s okay, we’re here to help; you can come out.” 

He reached in to the young man whose arms were bound behind him, a cruel bit in his mouth. The man’s eyes rolled fearfully, and he whimpered. Sam understood his fear; the next time the man left his cage he was supposed to be euthanized.

“We’re not here t-to put you down, we’re here to free you. We’re with the Alliance. You can come out now, it’s gonna be okay.” 

Sam gently coaxed the trembling youth forward. As he crawled out, Sam gently wrapped him in a blanket and turned him over to Hank to take out to the waiting minivan. The boy’s bare feet made no sound on the container floor, but Sam could hear the soft, fearful whimpers from behind his bit as Hank went to work on removing it.

Sam moved on to the next cage within reach and sighed as he found it held the dead body of an older woman. It looked like the water dispenser on her cage hadn’t worked, and a four day trek in a container with no water had been too much for her. 

Sam moved on to the next cage, and his heart broke as he saw the tiny, naked bodies of the young slaves inside. They were children, and they had put three of them together in a cage. At least they would have been able to keep each other warm, Sam thought as he attacked the lock on the cage. 

All three children plastered themselves up against the opposite side away from the door as Sam crouched down. The soft whimpers of fear coming from them as they huddled there, covered in days of filth and neglect as they were ferried to basically a human abattoir, had Sam closing his eyes in rage at the injustice. 

“It’s okay, we’re here to help.” Sam repeated the same words in a soft soothing voice. 

The first one to break from the huddle was a little blonde girl with softly curling hair; the scar on the left side of her face marred the beauty, but the look of fearless trust in her face as she crept toward Sam had his heart near to bursting. “That’s it, honey, nothing to fear. We’re gonna get you outta here, don’t you worry.” 

The little girl flung herself into Sam’s chest, and Sam hugged her tight as soft mewling cries came from the small, shuddering body. Sam gently wrapped the blanket he was passed around the shivering girl and hefted her the rest of the way out of the cage.

“Okay, who’s next?” Sam looked expectantly at the other two children as the youngest was ushered to the waiting cars; the two remaining older children rushed forward together and burrowed into the folds of his coat, sobbing through their bits in relief. 

The same scene was repeated over and over as Sam slowly and methodically approached each cage, gently coaxing and cajoling each traumatized victim out and into the waiting arms of the underground workers. He wrapped blankets around broken and abused bodies, whip marks, bruises, scarring, branded flesh, and burns. Not a soul in that container was without marks of torment, all inflicted by his fellow countrymen. 

It was grueling work, the pain and abuse written on each body he’d seen was nearly enough to break him. As he finally stepped out of the container into the fresh night air, Sam had to shake himself. He quickly dashed the moisture out of the corners of his eyes before any of his people could see.

Josh approached, his arm now in a sling from their earlier run in with the driver and said, “So what do we do with him?” and gestured toward the side of the truck.

Sam looked over at the driver, kneeling in the dirt, blindfolded and gagged with one of the slave’s cast off bits.

“Put him in one of the cages, see how much he likes it,” Sam said wearily.

“What? That’s it? He was taking them to a human fertilizer factory!” Josh raged.

“You think I don’t know that? He never even checked to see if they were alive or dead! But hell, Josh, we can’t just kill him. We have to be better than them. Put him in a cage before I change my mind and end up regretting something.” 

Sam shook his head wearily and strode away from the truck. He couldn’t take any more, couldn’t take inflicting any more pain, even if it was on an evil, unrepentant prick like this. No one deserved to be treated like that.

: : :

Chapter Text


Prime – Chapter 5

: : :

He heard his master return from supper, the impatient scraping of the key at the door and Sam scrambled to kneel in position, eyes down before his master entered. Even so, the sound of the door being slammed closed so hard it nearly came off its hinges still startled him. “Fucking Singer, showin’ me up in front of the guys. Thank god I’ve only got to put up with him for one more day. I’ll show that fucker… Get over here, bitch,” his master ordered.

Sam hastily rose from where he was kneeling at the foot of the bed and crawled to the side where his master had thrown himself full length. The chain that tethered him, by the ankle to the slave bolt in the floor next to the wall, was just long enough to allow Sam access to the bed, but not to the hotel room door, or even the bathroom.

Sam knelt up next to his master. Fear cut through him as he smelled the booze on his master’s breath.

“Suck me off, bitch,” Simon ordered as he grabbed Sam’s head and pushed it into his lap as he lay sprawled out, still fully dressed on the bed. 

Sam reached tentative fingers out to unbuckle his master’s pants. But his hands shook, and Simon batted them away, impatient. 

“Fucking whore, why couldn’t I get a slave who could just suck cock?” he complained as he finished with the belt and shimmied his jeans partially down his hips.

Sam reached out gently for the man’s cock and proceeded to jack him with both hands as he laid kisses along his stomach and thighs.

“I don’t want you to play with it, I want a blowjob. Now,” Simon ordered, slapping Sam hard enough across the face to knock him back from the bed. 

He rubbed his aching jaw and swiftly rose back up on his knees to take his master into his mouth and suck him off. Simon’s hips bucked up into the air, into Sam’s face, and he had to try to stop himself from choking on his master’s dick. 

Simon cruelly twisted his hair and fucked furiously into Sam’s face. As he came close to completion, he pulled Sam down into his crotch. Sam’s face was shoved tight into smelly, unwashed pubic hair. Several brutal thrusts later, his master came in hot, jagged spurts in his mouth. 

Sam desperately tried to swallow as Simon pulsed into him, his seed bitter on Sam’s tongue. Simon’s hands finally loosened their grip on the sides of Sam’s head to give Sam just enough room to pull back and lick his master clean.

Once Sam was done to his master’s satisfaction, Simon shoved Sam off of him down onto the floor. He reached out a hand and clicked off the room’s lights as he pulled the expensive hotel duvet up over himself and fell into a drunken sleep. 

Sam crawled back to the foot of the bed and curled up, shivering. The room was high-end: 5 star, if Sam wanted to try and guess. Nothing but the best for Simon, but his master kept the thermostat turned down on purpose, and in the chilly October night, even snuggling close to the high end carpet wasn’t enough. His stomach growled noisily, not having eaten since the day before, and he had to piss so bad he could almost taste it. 

Simon had left him in the hotel room alone all day while he was on a hunt, and Sam had been without food or water or access to the bathroom. The bastard hadn’t even turned the TV on to give Sam something to pass the time. He shivered and clenched his bladder tighter; he didn’t want to get beaten again for pissing himself like some kind of bad puppy. He was sure Simon did it deliberately to humiliate him. 

Sam lay there for a long time, the soft glow of the bar code on his arm the only illumination in the room as he waited for sleep to take him somewhere better. He bit his lips to hold back the sobs, but couldn’t stop the steady slide of tears down his cheeks. He missed his dad, he missed his life. 

Sam wanted to die.

: : :

Dean pulled up to the Roadhouse. He was tired and sore and would kill for a beer right about now. He hadn’t seen Ellen or Jo for a couple of months, and wondered how things were going for them these days. He hurried inside; the sky was grey, and a storm seemed to be moving across the horizon.

As he walked into the bar, the familiar scents of stale beer, bar nuts, and unwashed hunters rolled over him. He snorted; he had barely made it halfway to the bar when he heard a scream of, “Dean!” as a warm body flung itself into his arms, announcing the arrival of Jo.

“Hey there, sunshine, how’s things?” Dean smirked down at the woman who was like a sister to him as he grasped her around the waist and pulled her with him toward the bar.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. If it isn’t Dean Singer.” Ellen’s sarcastic drawl cut through the murmur of the crowd as he approached the bar.

“Yup, had to drop in and see my two favorite ladies.”

“Nice to see you too, Dean, it’s been a while. What’ya been huntin?”

“Nest of vamps over in Omaha. I followed the police reports for a while; tricky bastards, they had taken over a biker bar and were playing it pretty coy, blackmailing the real staff with killin’ their families if they said anything and forcing them to keep the bar operating, using it as their own private blood bank.”

“Jesus!” Ellen breathed. “Was that all on your own?” 

“Nah, I wish! Too big for just me. Bobby hooked me up with a couple of other hunters to get it done. That’s what brought me here actually, not that I don’t love to see you ladies. We agreed to hook up for a celebratory beer.”

“Who were you workin’ with?” Jo asked curiously.

“Guy named Simon Burton, he was kind of a dick, but the other two guys, Ray Malone and Guy Tremble were okay. I see them over there playin’ cards. I had to return a Borgian spell bowl I borrowed from Bobby, and let him know how it all turned out, so I’m runnin’ a little late.”

“Yeah, Simon is a miserable son of a bitch. Real temper on him too. Watch your back with him, Dean. Ray and Guy are good people as hunters go, don’t know how they ended up hooked up with Simon. Rumor is, Simon is wealthy as all stink and just does this for kicks on the weekends, then goes back to making money. Ray and Guy might be just getting a taste of the good life while they can.”

“Hmm, good to know. Explains a few things too. He made some real rookie mistakes out there. Coulda’ gotten him killed. Anyway, ciao for now ladies. I’ll talk with you later.” Dean tipped his hand to an imaginary hat as he strolled over to the table.

“Hey fellas,” Dean said companionably as he pulled up a chair beside Guy.

“Yeah, Singer, man, good to see you.” Guy shook his hand and slapped him on the back. “Some nice moves out there today.” Guy stated as Dean shook hands with Simon and Ray and was introduced to another hunter named Phil sitting at the table. 

“What’s the game, boys?” Dean asked.

“Poker, and we’re just starting a new round. Nothin’s wild and blinds are $5 and $10. You in?”

Dean nodded and anteed up for some chips. As Phil dealt the next hand, Ray turned to him and said, “I know Bobby vouched for you, but you from a hunter family? How’d you get in the life?” 

“Not really, my parents died when I was young, and Bobby Singer was as close a relative as they could dig up on my file. When he took me in, I kinda just absorbed it all, but my real dad was an accountant. So no, no real hunter blood running directly in the family.” Dean chuckled. “Thank God for Bobby though!”

“Hear, hear, to Bobby and his never-ending helpful research,” Guy chirped in, and all the men clinked their bottles together to toast the man.

: : :

“What the fuck are you stopping for? I didn’t tell you to stop,” Simon yelled, a total non sequitur to the conversation the men were having over their beer and cards, and glared down at his crotch.

Dean looked perplexedly across at Simon apparently talking to himself. “Fucking useless whore,” Simon raged. He lurched to his feet, dick hanging out of his jeans, and reached down to grab something under the table. Dean could tell he was more than a bit tipsy already, the asshole.

The something turned out to be an incredibly skinny, near naked boy – no, man, Dean amended in his mind. Simon hauled viciously on the man’s hair as he pulled him out into the open and slammed him up against the nearby wall. 

The man held feebly onto his master’s hands, not to stop him, just to prevent his hair from being torn from his head. Simon slammed him head-first into the wall, and Dean saw the boy stagger before he was being yanked down to the floor. He realized on closer inspection that the slave wasn’t actually naked, but nearly; wearing only the standard grey slave trunks and standard issue open sandals, which considering it was November in central Nebraska, didn’t seem right. 

Simon whipped a leash out of his pocket and snapped it on the dazed man, clipping it onto his collar and through one of the slave bolts along the bar’s walls; he hooked it back around and connected the slave’s bracelets to it as well, so the boy was left hunched down kneeling on the floor. Dean saw him trembling like a leaf where he knelt, but the sec didn’t make a sound or look up, just huddled down farther.

Simon stood red-faced and tucked himself in. He strode to the bar and demanded of Ellen, “Where’s your flogger?”

Ellen looked at him in distaste, and replied, “Simon, now you know I don’t like violence in my bar.”

“You will not tell me how to discipline my property, or I’ll have your liquor license, you bitch. Now get me the fucking flogger.”

Ellen reached down and pulled the flogger out from under the bar. By state law, all bars had to have at least one on hand for a master’s use at all times. She handed it silently over to the furious man.

Simon stormed back and began to beat his boy till blood ran on the bar floor. 

: : :

Dean felt rage boil through him. Being a Prime was a privilege, and it absolutely infuriated him how so many men took it as an open license to abuse those born subsequent. He had to bite his tongue to keep control of himself and not lunge across the table and take Simon down himself. The way things stood right now, a man had a legal right to discipline his property anyhow he saw fit. Dean couldn’t wait for the day that law was shredded and burned, and jerks like Simon got what was coming to them. In the meantime, he had to grind his teeth and try not to give too much away, though every molecule of his being wanted to reach out and snatch the whip away from the brutal sadist.

Simon wailed on the boy until he slumped to the ground in a pool of his own blood. Not once did the slave say a word or beg; Dean was sure that was through bitter experience that it did no good. It only later dawned on Dean that maybe the kid couldn’t scream.

The other hunters seemed to be similarly uncomfortable with the situation, with Ray breaking the silence that had fallen over the table to speak up tentatively and say, “Jesus, Simon, you’re gettin’ blood on the cards. Don’t ya think you’ve punished the boy enough?” 

Simon paused, the haze of insanity seemed to clear from his eyes a bit as he pushed his sweat soaked hair from his face.

The boy lay huddled on the floor, barely conscious, silent sobs wracking his frame. His head was hidden under his curled arms. Come and other fluids covered his bruised and dirty skin. It was obvious his master didn’t see fit to feed him often enough, as the bones of his hips poked out dramatically. One failed blow job didn’t seem to justify the violence done here. Dean had to look away; it wasn’t his business, he couldn't fight it here and now, it was the way of the world.

“Fuck it, you’re right.” He kicked his slave one more time, savagely, before throwing the flogger to the ground by his slave’s head and turning back to the table and picking up his chair where it had been knocked to the ground.

“Jesus, man, remind me never to piss you off,” Guy said as Simon threw himself into his chair.

“Little fucker, don’t know why I bought him. Thought it’d be funny to have John Winchester’s kid sucking my dick, but I shoulda’ known anything related to John Winchester would be a fuck up,” Simon said casually as he picked up his beer and took a slug of it.

“John Winchester’s, eh? I think he’s a friend of Bobby’s,” Dean said, trying not to look at the bloody boy, so still now he hoped he had mercifully passed out. 

He felt an unaccountable sense of protectiveness and wanted to shield the sec from Simon’s wrath. 

Dean shook his head as he heard Guy say, “Was, was a friend of Bobby’s, he caught a claw to the throat over in Wyoming. A rugaru, the boy was with him, got hurt too. That’s how they found out he was a Ghost.”

“What, the boy wasn’t declared?” Ray said, picking up his cards again as Simon threw in some chips.

“No, no way could Winchester hold on to him if he was declared. I guess he’d been hiding in plain sight for years, first child it turns out died with John’s wife. That’s how Winchester pulled it off, did a reg swap. It even went to university. Can you imagine? Five years at Stanford for law. Fucking jumped-up second doesn’t know its place,” Ray continued.

“So what? Like you use him for help on hunts?” Dean turned to Simon, curious.

“Hunts! It’s useless, can’t trust it as far as I can throw it. If I let it research the hunt, it keeps going to restricted websites, those pro-emancipation sites; you know the kind. If the state investigated me I could be in a lot of trouble, all because it had some inflated ideas of what it was. The only use I’ve got out of it so far is as bait.”

Dean shivered; he’d seen slaves used as bait by hunters, staked out and bleeding, broken, dull-eyed souls. Gun fodder for the state sanctioned hunting machine. It was only a matter of time till they died, usually badly. And with Burton being the lazy dilettante prick he was, that would be this boy’s fate all too soon. 

Dean had the sudden urge to see the boy’s eyes. He didn’t think they’d be dull. He looked back at Simon and had to swallow down the desire to make an offer on the slave and get him the hell away from here. 

He shook his head. He was a lone wolf; Bobby’d trained him to be independent, no strings, no obligations, and a slave meant obligations. Besides, he was sure he couldn’t afford the boy anyway.

“So what’s up next for you guys?” Dean asked, curious as to what role the slave would play in Simon’s future. 

True to form, Simon answered first. “I won’t be hunting for the next couple of months; we have a hostile takeover planned of one of our competitors, so I’ll be focusing on that for a while, then me and my boys will hit the road for some juicy hunt or other. What about you, Singer?”

“Well, Bobby sent me a lead on a striga in Westmont," Dean said."Thought I’d head over that way and investigate. They’re evil bastards, too many kids ending up in the hospital for no reason. So I’ve gotta haul ass pretty soon. Just thought I’d stop by and buy a round.” 

Dean gestured to Jo for a round on him and turned back to the table. He had to admit, much as he didn’t like Simon, he hoped his hostile takeover would keep him off the field long enough to keep his sec out of the game for a while. He glanced over at the unmoving slave, fully unconscious on the floor, and felt a funny twist in his gut.

“So you gonna just drink, or are you gonna play? Show us the money, Singer.” Ray grinned at Dean as he started to deal a fresh hand.

“Yeah, I’ll play, deal me in.” 

Two hours later, Ray threw in his cards saying, “Too rich for my blood, I’m out. You sure you ain’t cheatin’, Singer?” Ray laughed, leaving only Dean and Simon still left playing. Dean had a huge stack of chips, while Simon was down to only a short stack. 

“Hey, Bobby didn’t raise no fools, and I don’t need to cheat to beat you bunch of jokers.” Dean chuckled as he took a quick peek at his cards and smirked. 

Simon looked on skeptically. He flicked his cards and laid them down triumphantly. “I call. I got a Pair of Aces and two Queens; beat that, Singer.”

“Hate to disappoint, but I got your Four of a Kind right here.” 

Dean laid his cards on the table and proceeded to rake in his winnings. Simon’s face darkened, resembling more of a thundercloud as it grew progressively redder and redder.

“I see I’ll be staying in a nicer class of hotel tonight at this rate,” Dean joked. 

Simon snapped as he tossed his cards in toward the pot. “You’re cheatin’, Singer, nobody’s that lucky.”

Dean looked at the man solemnly and said, “Look, Burton, you don’t know me, but I don’t need to cheat at cards to win. Just like I don’t need to beat my slave to a bloody pulp to control him.”

“Oh and you’d know so much about slaves how? Where’s yours, Singer?”

Dean ignored the remark and stood and said, “Well I think it’s time to take my winnings and mosey along.”

“Not with my money, Singer.” Simon put his hand over the stack of money.

“Listen, man, maybe the hunt left some protoplasmic goo in your ears, and you’re not hearin’ too good, but I told you I didn’t cheat. Now move your hand or lose it,” Dean said tersely.

Guy spoke up, “Simon, man, Singer’s a straight shooter, you just had a run of bad luck tonight.” 

Before Dean could blink, Burton had a sawed off shotgun pointed at him square in the chest.

“I said he’s a dirty cheat, and the money stays with me.”

“That ain’t the way this plays out, Burton.You wanna take that back while you still have all your teeth?” Dean asked calmly.

Just then, Dean heard a soft moan come from the floor, and when he glanced over he could see the young slave was waking up. A large, thin hand pushed up at the chocolate locks, and Dean saw just a glint of hazel eyes; no they weren’t dead, careful, but not dead. Dean felt oddly reassured. 

As he looked back at Burton, he saw the blur of the sawed off coming toward his head. That was the last Dean knew before he crashed to the ground.

The next thing Dean remembered was waking up as Ellen loomed over him. 

“There, there, hon, you didn’t just get the drop pulled on you, you got it dropped on you. You’re safe though. Gotcha right here.”

Dean sat up carefully; his head felt like it would splinter into a thousand pieces if he moved too fast . “Oh god, my head. What the…”

“Like I said, he got the drop on yah, hon. Laid ya out flat. Took the money and drug that poor, shiverin’ slave a-his out into the storm, and he’s gone.”

“Gotta go after him…” Dean blurted out dizzily, thinking more about the slave than his money.

“Not in this weather, Dean. There’s a full on storm headed our way. You’ll have to catch up with the inimitable Mr. Burton some other day. Now lay back, you’ve got a goose-egg the size of my hand on that hard head a' yours. And Jo’s got some soup on the back burner ready for you. You’ll feel a heck of a lot better after you eat. I warned ya that Simon was an ass. Can I call ‘em or what?” Ellen grinned mischievously, and Dean had to agree Simon was a grade A ass.

: : : 

Sam was hauled by his twin leashes down off the stage by the auction guards, and along a dark corridor to separate holding pens he'd never seen before. They pulled him into a giant darkened hall with control stations and illuminated glass cubes in row after row. Each square glass room had an illuminated opaque white floor and ceiling; each cube looked like some kind of lab or examination room. The only furniture of any kind in each of the rooms was a comfortable wingbacked chair and a surgical looking rolling metal table beside it. Slaves knelt in the center of each room as Primes stood and examined them, or worse. 

Sam tried to see what was going on in some of the rooms, but the guards moved too fast. He only got brief glimpses and snatches of resigned or sad faces, or bowed heads and trembling bodies; some were distorted in agony, but it was like scenes from a horror movie with the sound turned off. He could hear nothing from the occupants inside the cubes, just the quiet murmur of the Center’s staff outside, as they moved around through the darkness and the electric hum of giant servers and fans. 

The guards came to a halt in front of an empty cubicle and opened the door. Once inside, he realized it was one-way glass as he could no longer see outside the room, just a reflection of himself in the cube. The guards shoved him to his knees in the center of the room, and his twin leashes were latched to eye bolts in the floor on either side of where he knelt. Sam swallowed hard and tried to speak, but still dazed by the drugs in his system, only a mere croak came out. The first guard gave him a hard look, warning him into silence before they exited. 

Sam knelt there for what seemed like a long time, long enough for his knees to begin to ache, which meant a while since his capacity to kneel for long periods of time had grown immensely since his acquaintance with the Center, he thought dryly. The drugs had started to wear off, and Sam was tired and thirsty and completely on edge about what might come next. He realized he could be under surveillance here in his glass hamster cage and tried to school his expression to neutral. He tried not to think about all the possible things his new master could do to him. Tried to focus on the prize, outside the Center with the possibility of escape.

He felt the vacuum-like break in the seal of the room as the glass door behind him swished open. Two men entered; one immediately seated himself in the chair in front of Sam as the other hovered nervously with a digital notepad. Sam dropped his head submissively as soon as the door opened and strained to capture every word of their conversation.

“Yes, sir, we have a variety of branding and tattooing options. It’s really whatever you prefer. A lot of our clients are also doing the full course of piercings while they are at it. Nice and tidy, and the healing is done in one go, so you are without the services of your new sec for a shorter amount of time.”

“Look up, slave,” the man ordered, ignoring the sycophant’s babbling. Sam raised his head and stopped his gaze just short of his master’s eyes, focused on his chin as he had been trained. The man hummed in appreciation, and Sam took the opportunity to look over his future master.

Mid 40s, strong athletic build with broad shoulders, and in the edge of his vision Sam caught the glint of wavy blond hair. Sam thought he would be in the 6’ range, not quite as tall as Sam, but no shrinking violet either. He could see the hint of a well muscled body beneath the expensively cut Italian suit. Sam kept his face up but let his eyes drift downward; no use pissing his new master off in the first five seconds.

“What was your name, sec?”

Sam swallowed as it came to him that this was one more thing that might be taken away from him. “Samuel… Sam, Master.”

“Samuel… Sam, eh? 

“So Samuel… Sam, should I let you keep your vocal cords?”

Sam looked up in shock, eyes wide as he stared into the cold blue gaze of his new master before he remembered himself. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to scream out ‘of course you sick fuck’, but knew that wasn’t a productive line of conversation. He licked his lips and his entire body broke out in a sweat. He quickly dropped his gaze, his body taut with tension, and gave a quick nod…yes.

“Good boy.” 

Sam sagged slightly in his bonds. He bit his lip and continued to look down at the glowing floor beneath him. This had been a test. A fucking test, with his voice as the prize. If he had spoken, would they be hauling out the knives right now? Sam shivered. He hoped his luck would hold for the next round, whatever it turned out to be.

“I think we can forgo that for now, though I like the idea of a temporary solution. Something that would last, say, a month or so. I find the whole breaking in process so tedious, and the less I have to listen to it, the better, including its screams.”

“Yes, sir, we have a variety of injections that wear off in a matter of days or, in your case, months. You could see how it goes and make a final decision afterward. I’ll arrange for that right away. And if I may suggest…many of our clients enjoy piercings, the nipples in particular. We are also able to do Prince Alberts here on the premises, though the use of your slave’s penis will be curtailed for a time as it heals. And, of course, we offer neutering services as well, if you require it. Castration must be done off-site though; there are so many pesky federal restrictions.” Sam could feel his balls rise protectively in toward his body and cringed slightly at that suggestion.

His master’s voice seemed annoyed with the Center rep, and he waived his suggestions. “I’ll do my own piercing later, I like to use it as a reward for good behavior. I think the only thing I really want done today is branding and, of course, for him to be chipped and the injection.”

Sam tried to control the sick surge in his gut. He wasn’t sure what was worse: the threat of removing his vocal cords hanging over his head, or permanent marking. It all seemed pretty horrific: the idea of hot metal as it sank into his flesh. He was suddenly glad they hadn’t fed him today. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself not to cry. He didn’t want to give this bastard the satisfaction.

“Yes, sir, of course. Do you have a design in mind? I could show you a wide variety of options available. And of course, we can create a custom brand in a matter of minutes.”

“Yes, I was trying to narrow it down. I have a couple of options. You’ll be interested in this, Sam. It’s a sigil of obedience.” His master held up the digital pad in his hand and showed a twisting, snake-like design. 

Sam’s mouth was suddenly bone dry. If his new master really did have a sigil of obedience, Sam’s chances of escape – or even a life – were over, burned out forever by that sign. His dad had always steered clear of black magic, but Sam had familiarized himself with at least the basics, for protection if nothing else. He tried to control his breath as the slow wave of panic washed through him. Who was his new master?

“But I’m just not sure. I think I’ll be using you more on hunts. Blind obedience, though a wonderful characteristic in a slave, could get us killed during a hunt. I think this protection sigil against possession might be a better option. I don’t want you turned against me mid-fight.” 

“And where would you like it, sir?”

“Left thigh. It’s discreet, and I can always mark him again later.”

“Anything else you desire, sir? Piercing of the ears is very in vogue at the moment. And with his eyes, green garnets would make a lovely addition. Oh, and of course if you would like to try your new purchase out, we have rooms at your disposal. No additional expense of course, all part of the service.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see the rep’s oily grin.

“No, just the brand and the other items. I’m on a schedule.”

“Yes, sir.”

His master sat back in the chair and looked through the electronic newssheet provided for his entertainment as he sipped on a tumblerful of dark amber liquid. A silent, nondescript slave entered briefly and refreshed his drink. Sam knelt silently, in perfect position; he felt his master’s eyes rest on him occasionally.

In no time, the Center rep returned with two hulking guards and a smaller man wearing a lab coat. Sam saw his master set down the data pad and turn, all his attention focused on him, now. The guards wasted no time grabbing Sam and rearranging his bonds. He soon found himself spread eagle, face down on the floor, the manacles on his ankles and wrists fastened flush to the floor, with no room to move. A bolster was shoved under his hips to raise them slightly, and meaty hands held him steady.

“Now don’t move, sec, or the mark will blur and we’ll have to start again,” the technician warned.

The tech had been fiddling with something on the metal table and as he advanced toward him, Sam realized that something was an electric brand that glowed white hot in his hand.

Sam started to squirm and tried to get away. His breath came out in wheezy puffs. “No! No, no, Master, please… no!” But his desperate pleas were cut off as the Center rep crouched beside his tethered head and forced a roll of leather between his teeth. He grabbed Sam’s hair and shoved his head into the floor, and Sam felt something heavy, like the muzzle of a gun, pressed against his neck, and then the fierce sharp sting of the tracking chip as the forced air injected it under his skin. The muzzle was removed and Sam had just sucked in a shuddering breath when his whole body arched in pain as the brand was pressed into his thigh. The guards clamped down on his straining body, and Sam bit down hard on the leather gag, grateful that it muffled the scream that boiled up out of him. The brand was held unwavering into his thigh for what felt like an eternity. Finally, with a sick pull of burnt skin, it came away from his cringing flesh.

Sam’s nostrils flared as he breathed in wild, panicked breaths, sickened by the smell of his own cooked skin. He lowered his forehead to the ground as tears trickled down his cheeks, the strain of holding it up suddenly too much. He tried not to vomit up what little might be left in his stomach as the pain radiated through him. For the second time, he felt the Center rep’s firm grip as he crouched down again, holding him immobile, and he felt the press of an inoculation gun against his neck. Sam felt a funny tingle in his throat and tried to gasp “No”, but all that came out was a puff of air as the drugs stole his voice. He wanted to laugh at the order of things; if his new master was so concerned with Sam making noise, why not the injection before the branding? 

“When it’s recovered, bring it to my car and secure it. I still have a few forms to fill out.”

“Sir, one last item, the collar. Do you wish to keep the Center collar or do you have one of your own?” the Center weasel huffed out in inquiry.

“Oh, right, yes, swap it out. Here’s mine. I need it ready to go in 10 minutes.” Sam heard the dull thud of something land near his face. He opened eyes he had not realized he had let close and looked at the object on the floor.

It was a simple, black Plasticrete collar very similar to the center’s collar, except it had a metal loop at the front. From the loop hung a silver tag. Sam’s stomach did a sick drop when he saw engraved on it the word ‘Pet’. 

As the center rep picked it up and advanced toward him, Sam closed his eyes in shame and let his misery enfold him.


: : :

Chapter Text


Prime – Chapter 6

: : :

Sam huddled in the foot well of his master’s jeep, shivering violently in the chill of the cab as they tore away from the roadhouse. His master didn’t like it when he actually sat on the seats, said he wasn’t worthy of sitting where Primes did. 

He leaned his head down onto his knees; still dazed from when Simon had smashed him up against the wall, and blood still trickled down his back where the flogger had continued to bite into his flesh long after he had checked out. Sam rocked slightly, unaware he was doing it until he heard Simon’s sharp command. “Stop doing that, or I’ll show you something to really be upset about. If you hadn’t distracted me, I would have won that card game.” 

Sam stilled his unconscious movements and tucked his head down further and wrapped his arms around his knees. It was no use aggravating Simon any more than humanly possible, or protesting his innocence. With Simon, no amount of reasoning helped, it only brought more pain. Sam held tight to his legs and tried to still his shivering; his bare feet burned from the cold dash to the jeep, the open standard-issue slave sandals scant protection from the cold. 

Simon had his big winter parka on, so he hadn’t turned up the heat inside the cab, even though it was November and a fierce storm had kicked up around them. It was the typical petty tortures Sam had grown used to over the last few months as Simon’s property. He knew if he didn’t see an opening soon, didn’t escape, Simon would kill him; the man was a psychopath. 

Escape, so far, had proven much harder than Sam had anticipated. All the phones at Simon’s home were locked down, and Sam was rarely, if ever, left alone or unbound. There had been no opportunity to contact anyone he knew in the underground, so Sam’s Plan B now was to just escape as soon as an opportunity presented itself, and make contact later. But November in Nebraska wasn’t such a good month for a nearly naked and starved slave to make a run for it. Sam nuzzled his face into his knees for comfort and warmth and tried to think of happier times.

One startling image came back to him uninvited. The fierce, green-eyed gaze of the man Simon had been arguing with. Sam shivered again, this time not from cold but from remembering the way the man had looked when he’d caught his gaze…concerned, caring. It had been so long since Sam had had anyone look at him with more than indifference…or lust. He kept coming back to it over and over, and the sharp look of hurt as Simon had rammed the butt of his gun into the man’s head. Sam hadn’t even had a chance to warn the man. He remembered watching that graceful body crumple to the ground, the hard thump as the man’s head bounced on the hardwood floor, almostin slow motion, eyelashes falling to obscure his green gaze. 

On seeing the slow rise and fall of the man’s chest, Sam had let out a relieved breath; at least Simon hadn’t killed him. Sam had seen that happen before.

The weather was getting worse. Even from his place on the floor Sam could tell from the increase in Simon's cursing, and the almost completely grey haze that surrounded the jeep’s windows, that things were bad. Sam wondered why they were even on the road, why Simon hadn’t booked himself into one of his 5-star hotels for the night. But since the roadhouse had been in the middle of nowhere, maybe a hotel hadn’t been an option when Simon left it in a rage? 

Sam was growing numb, and it was getting harder to keep his eyes open. He suddenly realized that he could die in this car, right in front of his master, and he probably wouldn’t care. Was this what it felt like for the elderly when the Eskimos used to leave them on the icepack to freeze to death? The idea of Simon shoving him out onto an ice floe almost made Sam want to giggle, if it hadn’t been so sadly close to home. The tempo of Simon’s cursing had trailed off and now all that was left was a tense, coiled rage as his master concentrated on the road. Nothing had passed them in over an hour, and Sam wondered if he could even see the road any more.

Sam jerked awake; the sudden blare of the eighteen wheeler’s horns sounded in his ears as it sped past, too fast for the near whiteout conditions outside. He saw Simon jerk the wheel in panic at the truck’s sudden appearance and then overcorrect, and then it all went wrong. The jeep slid to the left as the front wheels hit slick pavement: black ice, too much snow, packed snow, something, and then the car was spinning around and around, doing donuts down the middle of the road. Sam tried to brace himself in the foot well as the jeep tipped precariously in its spin, and then rolled over completely. The interior of the cab became a jumble of flying gear and flesh as it tipped end over end. Sam, without the benefit of a seatbelt, was flung at the roof and then back down, and up again as the jeep continued to cartwheel along the road. Eventually, it rocked to a stop on its roof, upside down on the road. Sam lay stunned, slammed against the passenger side door. Somewhere mid-flight, Sam’s leg had connected with the dash, his body’s weight behind it. Sam bit his lip and tried to hold back the moan as the pain started to register.

Simon was hanging upside down still belted into his seat, a bloody gash across his forehead, probably from hitting the steering wheel. “W-what…” Simon swiped impatiently at the bleeding wound and glanced around him. He took in Sam’s crumpled position below him, dismissing it in favor of trying to free himself from his seatbelt. He got it to release and slid down the seat in a controlled fall to the ceiling beneath him. He scrambled around and pulled his legs up under him, reorienting in the upside down world of the cab interior.

“Fucking asshole driver. Didn’t even slow down. Now what am I going to do?” He surveyed Sam in disgust as Sam tried to pull himself into a less painful position without jostling his left leg. He could see it looked bad – with scary-looking protrusions pressing out against his skin. He couldn’t put any weight on it, or move it without biting back a scream.

“And you. Of course you’d get hurt, god damn useless sec. Why did I ever buy your worthless ass?” Simon grumbled as he dug out his cell phone and tried to dial for help. When it got no reception, he threw it against the dash in disgust. “Well, that does it, I’m not sticking around here and freezing to death,” Simon stated. He grabbed up his pack and pulled out a flashlight, along with a gun that he stuffed in the back of his jeans, and a length of chain. Sam watched as Simon riffled through the bag a while longer before discarding it. He then turned to pick up the lone sleeping bag stowed in the jumbled mess in the back, unrolled it, throwing it around his shoulders as extra cover. He looked for a bit longer, and finding nothing more worth taking, he picked up the chain and turned to Sam with a glint in his eyes. Sam resisted the urge to huddle back farther away from the man as he fought down a whimper. 

“I’m going for help. You stay here,” Simon announced, making no acknowledgement that this was probably a death sentence for Sam. He grabbed the manacle on Sam’s wrist and slipped a chain through the D loop on one and then the other wrist. He wound one end of the chain through the arm rest in the jeep’s passenger door and then padlocked the ends of the chain together. With a swift click, Sam found himself secured to the arm bar of the door. Without thinking, Sam jerked back instinctively; the chain held him fast, tethering him to the door, and Simon laughed.

“Now stay put and be a good boy. I’ll send for you in the morning.”

Sam watched as his master kicked open the warped driver’s door and climbed out into the storm, clutching the extra layer of the sleeping bag tight around his shoulders. Without a backward glance at Sam, he slammed the jeep’s door shut and disappeared into the storm. 

The sun was starting to set, and the temperature began to drop precipitously. Sam sat in the darkening cab and let the tension bleed from his body. His situation was grim, but it seemed suddenly better now, with Simon gone. He wouldn’t have put it past the man to leave the jeep’s door open, knowing it was out of Sam’s chained reach, and let him freeze to death that much faster. As it stood, the jeep’s interior was growing steadily colder, and Sam knew he had to act fast or he wouldn’t survive till sunrise. The ridiculously tiny slave trunks had been inadequate in the barely heated interior; now Sam had started to full on shiver as the cold invaded the cab. 

He stretched back as far as his chained wrist would allow and tried to sort through what was left in the jeep’s back seats that could be of use. Simon had taken the only sleeping bag, but there were still some of Simon’s heavy sweaters in the pack. Sam grabbed them and tried to cover as much of his body as he could with the meager finds. There was nothing much else of use in the cab, some holy water, herbs and a knife. Sam didn’t think the knife would do any good against the handcuff, but his gaze fell on the fabric of the passenger seat, and he had an idea.

A few minutes later, Sam had stripped every available surface within reach of its upholstery and was swaddled in it. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. Even if Simon hadn’t chained him, with his broken leg, there was no way he could have made it anywhere on his own in this storm. As the sky darkened and night began to fall, Sam began to seriously doubt his chances of survival. The cab was even colder now, and he couldn’t feel his leg anymore. He was shivering so hard he thought he would shake out of his skin. He didn’t like his chances once it got fully dark. The temperature would drop another 10 degrees, and that would be it.

Sam leaned back and tried to think happy warm thoughts. He thought of his dad, and how his favorite part of the hunt was when they came back to the motel and cracked open the beer, dug into their pizza, and went over the events of the day. Sam missed his dad so badly. It had only been the two of them for so long. 

Sam could barely remember Adam or his mother. Just vague snatches of memory, of how his mom smelled and hugging Adam tight, following him around everywhere, tickles and giggles when Adam teased him, and soft, fond smiles from his mom as they played. But that was all long gone. It had been his dad who really raised him, the two of them watching each other’s backs as far back as Sam could remember.

Sam lifted his head as he felt the rumble of an approaching vehicle, and he wasn’t sure where the jeep had landed after the crash. It might well be in the middle of the road, for all he knew. Someone could broadside him, never even know it before they hit, in this storm. The truck came closer, closer, and then was thundering past, close enough for Sam to feel the blast of air through the cracked seals in the jeep as it passed. Sam breathed out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, listening hopefully for the sound of braked, of someone stopping…. There was nothing.

Sam blew on his fingers and tucked them under his armpits. It was getting harder to feel his sound leg, now. His head jerked back, and he was suddenly awake; he had slipped off to sleep in the cold. The ice floe analogy came to him again, and he banged his head softly on the upside down seat back behind him to try and stay awake. 

Sam awoke again, completely numb, this time to the throaty growl of a smaller vehicle, a car. It sounded even closer, this time. Sam blinked; he was so cold. His limbs felt heavy, and he could barely feel them. It was too dark to see inside the cab anymore... 

Then there was the shine of a flashlight, and a hand shaking Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy, you okay?” a deep concerned voice asked. Sam burrowed further into his rag nest; he was so very tired. “Hey, wake up. I gotta’ getcha out of here or you’ll freeze to death.” Sam started to laugh softly, hysterically. He wanted to tell the guy, it’s too late, I’m already on the ice floe, just like the Eskimos. It was just what his master wanted, an easy way to get his useless slave off his hands. 

Hands started to unwrap him from his upholstered haven, and Sam batted at them with his chained ones. There were hands under his armpits, pulling and he screamed as his leg was jostled, and the bone ground together. 

“What! Are you hurt? Come on, answer me, man,” the voice growled as the flashlight played over him.

Sam whimpered in pain, disoriented, as he felt the hands travel down his body, moving sweaters and material till they found his leg already purpling with bruises. The man whistled. “Wow. Now that’s not good.” The man disappeared, and then he was suddenly back again. Sam cried out as something straight and rigid was placed alongside his leg and wrapped onto it. Satisfied the leg was as good as it could be under the circumstances, the man continued to feel over Sam’s body, looking for more damage until he came to Sam’s manacled wrists.

“You got to be fucking kidding me!” Sam felt the man grasp his chin and lift it up. Sam could barely open his dazed eyes, but he heard the man grumble, “It’s you!”

He heard rustling, and the soft voice growled out, “Hang on, this will only take a minute.” He jolted up at the overload pop of what could only be a gun going off in the cab, and he moaned at the pain the sudden movement caused his leg. Then he heard the rattle of chain as the man pulled it through the loops on his wrists, and his hands were free. 

The deep voice said, “I’ve gotta get you over to the Impala, get you warm,” and a warm blanket was draped over him, and hands returned under his arms. As he was tugged out of the car, those same strong arms swung him up and held him huddled next to a broad chest. “You’re a big bastard aren’t ya?” he heard a soft chuckle. “Sorry buddy, you’re gonna have to stay with me a bit longer, I need your help to get you over to the car. Lean on me and try not to put weight on that leg.” They hobbled together to the nearby car. Sam couldn’t feel his foot on the icy ground anymore and he moaned when the man lowered him into the backseat of the car. The last thing he heard as the blanket was tucked around him was, “It’s okay, I gotcha.” Sam passed out.

: : :

When he returned to consciousness, Sam felt pins and needles over his entire body, like he was on fire. “Ahh,” he moaned aloud before he was awake enough to stifle it, but there was no punishment as he came more fully awake.

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be fine, we’re gonna go see the doc. Take it easy, okay?” 

Sam opened his eyes and took in the interior of a car. An older model, with a deep, wide bench seat in the back, on which he found himself. He felt warm, so very warm, toasty even, and his leg didn’t hurt like it had, and did he mention he was warm? He was propped up against the back door with his legs stretched out on the seat and big heavy blankets piled over him. He could tell, though, that it was the car’s heater that was doing the magic as it ran full blast, filling the vehicle with delicious warmth. He could see a man watching him in the rear view mirror, and Sam bit his lip in nervousness, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing he remembered was freezing cold and darkness, then waking up to warm hands and a whiskey soft voice in his ear.

“Ah, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but where the hell is your scuzzball of a master?”

Sam flinched slightly, and tried to wade back to reality. He grasped harder at the edges of the blankets, and unconsciously dipped his head. A part of him was unsure if he should answer. His master never liked to hear his voice, but the man had asked a direct question, and Sam didn’t think it had been rhetorical. He decided to take a chance and whispered out, “I don’t know, Master.”

“He just left you there…in the middle of a snowstorm? You know, I wanted to catch up with him, but not like this. I thought Simon was a jerk, but this just proves it. Maybe with some luck, he’ll freeze to death in the storm.”

Sam didn’t say anything and again looked down at his hands; it seemed safer to stick to non-verbal communication if he could. Sam wracked his brain; he had seen this man somewhere before, but where? Not just in the car. He looked up at the green eyes watching him carefully from the rear view mirror, and it came to him: this was the man his master had attacked. Sam swallowed. That couldn’t be good. Sam didn’t know the details, but he knew his master well enough to know it was probably not this man’s fault. Simon was a liar and a cheat. But would this man hold it against Sam, punish him in his master's stead?

“We’re about 20 minutes outta town," the man said. "I’ll take you to the local hospital. I know the Sec Wards ain’t the greatest, but that leg is seriously fucked up, and I don’t want to risk you losing it. I assume you’re chipped and registered?” the man asked, referring to the biochip embedded in the back of Sam’s neck on the night of his sale. Sam nodded silently, and the man continued, “Well the local sec cops will get a hold of your master. That is unless I get to the bastard first.” Shadowed eyes tracked him in the rear mirror, watched Sam twitch in panic. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave an affidavit with the sec cops that you weren’t trying to escape, that I moved you. Nothing’s going to happen to you. You’re Sam right, Sam Winchester?”

“M-master calls me Sam,” Sam breathed out a little shocked that this hunter would know his name, his real name. 

“I-I knew your dad. Sorry to hear about his death. He was a good man, a good hunter. Your dad talked about you sometimes, he was so proud of you going to school and all. I didn’t know about your troubles… that you were…I’m Dean. I know you have to call me Master, but just so you know who I am.” 

The green eyes met Sam's in the rearview mirror, and quickly cut away. A stiff and awkward silence lengthened. Sam had become attuned to his masters' emotions, and he tried not to acknowledge the man's growing anger until Dean began to smash and bang on the steering wheel in frustration. 

“Damn, damn, damn, god damn it all… fuck!” Sam tensed, not sure what he had done to provoke his new master. Dean seemed to get ahold of his temper, and finally turned to look at Sam again, huffing out a breath to steady himself before he spoke. 

“What the hell possessed him to take you anywhere dressed like that? Slave shorts aren’t exactly reasonable this time of year.”

Sam didn’t know what to say to this that wasn’t an outright criticism of his master that would probably get him beaten, so he again ducked his head.

“Here, catch.” Sam looked up as the man looked briefly over his shoulder and tossed him a bottle of water.

Sam snatched it out of the air clumsily, fumbling it in his haste, but finally ending up with the plastic bottle in hand. “Drink up, you must be thirsty.” Permission given, Sam snapped the top and only realized as he was halfway through the bottle just how thirsty he was. He wasn’t sure how you could freeze to death and die of dehydration at the same time, but it seemed you could. 

“And take two of these. You’ll feel better.” Dean tossed back a bottle of triple strength aspirin, and Sam gratefully washed the pills down with last of his water.

“Wow, shit,” Dean cursed, and the car was suddenly swerving madly across the road as Dean narrowly avoided a parka clad figure that stood waving in the middle of the road.

“Holy fuck and damnation,” Dean swore after he got the car under control and brought it to a stop at the side of the road. “Is it Halloween? Cause I’ve had my quota of crazy for the day. What the hell is someone doing in the middle of the road in a storm like this?”

Sam had a sinking sensation in his belly, and he thought he knew just who might be on the road. He dipped his head deeper and tried to control the sudden roiling sensation in his gut; his fingers clenched and unclenched the blanket in front of him, and he barely registered Dean leaning back and patting his arm gently.

“Hey, it’ll be alright. I think I got it covered. Stay here and I’ll be right back.”

Like Sam was going anywhere with a potentially broken leg and slave shorts and sandals in a snow storm. Sam stopped himself from snorting and watched as Dean clambered out of the car and pulled his hood up against the wind.

He could just barely make out Dean reaching the man, who had made his way toward the car. He could hear raised voices above the moan of the wind, and suddenly, Dean just clocked his master. Punched him square in the face. Sam startled and wanted to grin, but quickly schooled his face to neutral. How often he’d wanted to punch the cruel, pompous bastard, but he couldn’t. Then Dean was dragging the staggering Simon back to the car, shoved him into the passenger seat, and slammed the Impala’s door. 

As Dean stomped around to the other side of the car, Simon looked around the interior of the car. As his gaze fell on Sam huddled in the back seat, head down and shaking, his eyes went wide, and his mouth grew twisted and angry. Simon snarled, “What the hell are you doing here, slave? You’re supposed to be where I left you,” as the driver’s side door swung open and Dean climbed back in behind the steering wheel.

Dean spoke up instantly before Sam could even raise his head. “You don’t speak to him, you backstabbing, cheating little creep. You got business with me first, before you start chewing on your slave here. And just for the record, I brought his ass here. He’d be dead, frozen to death, otherwise,” Dean growled. “So back to you, assmunch. You want your ass taken to town, there’s the little matter of settling up your gambling debt, first. Otherwise it’s back out on the open road for you, my friend, and I don’t like the odds of you getting another ride tonight.” Dean’s smirk was gleeful, and Sam could feel Simon fuming beside him. 

“Fuck you, Singer, you wouldn’t dare,” Simon replied, smug in the warm interior of the car.

Dean brought out his pearl handled Colt and calmly leveled it at the man. “Oh yeah? Try me, Simon. You’re a worthless, entitled piece of shit, and you owe me. Settle up now, or your ass is being dumped outside in the nearest snowdrift.”

“Fuck you, Singer, what do you think this is? I don’t have that kind of cash on me. I settled with a local wiccan for the protection spell she provided us on the hunt after I left the bar. The damn bitch raised her price, said she had to stand guard over it the whole weekend to enforce it. I’m broke. She’s got it all. I’ll pay you back when we get to town. Or you can go collect from her. She might turn you into a toad though. Might look good on you,” Simon sneered.

“I don’t think so, you cheating bastard. You already cold-cocked me once, you think I’m gonna trust you once we get back to civilization, where there's all kinds of avenues for you to slither out? No, now.”

“I’m telling ya. I don’t have a cent on me. I can’t pay you.”

“Oh I think you have something on you that would settle the tab quite nicely.” Dean glanced meaningfully back at Sam, and Sam’s eyes grew round.

“What…what, my slave? You want my God damned slave!!! Lord knows it’s a worthless piece of shit, but I paid eight hundred thousand prime and it’s worth over that on the open market, now that it’s been properly trained. No fucking way.”

“Well then, time to say goodnight, Gracie.” Dean gestured toward the door with his gun.

“Www-wait, let’s not be too hasty.”

“Out. Now. Or start writing me out a bill of sale. Paper’s in the glove compartment,” Dean stated flatly and turned slightly to wink at Sam while Simon grumbled.

Sam sat there flabbergasted by Dean’s daring, and…he winked at him. Sam wanted to smile, but he wasn’t sure if he was just hallucinating from the cold. A Prime who smiled at a sec. Who knew.

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it. Just start driving toward town.”

“Nah-ah, rich boy. You write the bill of sale out now, pronto, or out you go.”

Simon started to write, grumbling under his breath. Finally, after long minutes of cursing and stalling, he ripped the finished statement away from the pad of paper and handed the sheet to Dean.

Dean took it carefully and started to read through it. “Hmmm, looks good to me, but what do I know.” He turned to Sam, listening silently to the conversation, and handed him the piece of paper.

“You, pre-law, look this over for me, why don’t you?” Dean held the paper out to Sam.

Sam stared at the paper, then at Dean, and Dean gestured impatiently.

“Come on, son, I ain’t got all night.”

Sam reached out with a shaking hand and took the paper.

He could barely read the words at first, his gut was clenching so badly, but on the second pass through the document, he paused and re-read it. “What, you spot something not-kosher?” Dean fairly leaped on Sam’s pause.

Sam started to say something, but his voice was nothing but a croak; he licked his lips hesitantly and started again. “H-here, this is worded wrong, ii—it basically says you’re responsible for all my care and maintenance, but Mmm—master retains my ownership.”

“Oh nice, tricky bastard.” Dean's right fist snapped out and connected with Simon's jaw. The force rocked Simon against the door and smashed his nose against the window glass. He righted himself, a little slowly, hand cupped to his nose. “You spot anything else there, Stanford?”

“Shut your fucking mouth, slave,” Simon raged as he held his hand to his bleeding nose.

“Don’t you bleed on my baby, you piece of shit; I’ll put you down if you leave a mark. Sam… spot anything else?”

“Yyy-yes, M-master, the third paragraph. Again, he slanted the meaning so that he retains ownership. Otherwise it’s clean. BBb-but as it's written, he would still own me.”

“Well, well, well, it looks like you got a little writing to do there, Simon. Let’s try this again, shall we, without the tricky stuff. Daylight’s burning, and I gotta get my boy to the hospital, no thanks to you.”

Sam felt something warm curl inside him, and he would have giggled out loud if he hadn’t been so scared. Imagine him proofing his own bill of sale, and catching Simon with his treacherous pants down. He felt more human in the last half hour of being in Dean’s company than he had in nearly a year of Simon’s. He watched as Simon grumbled under his breath and fixed the purposefully flawed paragraphs. Without even looking at them, Dean passed them back for Sam to look over again. This time Sam nodded silently to Dean, watching in the rear view mirror, that they were okay.

Once the ownership bill of sale was signed by both of them, Dean folded the piece of paper and tucked it in the breast pocket of his leather jacket. “Okay then, time to rock n’ roll. Hold on everyone.” He stepped on the gas of the Impala. The car lurched forward into the storm. 

Sam felt something suspiciously like hope press up around his heart. He wanted to laugh out loud, and cry, and sing. He was free of Simon, free of the cruelty and evil that the man embodied. But Sam knew how fast things could change for a slave, and he contented himself with a weary sigh, and curled deeper into his blankets.

Between the aspirin and the blissfully warm interior of the car, Sam was soon lulled back to sleep. He awoke as the car came to a stop in what looked like the downtown strip of a small town. “Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out,” Dean smirked as he dropped Simon off on the main drag. Simon got out, cursing, and slammed the door so hard the vehicle rocked. The howling wind drowned out the rest of his words as he continued to rage, and Dean smirked and stepped on the gas again.

“Okay, time to head to the hospital. You okay back there, Sammy?” 

Sam nodded silently, his eyes pinned to the green gold orbs watching him in the rearview mirror. And he thought for the first time in a very long time, he might actually mean it.

: : :

Chapter Text


Prime – Chapter 7

: : : 

Pacing restlessly around the hospital room Bishop complained bitterly about babysitting duty, but Murphy just smiled a skull-like grin and sipped his coffee. Sam didn’t speak, tried not to look at them. His lunch that Maddy had brought in remained sitting on the stand by the bed, just out of reach of his cuffed hands, and the two Sec Cops nibbled at it. No one offered Sam anything, and he didn’t ask, though he was becoming increasingly thirsty, and he could hear his stomach start to growl.

The orderlies came to move him and Murphy strode to flip up the blankets at the foot of the bed. Sam startled a little and curled up his legs, but Murphy yanked them down, and using a zip tie, bound Sam’s ankles together. He then walked up to the head of Sam’s bed and uncuffed Sam’s left hand from the bed rail, hauling it over to snap the free cuff over his other wrist. Only then did he free his right hand from the other bedrail. With Sam effectively handcuffed and hobbled, Murphy yanked the covers off completely and tossed them on the floor, nodding at the Sec Orderlies. 

The two large, silent men approached him, and Sam felt a moment of panic as they latched on to his body and shoved him over onto the waiting gurney. As they began to wheel him out of the room, Sam was now preternaturally attuned to the fact that both men had white slave collars around their necks that matched their white orderly uniforms; he never heard them speak. Murphy approached just as they were leaving the room and pulled a chain out from a compartment under the middle of the gurney and attached the chain to his handcuffs. Sam wasn’t going anywhere.

They wheeled him down the hall into the patient elevator. The orderly hit B2, the first step in Sam’s descent into hell, as far as he was concerned. Basement levels were where the slave wards were always located. Murphy and Bishop crowded into the elevator with them.

The B2 level looked old and uncared for, and as they came to a caged entrance, they had to be buzzed in. Bishop signed them in and accompanied Sam as Murphy stayed behind to talk to a nurse.

They rolled past a long line of cells. Many of the ‘patients’ were chained or strapped to their beds, while a few were left free to shuffle inside the tight confines of their cells.

They took Sam to another ward where the barred cells turned into solid metal doors. It was at one of these that the orderlies stopped.

With a hand signal to the overhead camera, the orderly soon had the cell door swinging open, and they started to roll Sam inside. The cell was windowless and dark, and Sam could feel it close in on him, entombing him in darkness, and Sam felt his last chance slipping away.

“No, no, no, you can’t do this! Let me out of here. Nooooo, stop, you can’t do this,” he pleaded and begged and ordered.

Frantically, Sam reached out with his bound hands and grabbed at the cell’s door frame as he struggled to stop their advance into the cell. The orderlies clamped down on his wriggling body as Bishop tried to pry his hands from the cell’s door frame. Sam twisted in their grip, and he could feel the thin cotton of his hospital gown tear in the orderly’s burly grasp. As the material shredded, Sam suddenly found himself free of their hold and lunging forward through the air, free falling from the gurney onto the unforgiving cement floor below. He lay there stunned for a moment in the tangled mess of mattress and gurney and chains as his ribs telegraphed their pained protest to his dizzy brain. Then he started to crawl determinedly out of the cell, dragging the gurney by its attached chain behind him. He didn’t care; he had to get out in the hallway where he could breathe, had to... His brief crawl to freedom lasted as long as it took the two orderlies to fling themselves onto Sam’s prone body. The air was shoved out of his lungs, and as his chin hit the floor, he bit his tongue. He yelled at the sudden press of weight on his healing ribs, and then there was nothing.

Sam woke to darkness and screamed. He lunged upward to try and get away, but found himself unable to move more than a few inches up from the bed he lay on. He screamed again in panic and tried to pull his arms in, but they would only move a few inches. He realized he was chained spread eagle in the dark to a cot beneath him. The cold, heavy weight of metal cuffs on his wrists and ankles ensured that he was going nowhere. Panic slammed through him, and he knew without a doubt he was in the cell, shoved away to die, forgotten in the black. He yelled for help till his voice was raw. Bucked and twisted on the bed, unable to accomplish anything other than making his wrists and ankles bleed, but he couldn’t stop himself. He hyperventilated and started to lose consciousness again with a hoarse raw cry. 

Sam was awakened by someone shaking him. He had barely opened his eyes and lifted his head before someone was shoving something in his mouth. Sam choked and sputtered as water filled his mouth and overflowed, then groggily caught on and started to drink, butting at the plastic bottle in his mouth like a baby calf. He was so thirsty. His throat still ached from the ventilator, and he’d had nothing to drink since forever. He drank and tried to breathe, the blissfully cool liquid sliding down his throat; it overflowed his mouth and across his face in messy, cool relief, and still he drank, desperate for it not to go away. Finally, the bottle emptied and was pulled back. Sam chased it with his lips, but was suddenly pushed back as something new was forced into his mouth. He twisted his head away and tried weakly to struggle as a rubber bar was forced between his teeth. He opened his eyes and looked up at the impatient orderly above him as he swiftly buckled the strap behind Sam’s head. As soon as the orderly let go, Sam tossed his head back and forth in protest and screamed in rage. The bit garbled his anger. He tossed his head as he tried to jar the thing loose. He could hear his own wheezing, panicked breaths and wondered if he would die here.

“So, sec, are you quite done?” The cool, dry voice came from a darkened corner of the cell. He knew that voice. Murphy stepped forward into the weak light coming in from the hallway.

“We’re just about done with all your antics, sec. Time to start behaving,” Murphy stated, coming closer to the head of Sam’s bed.

“We’ll talk in the morning when you’ve had time to calm down. But just before we shut down for the night, we have to fix something.” Murphy flipped out a short bladed knife and advanced with purpose. Murphy brought the knife up to his face and then traced the blade along Sam’s cheek. Sam’s breathing grew shallow as the knife slid its way down his cheek and along his neck, crossing over his throat. Sam swallowed and tried not to breathe. Suddenly, Murphy was holding the remains of Sam’s hospital gown, and he felt the knife saw into it; the cloth parted easily beneath his blade. In no time, the remains of the gown were cut from Sam’s body, leaving him naked and exposed. Sam squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation.

He could hear the smirk in Murphy’s voice as he continued, “Now, that’s more like it. A slave doesn’t have clothes until his master thinks he’s earned them, and you certainly haven’t earned them, sec. Now just one more detail, and we’re done here.” 

Reluctantly curious, Sam opened his eyes; Murphy was holding something in front of him. Sam tried to focus on the object, tried to make his mind understand what it was, and then he was shaking his head no, no, no, as Murphy brought the black collar in around his neck. Sam heard the snick of the metal bands locking irrevocably together, and he felt another part of himself fall away. He wanted desperately to reach up and tear the slave collar from his throat, but he couldn’t even move his hands.

“Night-night, boy.” Murphy closed the cell door, and Sam was plunged into darkness again.

: : :

Sam was awoken by the creak of the cell door as it opened again. Another hulking sec orderly wheeled a cart into the cell,, quickly surveyed Sam, and started to unbuckle the bit from his mouth.

“Please, please…” Sam heard himself begging pitifully but couldn’t get his tongue under control. “Please let me go, there’s been a mistake.” 

The orderly ignored him and picked up a short length of chain from the cart. Sam cringed back on the bed as the man advanced on him, but all he did was attach one end of the chain to a loop on the front of his collar and the other to a ring mounted on the floor beside the cot. The orderly then proceeded to unlock Sam’s legs and finally his wrists. As Sam eased slowly up to sitting, he noticed two thin scars on the orderly's neck, evidence of muting by cutting of the vocal chords. Sam shivered as the orderly turned to retrieve a tray off his cart, returning a moment later to set it on the cot beside Sam. 

Sam looked down at the contents, his stomach twisting with hunger. The tray had a bowl of a gray anonymous mash and a bottle of water. Sam had never been so glad to see food and water, even as nondescript as the mash looked. He nodded at the orderly and lifted up the bowl. Seeing no utensils, he sighed and resigned himself to eating with his fingers. 

Sam heard a heavy clunk sound that seemed to echo throughout the ward, and a single light bulb flickered on in his cell. It was just enough to light up the darker corners, and Sam could see a prison style toilet in the far corner, but no sink. When the orderly left, Sam heard the cell door lock behind him, but at least he had light.

He stood and tested the length of his metal tether, relieved to be able to use the newly discovered facilities on his own. He slid down from the cot, it was a utilitarian black metal framed thing, sitting strangely high for a cell bunk, it was closer to standard hospital bed height, with several eyelets located on it; for locking down recalcitrant prisoners, Sam assumed. Weaving slightly, he staggered to the toilet and did his business. Finishing up, he felt a bit strange not washing his hands, and then he laughed out loud a little hysterically at the thought. Of all the things he had to worry about just now, he had bigger issues to contend with than a little personal hygiene. He rubbed his head; he had awakened with a headache and he didn’t see it going away anytime soon. Or maybe for the rest of his life. Sighing, he returned to the bed to eat his breakfast. The meal was as tasteless as it looked, but it did have the benefit of being slightly warm, and Sam ate it all, luxuriating in the feeling of warmth in his chilled, naked body.

The water he rationed carefully, not knowing when he would get to drink again. He was wondering what further humiliation the day would bring, when he started feeling dizzy and had to lie down. Realization dawned that either the food or the water had been drugged, and Sam was barely able to get horizontal before he passed out.

: : :

The doctor waved the light in his eyes. “Follow the light, yes, that’s right.” It wasn’t Doctor Carson, it was someone else. Sam tried to piece things together. Right, he’d been moved, this would be a sec ward doctor now, Sam thought. His mouth felt stuffed with foul tasting cotton, and he tried to sit up.

“No, stay right there,” the doctor ordered and gently pushed Sam back onto the cot.

The doctor looked back over his shoulder, speaking with someone else.

“It shouldn’t do anything vigorous, its ribs are still tender and its hand is still healing. From the look of things it also needs more food and fluids if you want it to survive; it’s underweight now for its height.”

Sam looked up and saw Murphy, with arms crossed, looming in the corner. He shivered. The doctor left the cell, leaving Murphy and Bishop behind.

Bishop came toward him, barking at Sam to roll onto his belly. Sam, confused, tried to comply, and suddenly Bishop's hands were all over him, shoving and pulling him into position up on all fours on the bed. Sam suddenly understood the reason for the bed being so strangely centered in the room, basically a mattress on a metal frame bolted to the floor. Easy access, from any direction. He swallowed, noting the extra height put him within easy reach for a blow job or the fucking that he pretty much knew was coming next. The chain attached to his collar rattled loudly against the bed frame and tangled around him. Startled, Sam only had time to grunt before new chains were run through the loops on his wrist’s manacles and secured to each side of the cot. Bishop then brought out a bit and held it up to Sam’s mouth. 

This one was different though. It was more like a ring, and Sam had seen enough porn over the internet to know what it was used for. He tried to pull his face away, but Bishop had no problems overpowering him and shoving the device in and buckling it around his head. He then moved behind him to chain each ankle to each side of the cot. Sam weakly kicked out, but it was no contest. Soon his legs were spread wide and secured on either side of the bed. Sam felt his dick hanging low and exposed in the cool air of the cell, and he jolted slightly as he felt Bishop’s hand rub over the globes of his ass. A firm slap made him jump slightly as Bishop growled, “Heads or tails?”

There was no pause at all from Murphy, just a dry chuckle. “Oh tails, definitely tails; I wanna bust that Stanford Cherry something bad.”

“It’s time, sec, for you to start being of service. That’s what all good little secs do. We’ve got you for a whole four days before they ship you off to the Sec Center, and we intend to send you off with a little training under your belt. Maybe, later, we’ll have you thank us properly." His hand rubbed over Sam's ass as he spoke. "You should get good at this boy. Your life may depend on it.”

As his words hung in the air, and Sam heard the click of a cap snapping open and a smell of lilacs filled the room. He heard Murphy grumble “Fucking cheap ass system. I hate lilac scented lube, why the hell can’t they just buy odorless, it’s cheaper.” 

He heard a wet liquid squelch as Murphy greased up his hand and started to delve, matter-of-factly, between Sam’s ass cheeks. Sam felt a cool slick finger circle his hole and couldn’t help the mewling gasp as it shoved into his ass . Sam scrambled to lunge away from the invading finger and dropped the front of his body toward the bed in his effort to pull away. The chains and leash on his collar held him securely in place.

Bishop, in the meantime, moved to the head of the bed and hauled Sam back up to kneeling, on his elbows, and tipped his chin up toward him. He casually unzipped his pants and lowered them enough to pull his dick out from his boxers and stood there looking down into Sam’s face.

“Not sure if you’ve done this either, sec, but if it is the first time, it sure as hell won’t be the last time.” He laughed cruelly at his own joke, and he reached down to give his semi-hard dick a few pulls. Sam watched, helpless, as the flesh began to harden. He couldn’t believe he could find this arousing, then he remembered the strange tasting water.

“If you get really good at it we can forgo the bit, but you gotta earn that, boy. Say ah!” Bishop grabbed Sam’s collar and held him in place as he began to shove his dick past the ring into Sam’s mouth. At first all the man did was rock gently back and forth as he let Sam get used to the fullness and sensation. Sam had never sucked cock before or even really looked at another man’s dick, other than in passing in the men’s showers at school, but now he was up close and personal with Bishop’s. 

It was circumcised and short and wide and smelled slightly, not in a good way, and all Sam could think of was how disgusting it was as Bishop shoved it in his face. He felt the bitter, salty taste of pre-come on his tongue, and Bishop began to pick up the pace. 

“Yeah, now suck, boy, that’s right.” Sam tried to keep up with the stream of instructions but found it harder to do as the man started to push in deeper, and nudged the back of his throat. Sam choked and gasped.

Bishop’s chatter soon trailed off and the man grabbed Sam’s head and started to rut in earnest into his face. Sam lunged forward suddenly in surprise, burying his face in Bishop’s rough pubes as the finger pumping in and out of his backside suddenly became two. He heard the squelch of more lube and a third finger joined the first two, and Sam’s groan was muffled by the cock in his mouth as he was forced to rock between the two men. The fingers abruptly withdrew, and Sam scrambled to concentrate and breathe and swirl his tongue around Bishop’s dick and not panic as he felt the fat head of Murphy’s greased dick press up against his entrance. 

His attention was abruptly brought back to Bishop as the man slapped him in the face, hard, and said, “Pay attention, boy, up here. Murphy can fend for himself.” Sam tried to keep his tongue moving when all it wanted to do was freeze up in gasping pain as Murphy shoved into him, too full, too much, too fast. Sam stopped all pretense of servicing Bishop as he breathed through the pain of Murphy’s ungentle entrance. The man continued to push in until he was balls deep in Sam’s ass and then he paused. 

Sam breathed through his nose and tried not to hyperventilate. The pain was tremendous, he felt like he was being split in two. Murphy’s stretching hadn’t really prepared him for this…invasion, and it was all happening far too quickly. Sam belatedly realized as he heard the slight squelch of lube that at least the man had taken some care, but he wasn’t even wearing a condom. Neither was Bishop. Sam’s shock took a back-seat as Murphy began to move, slamming back and forth into Sam. Sam felt like he was impaled on a large, unforgiving pole, and it hurt, god it hurt, but Murphy kept pounding in. 

Sam wondered why anyone would do this voluntarily; it certainly wasn’t pleasurable. But just then Murphy changed his angle a bit, and Sam felt a first frisson of pleasure as Murphy’s cock touched briefly on his prostate. Sam gasped, and Bishop shoved in on that gasp, having run out of patience with Sam’s inattentiveness. Both men were rocking back and forth into Sam’s body now in earnest, and Sam could hardly stay up on his trembling arms. The slap of Murphy’s crotch on Sam’s ass as he slammed in and the wet, slobbery, gagging sounds of Bishop working his dick into Sam’s mouth disgusted him. His ribs ached from the doggie position, and Sam counted down the seconds till both men finished off.

Bishop finally sped up and shoved deeper into Sam’s throat. Sam gagged, and tried to breathe through his nose without much success, and then he felt the hot salty release start to spurt down his throat. Sam choked and clenched and struggled to swallow, but some came out around Bishop’s softening dick and dribbled down his face. Sam’s struggles pushed Murphy over the edge, and Sam felt him draw up, and after a few more rapid thrusts he finally groaned and shoved in deeper as he released in warm pulses, deep in Sam’s ass. Murphy leaned there against Sam and panted for a while, rubbing Sam’s ass like he was petting a horse until he started to soften. Absently, Murphy reached around to fondle Sam’s uninterested dick in his hand and tutted at Sam’s lack of interest in the proceedings. 

“That’s next on our list of to dos, boy. A sec has always got to be interested in his master’s doings. We’ll train that thing of yours to jump every time it sees us.” Murphy pulled out abruptly, and Sam could feel the come start to drip out of his ass and over his balls. His ass fell like a huge gaping hole now with the absence of Murphy’s dick. Sam shivered as Bishop pulled his own softening member out of his aching mouth, and Sam’s arms just couldn’t hold him up any longer. He collapsed in exhaustion onto the bed.

Sam’s head was pulled up and a water bottle was forced into the ring gag. Sam found himself half drowning in water again as the bottle was tipped up and emptied into his face. Sam choked and coughed and rushed to swallow as water went everywhere. He realized, belatedly as his head began to spin again, that this was the same doped water from before. He could feel Bishop’s hand on his face gently push back his bangs and wipe away the tears Sam didn’t know he was crying, his sobs broken and distorted by the bit.

As his eyes slid shut and consciousness began to fade, he heard Murphy’s voice.

“Rest up, sec, we’ll be back for round two shortly. Lots to teach you boy, lots to do.” The men chucked as they strolled out of the cell, and Sam slipped into a darkness that had nothing to do with the light.

: : : 

Chapter Text


Chapter 8

: : :

“Sam…Sam, you listening to me?”

Sam jerked alert, and realized he had been completely lost in memory.

“Sam, we’re coming up on the hospital. Wrap the blanket around you; I’ll go get a wheel chair.”

Sam scrambled for the edges of the blanket he had let slide in the heated interior, and pulled it up tight around his shoulders. The storm still swirled around them, and his leg throbbed in time with his heart. He hoped his new master wouldn’t leave him alone in the Sec Ward, but he had to prepare himself for that possibility. He didn’t even know what kind of master Dean would be, but anything had to be better than Simon, right?

The back door opened, and Sam felt the blast of cold on his neck. Arms slid under his armpits again and pulled him out of the car. He had to force himself not to struggle, not to panic as he was pulled backward, even though, rationally, he knew it was Dean. His body was settled into a wheelchair, and Dean rushed around to try and ease his broken leg into the foot rest so it didn’t just drop from the bench seat where it lay. Sam whined slightly in pain as the leg was moved but knew his master had done his best. Dean grabbed another blanket from the back seat, threw it over Sam, and wheeled them into emergency.

“May I help you, sir?” The night nurse on duty looked frazzled and tired. The waiting room was full of people caught there in the storm.

“I-I, we’ve got a broken leg here. I need a doctor to look at it.”

The nurse glanced over at Sam huddled in the nest of blankets in the wheel chair. Sam started to worry if he was even allowed in these wheelchairs or if they were only for Primes. He looked down at his lap nervously and picked at the grey woolen blanket that covered him.

“For you or your sec, sir?”

“Why would that matter? He’s hurt.”

“This is a Prime emergency facility, sir. To get your sec looked at, you’ll have to go to the Sec Ward. Or you can leave it here, and we’ll call you when it’s treated.”

“I’m not leaving him here alone. Where’s a doctor I can see?”

“There may not be any doctors on call in the Sec Ward right now, sir, you’ll have to go and find out for yourself. Go to the elevators, press B1, and follow the red line; you’ll go straight to the Sec Ward. Then you can decide if you want to drop it off for the night or wait for it. Right through there, sir. Oh, and be sure to tether your slave. Hospital rules.”

Sam watched as Dean gave the nurse a hard look, and he could see his lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure, but his new master said nothing, just wheeled Sam around toward the elevator.

“God damn Prime laws,” Sam heard Dean grumble under his breath, and his heart clenched a little in his chest. Sam felt his breath speed up, but he forced himself to breathe evenly and not get his hopes up. Sam really didn’t want to get his hopes up. If the last year had taught him anything, it was that it was better not to hope; then those hopes couldn’t be dashed at his feet.

Dean jabbed at B1, and Sam kept his head down, trying to shrink down into the blankets and hopefully become unnoticeable. He felt a warn hand on the back of his neck and jerked a little until he realized it was Dean’s thumb rubbing gently under the line of Sam’s collar. Sam calmed a little at the touch.

The elevator came to a lurching stop, and Dean wheeled Sam out. Sam was completely unsurprised when it turned out the basement was cold and damp with an odd, not quite antiseptic smell in the air. 

Dean had to buzz to be let in, and Sam gulped down his fear as the iron bars of the Sec Ward clanged shut behind them. Sweat broke out over his body as Dean rolled the chair down the cage-lined hall. At least there was no screaming here. The nurse led them to an examination cell at the back of the ward, and interviewed Dean as to what was wrong with Sam. Sam wasn’t asked anything, so he kept his head down. 

Finally satisfied that Sam was indeed hurt and that his master did indeed want him treated, the nurse asked Sam to sit up on the examination table. Sam eased out of the wheelchair and gritted his teeth in anticipation of trying to hop the short distance to the table, when he felt a steadying hand. For the second time that day, Dean came to his aid, helping boost Sam up onto the exam table. Then he began to gently unwrap the grey blanket from the temporarily splinted leg.

“Thank you, Master,” Sam whispered, daring a glance at his master’s face. Concerned green eyes carefully watched him, and Sam gulped and reached down to swing his swollen and bloody leg carefully up onto the table.

The nurse pushed her way between them and tutted at the purpling leg. She brusquely ordered Sam to lie back on the exam table. Sam leaned back on his elbows, unable to take his eyes off the oddly lumpy flesh. He watched, caught somewhere between fascination and throwing up, as she set about cleaning the area and removing the blanket and temporary splint. Her last action before leaving to get the doctor was to snap a short chain leash attached to the examination table to Sam’s collar. It forced his head down and back against the bench, effectively holding him in place on the table.

“I’ll go see if I can find a doctor; it’s definitely broken, but it seems like a clean break. He should be able to set it right away.”

Dean looked at the nurse thoughtfully and nodded as she headed out of the cell, leaving the cell door open behind her.

“Jesus,” Dean breathed, and Sam snuck a quick glance at his master as he ran his fingers though his hair impatiently. Dean paced the length of the cell while Sam fidgeted on the table. Neither said a word until the nurse returned with an older, scruffy looking doctor in tow.

“Yes, we’ll have to do an x-ray but that looks like a break to me. How’d it get it?” The doctor glanced up at Dean as he inspected the wound.

“Car accident.” Dean’s voice was gruff.

“You got insurance?”

“Na, ah, the state don’t provide us Hunters with all those mod cons.” Dean shook his head ruefully.

“Well here’s how it goes. I can take a quick x-ray and just set the bone and we hope for the best, more than likely it’ll heal fine. Or I can do a bunch of expensive tests and x-rays, then I set the bone and keep it here under observation for a day here under guard and more than likely it’ll heal fine, but you‘ll have security, hospitalization and designer drugs; that’ll set you back a couple grand. Or if you’re really broke you give up the slave, the state reclaims it for the debt of treating it, and I set the bone and hope for the best.” The doctor gave a sort of Gallic shrug and half-cheeked it on the exam table next to Sam.

“What flavor you up for, son?

“What kind of freakin’ doctor are you?” Dean looked at the man slightly aghast.

“I’m a sec doctor, and I got other patients, and not a lot of time. And it seems to me that you don’t have a lot of options, so I’m tryin’ to give it to you straight.”

“Well set the leg, Jesus, but can’t you do somethin’ for the pain so he doesn’t hurt while you do it?”

“It’ll cost extra; just telling ya because a lot of folks don’t want to spend extra on their secs.”

“Listen, if I had the money I’d spend the grand for the best care I could get, but right now I’ll be lucky to scrape up a couple hundred for painkillers. Do the best you can, but fix him, and there’s no way I’m giving him up.”

“Okay.” The doctor swung back to Sam and took his hand; Sam resisted the urge to pull it back as the doctor attached chains to his bracelets and strapped his hand tight to the bench. The nurse came up on the other side, locking his other hand down. Sam looked around, a wild look in his eyes, and started to shake in terror.

“What are you doing now?” Dean’s gruff voice had both the doctor and nurse pausing.

“Gotta strap it down; this is gonna hurt, and we don’t want it struggling.”

“Wait, you’ve already got him chained, stop. Sam, will you hold still for the doctor? I’ll be right here with you.” Dean reached down and pulled Sam’s chin up gently so he was looking directly at Dean. Sam nodded carefully, not trusting his voice, and clung to Dean’s proffered hand with a death grip.

“There, now unchain him and do your job.” Sam gulped and smiled weakly at Dean in gratitude; he was so tired of being treated like a rabid animal with no feelings.

The nurse unchained him while the doctor got everything ready to make up the cast. He was given a local anesthetic to numb the pain as they got down to work. Dean smoothed the sweat dampened hair from his eyes and whispered soothing words that Sam couldn’t quite register. Sam bit down the soft cry of pain as they moved his leg, but the drugs made it more bearable than he could have hoped. He thought maybe they were being more careful with Dean in the room. Exhaustion set in and Sam closed his eyes.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’ll be fine, Sam. Take it easy.” Sam woke with Dean’s voice a gentle litany in his ear. His leg still hurt, but it felt a bit better now, and he tried to raise his head until the chain on his collar stopped him. He could just barely rise high enough to see his new plaster cast. And he was dressed. Sam shivered; he was in hospital greens, must have been put into them before the cast was put on because the one leg of the scrubs was cut off to accommodate it. And he had the matching shirt. Sam brought his hand up wonderingly as he touched the washworn surgical scrubs. It had been a long time since he’d been allowed more than his slave briefs. He wondered how much they had set Dean back.

“Doc says it was a clean break, and you’ll be good as new in six to eight weeks, you just have to take it easy on it. And I even got some of these.” Dean shook a little bottle of pain pills in front of Sam and grinned like a Cheshire cat. Still slightly dazed and overwhelmed by the gift of clothes, Sam looked up earnestly into his master’s face and noticed how his smile made little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Sam licked his lips and imagined suddenly licking those perfect, cupid bow lips….must be the drugs, he thought. But it was all so strange. Sam’s former master didn’t give a crap about his pain or how well he felt. Sam let out a weak laugh and grinned at his master before remembering to lower his eyes.

“Hey, none of that. You can look at me. Especially when we’re alone. I don’t go for that submissive sec crap so neither will you. We’ll do what we gotta do in public, but not when it’s just the two of us. So, wanna get out of this glorified jail?

Sam nodded weakly; he definitely wanted to shake the dust of this sec ward off his feet – or his cast – as soon as possible. Dean reached over and unclipped his collar, allowing Sam to rise up and sit on the examination table. Dean snatched up the blanket Sam had been wrapped in originally, and bundled him up in it. It would have to do until he could get the slave some proper clothes. The slave shorts just weren’t going to cut it in this weather. 

“Okay then, climb on board, princess. Next stop, a nice motel and takeout pizza.”

Sam licked his lips in sudden hunger, and Dean laughed as he heard Sam’s stomach rumble. Dean helped him ease back into the waiting wheelchair and passed him a set of standard issue crutches to hold on to. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious or how long they’d been there. He hoped the storm was over. But he thought things had taken a sudden turn for the better now that he called this man master.

: : :

It was light out when they left the hospital, and it looked like the storm had finally passed them by in the night with cleanup crews and snow removal equipment out in force on the streets. Dean picked the first hotel he could find on the outskirts of town. It was shabby and run-down and nothing like the 5-star hotels Simon would stay at when they hunted, and Sam found himself curious as to what else would be different about his new master.

His leg was still tender, and even with the walking cast and crutches. As he levered himself out of the Impala Dean left the crutches in the back seat for the moment and , Sam was forced to lean on Dean to make it to the hotel room. The snow was cold on his other foot in the lightweight sec sandals Simon had supplied him with, and Dean cursed. “What the hell kind of asshole doesn’t give his slave shoes in Nebraska in the winter for God’s sake.” Dean helped Sam over to one of the two double beds in the room and sat him down. 

Sam was grateful to make it inside into the questionable warmth of the hotel room. When Dean left to go back out to the Impala, he wasn’t sure what he should do. Simon never let him sit on the furniture, but Dean had specifically put him on the bed. Maybe it was just for convenience, Sam thought, so he eased himself gently from the end of the bed onto the floor. He wanted to make a good impression on his master.

“Sam, so what do you take on your pizza?” Dean said as he re-entered the room with duffel in each hand and Sam’s new crutches clamped under his arm. “Sam? Where are you?” Dean glanced around the room, not seeing Sam at first, then finally noticed him kneeling on the carpet, head bowed.

“Sam, what are you doing there?” 

Sam looked up, perplexed; he didn’t want to displease his new master. “I-I, m’not allowed on the furniture M-master,” Sam breathed out and quickly dropped his gaze again as a red tinge of embarrassment began to creep up his cheeks. 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and looked down at Sam. “Sam, who is your master now?” he asked, and Sam could feel the edge of frustration in the calm voice.

“You are Master,” Sam answered in trepidation.

“And where did I leave you?”

“On the bed, Master.” Sam’s voice fell to a whisper, and he began to tremble.

“So then it’s all right for you to be on the bed because I put you there. I don’t want you on the floor, Sam. You’re hurt. I want you in the bed.”

“The bed, Master?” Sam hated that his voice squeaked when he said it.

“Yes, now up with you and onto the bed.” Dean let him struggle up on his own. By the time he got on the bed, he was sweating with the strain, and his leg was shaking.

“Now lie down.” Dean’s firm voice brooked no argument.

Sam lay down. The only time his master wanted him on the bed was when he fucked him. Sam wasn’t sure he’d stay conscious when Dean did, his leg hurt so bad right now. But he struggled to position himself in the middle of the bed and spread his legs. He felt too weak to remove his clothes, but that had never slowed Simon down. He had been known to cut Sam’s clothes off as the mood struck him.

Sam paused, then decided he had better ask before he did something more wrong. “H-how do you want me, Master?”

Dean had grabbed some of the takeout flyers lying in a bowl in the small kitchenette and was looking through them as he searched for a pizza joint. He looked up. “W-what?”

Sam blushed deep pink and huffed softly, repeating himself as he leaned back on badly shaking elbows. “H-how do you want me, Master?”

Dean looked at him puzzled, so Sam forced himself to go on, “Face-up or face-down?”

“Jesus, no, nothing like that, Sammy. I just want you to lay down. Rest till the pizza gets here. Nothing like that’s gonna happen here tonight.”

Sam lowered himself shakily onto his back on the bed. He half-fell the rest of the way as the drugs and exhaustion hit him, and he sagged in relief.

“Sleep, Sammy, I’ll call you when the pizza gets here.” Sam closed his eyes and huffed out a soft, “Yes, Master.” The feeling of something light and warm settling over him had his eyelashes fluttering open. Dean brushed his hair back from his eyes and said softly, “Rest now, just rest,” as he tucked the blanket in over Sam’s body. Sam shivered at the gentle touch and slid into sleep.

: : :

The smell of pizza filled the hotel room. Sam’s eyes snapped open to the sound of his stomach growling. It had been a couple of days since Sam had eaten, and he was hungry.

Dean cut off a couple of large hunks of pizza and tore off the lid of the box and brought it over to Sam. Sam glanced up in surprise. He usually had to kneel at Simon’s feet when he ate.

He struggled to sit up while Dean cut off another chunk of cardboard for his own plate and brought them both over a bottle of pop. Dean kicked off his shoes and plopped himself down on the other bed, pizza in one hand, TV remote in the other. He thumbed on the tv.

Sam nervously picked at his pizza, unsure if he needed permission to start.

Dean glanced over and said calmly, “Eat up, Sam.” So, Sam dove in.

The two pieces disappeared in no time and Sam was taking a sip of coke, wishing he’d eaten more slowly, when he heard the soft thud of two more pieces hit his makeshift plate.

“You’re a growing boy, Sammy, and you need a little more meat on your bones. Maybe Simon liked you wraith thin, but I need a partner that can help out on a hunt, not bait.”

Sam’s eyes grew round, and he tried not to choke on the mouthful of pop he'd been drinking. He swallowed hard; he had to keep his hopes in check.

While they finished their meal, Dean continued to flip through the channels until he settled on an old black and white science fiction film. They watched in companionable silence, and when Sam was done, Dean removed the paper plates and tidied up the remains. Sam’s head started to droop half way through the movie, and he startled when Dean’s face suddenly loomed in front of him. “Sleepy, princess? Time to go to bed, I think. First, let’s take you on a trip to the bathroom.” 

Dean helped Sam hobble to the tiny, avocado green tiled bathroom and stood with hooded eyes, arms crossed, as he watched Sam piss and wash his hands. “Okay, back you go.” Sam was directed back to the bed, and Dean laid the sheets back for him to climb in. “Ah, I guess you should sleep in those scrubs for now.” Dean muttered and licked his lips. “Tomorrow we’ll get you some clothes.” He paused, obviously torn about something, and looked like he was going to say something else. Then he just sighed and fed a chain through the loop in Sam’s collar, and through the slave bolt on the steel reinforced nightstand bolted to the floor between the beds. The motel may have looked dilapidated but they were up to code on all the sec restraint bylaws. Sam heard the dull snick as Dean secured it with a small lock.

Finished, Dean added almost apologetically, “It’s the law, man.” Sam puzzled for a moment at the gruff, sad tone of his master’s voice, and then he gave it no more thought, tumbling into sleep. As he drifted off, he felt Dean’s warm work-calloused hands as they slid the nearly threadbare hotel sheets up over his chest and tucked him in. Sam curled his arms around the flat hotel pillow and sagged, exhausted, into the mattress. Italmost felt too soft, after months sleeping on the hard floor. 

: : : 

“Come on Sammy, rise and shine, we gotta get on the road.”

Sam sat up and carefully hauled his leg out from under the covers. Dean was in the kitchenette setting up breakfast. Sam stood, slightly unsteady, and wondered what he should do. His collar had been unchained from the nightstand, and he was free to move about.

“Chop, chop, Sam, bathroom, then breakfast, then we’re on the road. I want to register your ownership papers and haul ass out of this town before Simon regroups.” Sam grabbed up his crutches which Dean had considerately left leaning against the wall near the head of the bed and took himself off to the washroom, hobbling slowly. With no way to keep his cast dry, he had to settle for a makeshift sponge bath instead of a shower. Cleaner, at least, and dressed in his hospital scrubs from yesterday, Sam found himself hovering by the kitchen table. He positioned himself beside Dean and started the slide to his knees, made awkward by the bulky cast, when a hand shot out and grasped his arm, halting him midway.

“Whoa, what are you doing, Sam?”

“K-kneeling, Master,” Sam replied, as he bit his lip, clenching his hands in worry.

“Did I order you to kneel?”

“N-No, Master…” Sam answered, surprised.

“Then you take a seat at the table until I tell you otherwise.” Dean’s hand slid possessively down Sam’s back as he guided him into a chair, and Sam tried not to shiver at the touch.

“Y-Yes, Master.” Sam slid gratefully into the seat and waited; his hands twisted nervously in his lap.

“Sam?” Sam looked up at Dean.

“Do I need to tell you to eat?”

“Ss-sorry, Master. I-I just…”

“That’s all right, boy, I’m beginning to get the picture. Eat up. You don’t have to ask permission to eat around me.” Dean’s hand reached across and patted Sam’s arm. Sam felt a bit of regret when Dean’s hand returned to his own meal.

Once again, Sam was given more food at breakfast than he’d normally see in a week with Simon. It felt so good to be full for a change. No empty ache in his belly that he was then supposed to hide.

Dean loaded his duffels in the car, and upon his return, took another look at Sam’s unbroken foot and the flimsy sandal he was currently toeing into.

“We’ll have to get you more than those to wear,” Dean grimaced as he surveyed the set of scrubs Sam had on. They were the only clothes Sam had to his name right now and barely any protection from the cold at all. “Keep that blanket around you for now Sam I don’t want you dying of pneumonia. What an asshat that Simon is, taking you out in that getup.” Looking down at Sam’s feet Dean just shook his head in disgust, “And we’ll have to get you some proper footwear for those clodhoppers. You won’t fit in any of my shoes. Or rather shoe, at this point.” Dean strode over, and with no warning, ducked under Sam’s arm and pulled it up over his shoulder, wrapped his free arm around Sam's waist, and stood him up. Sam sputtered in surprise but then resolutely closed his mouth; he wanted to protest that he was feeling better and could walk on his own with the crutches, but he felt strangely meek in Dean’s care. Together, with Sam leaning heavily on his master, they made their way to the car. A small part of him wanted nothing more than to stay sheltered in the hunter’s embrace.

“I don’t have one of those fancy slave restraint systems in the car. We’ll have to rely on the old fashioned method of you behaving yourself,” Dean said as he carefully placed Sam in the passenger seat of the Impala. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

He reached across and pulled the safety belt over Sam and buckled him in. Sam’s gaze traveled to the pre-installed slave bolt at the foot of the seat and his hands twitched in nervous reaction. He settled them back in his lap and shook his head ‘no’, slightly in shock at his master’s actions. 

“Well okay then.” Dean ran his hand down Sam’s arm. “There, you good?” Sam nodded mutely; he could so easily get used to these small touches, crave them. It had been so long since he’d been touched in kindness. Even in the pens, all the secs in his horde had been kept apart, no comfort there. Sam watched as Dean swung round and climbed in the driver’s side of the car. The old, metal car purred to life, and Sam stretched his long legs out and sighed in pleasure as Dean headed onto the open road. It was nice to have the extra room. Simon usually penned him in a cage in the back of his jeep, and the too small space meant Sam could barely move, let alone stretch out.

Dean cranked the heat and shoved in an old and battered tape from a shoebox sitting on the floor, and mullet rock began to pound out of the old speakers. Sam bit back a grin. His master might be an improvement in a lot of ways, but not his taste in music. It seemed a small price to pay, though, as Dean pounded the steering wheel in time with the beat, and Sam drifted off to Metallica blaring through the car’s speakers.

The soft rub of hands on his shoulder coaxed him from sleep. They were somewhere else, some other small town in the midwest. Sam kept his mouth shut and bit back any questions. It was not his place to ask.

Dean had pulled the Impala up next to a thrift shop along an old, downtown strip. The store was dilapidated and shabby and had that abandoned look of thrift stores everywhere.

Sam was surprised when Dean helped him walk into the store. They went to the men’s section of the nearly deserted place, and Dean shoved Sam gently down into a seat and began to bring him sturdy boots that he measured against his foot until he found one that looked close enough in size for Sam to try on. It fit, and Dean moved on to carrying back jeans and soft flannel shirts in Sam’s size. 

Dean even rustled up a nearly new winter coat. It was a nice shade of blue, and a bit short when Sam stood to try it on. But it was warm and well lined. Sam was slightly overwhelmed as he stood, head bowed, taking in the bounty that was suddenly his. Warm clothes, enough food to eat; Sam’s mind whirled. 

Dean reached out and gently wiped away the tears Sam hadn't realized were trickling down his face. He brought Sam’s chin up and softly cupped his jaw as his thumb swiped over Sam’s lower lip. “Looks good on you, Sammy, wish I could afford better.” Dean smirked slightly. “Brings out your eyes. I do want to head over to the strip mall and get you some underwear and t-shirts. I draw the line at second hand gitch.” Crinkles appeared in the corners of Dean’s eyes, and he chuckled softly.

Sam’s eyes went wide as he stared into the green gold ones facing him. He noticed, not for the first time, the freckles dusted across Dean’s face, and Sam licked his lips nervously. The soft crinkle at the corners of Dean’s eyes when he smiled and laughed softly made Sam feel a warm tingle, and his cock twitched in response. 

He wanted to lean into his master’s embrace, tuck himself into the shelter of his body and be held by those strong, reassuring arms. It had been a long time since Sam had felt anything for anyone, not since Jess, not since before… 

Sam felt stripped open and vulnerable and a little pathetic to feel so much over what were, essentially, hand-me downs and cast offs. But they were his hand-me-downs now, damn it, and Dean cared enough to clothe him in them. Sam ducked his head shyly, while Dean purposefully ignored the battle going on in Sam’s head. He helped Sam to the front cash register where Dean paid for his new items. 

After registering Dean’s claim on Sam and Burton’s bill of sale at the local Town Hall, Dean drove further east. The day ended with them in yet another small town, booked into another rundown hotel. Dean continued their routine of Sam on his bed with take out and Dean eating on his. Sam was distracted though, and kept running his hand down the soft white t-shirt he had on in amazement. It had been months since he’d worn anything but the sec shorts, and the novelty of having the shirt and underwear next to his skin, and sleeping in a real bed, rather than at the foot of one, wouldn’t get old fast, Sam vowed. He could see Dean’s satisfied smile as he watched him out of the corner of his eye. Self-conscious he snatched his hand away from his chest, cheeks pinking in embarrassment. They watched TV in companionable silence as Dean flicked through channels till he found something cheesy. Sam had to admit the simple pleasures of watching the space monsters get their butts handed to them had its appeal, and again he drifted off to sleep well ahead of the movie’s end, only to awaken briefly as Dean gently pulled the covers up over him and tucked him into bed. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, and as he slipped back to sleep, he thought he imagined the soft kiss on his forehead.

: : :

It was late in the pens; the lights had been dimmed for a while, and most of the slaves were asleep, exhausted by the day’s training. Sam lay there, tired but strangely on edge. Trent had been mysteriously absent from their section for over a week, and Sam had thrived during his hiatus, eating regularly, enduring fewer beatings. Sam felt almost…good, given the circumstances. He tried to settle, tried to still his mind and drift off. His eyes finally drifted closed, and then shot open when he heard the click of his cage door. Sam peered up into the darkness, and froze. Trent loomed there in the shadows, baton in hand. Sam gulped; this could not end well.

“Out here, sec, now. You’re to come with me.”

Sam crawled out of the cage. Every molecule of his body wanted to curl up in the back of the cage and hide, but he knew it would only be worse for him if he did.

Trent tapped the side of his leg with the baton in warning, and Sam rushed to exit the cage and kneel before his trainer, head to the floor, chained hands before him.

“Miss me, sec? Your protector, Gordon, seemed to want to keep me away from you. Did you say something, sec? Did you complain?”

Sam’s heart froze in fear at the quiet rage in Trent’s voice. He shook his head no, but didn’t look up at the man. Didn’t want to encourage his wrath.

Trent reached down and attached a chain to Sam’s collar, yanking it with a terse, “Heel.” Sam crawled behind the guard, down the darkened hallways of the training center, to the far end of the pens. Sam started to shake as he realized where Trent was taking him. They entered the cell, and Trent pulled Sam to the center of the room; he stood on the end of Sam’s leash as he reached down to connect the chain to Sam’s left wrist.

Sam closed his eyes tightly and whispered, “Please don’t. Please, Master,” as he bowed his head in despair.

With one hand secured, Trent reached for the second wrist. Sam weighed his chances if he tried to overpower Trent, but Sam knew he was outclassed, and if Sam fought, it would only be worse for him after.

The guard stepped back to the wall, and Sam heard the mechanical hum of a motor as the chains tightened and drew him up. Soon he hung, arms spread wide, toes barely touching the floor. Sam gulped and looked down. He didn’t want to plead anymore; he didn't want to beg. He just wanted it all to end.

Sam flinched as he felt the whip trace gently across his shoulder blades.

“It seems your smart mouth has deserted you, sec. Got nothing to say?”

Sam shook his head and bit down on his bottom lip.

“Well we’ll teach you to run to Gordon with stories. Get me reassigned. Fucking little sec whore.”

Sam threw back his head, eyes wide in shock at Trent’s venomous words. He’d done nothing. He’d never even looked sideways at Gordon; Gordon probably didn’t even know his name. Trent was clearly off the reservation. All Sam could do was shake his head ‘No’ and hope he would survive Trent’s rage.

As the first stroke of the whip sliced through him, Sam wasn’t sure that would be possible.

At the twenty-ninth stroke, Sam’s whole body trembled uncontrollably. His feet kept slipping on the blood beneath him, and his arms bore the brunt of his lost balance as it put all his weight on his manacled hands. 

Trent prowled around him like a large cat as his whip trailed in the blood on the floor, Sam’s blood. Sam felt light headed. Black dots danced on the edge of his vision as he tried to brace himself for more. He heard the thin, telltale whistle of the leather as it sliced through the air and flung back his head in agony as he screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

: : :

“Sam, Sam, Sammy, snap out of it. It’s only a dream. Wake up, Sam.”

Sam heard Dean’s voice over the sound of his own screams and groggily resurfaced enough to realize it was only a dream. Tremors continued to roll through Sam, and Dean gently rocked him, attempting to soothe away the night terrors. Sam burrowed deeper into the comfort of Dean’s warmth and hid his head in the crook of his shoulder. Sweat streamed off Sam.

“That’s it, you’re okay. You’re here with me, Sam. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.” Dean’s voice was like a mantra of sanity pulling Sam back from the deep. As Dean’s hand continued to run through his hair, Sam slowly began to calm.

“Bad dream, huh?” Dean ducked his head down so he could look into Sam’s eyes. Sam nodded. Dean rose, and Sam panicked and grabbed onto his master’s lean waist; a whine of fear leaked from his lips. 

“Shhh, shhh, settle, Sam. I’m just going to get you some water. I’ll be right back.” Sam forced himself to let go of Dean’s body and moaned slightly as the man stepped away into the kitchenette. He wrapped his arms around his curled up leg and rocked in agitation, the image of Trent fresh in his mind. He could still feel the blades of the whip striking his body.

“Here, Sammy, drink up.” Sam gulped down the cool liquid, feeling it slide, cold and startling, down his throat and out the corners of his mouth. He gulped like a small child as he gasped in breath before taking another long drink.

“Feel better?” Dean asked and seemed to be prepared to move off to his own bed. “Maybe you should strip off that t-shirt, you’re soaked through.”

Sam obediently pulled the sweaty t-shirt off over his head and Dean took it from him, slinging it over a chair back to dry. He returned to Sam and tucked him in again. As he turned to his own bed, Sam reached out, desperate for touch, and grabbed his master’s hand.

“Please…” Sam whispered. “Please stay with me, please, Master.”

Dean licked his lips and surveyed his slave, and after a long moment nodded to himself.

“Okay, Sammy, but you’ll need to give me some room.”

Dean debated the merits of sleeping on top of the blankets, but in just his t-shirt and boxers the motel room was just too damn cold; besides he reasoned, they both had their underwear on. He shifted Sam so he was on his side with Dean spooned up behind him, his arm draped over Sam’s waist.

“I’ll protect ya, princess. Now get some sleep,” Dean growled roughly in Sam’s ear.

Sam snuggled back into Dean’s chest and relaxed into the protective hold.

They tumbled into sleep, tangled limbs and sheets with Sam glued to Dean like home.

: : :

Chapter Text


Chapter 9

: : :

: : :

“Move it slave,” Marcus ordered. Sam crawled through the door of the punishment cell in the mansion’s basement. He felt a shiver go down his spine and wondered what he had done now. He had tried so hard to be good. To be Simon’s perfect slave.

He entered the room and saw Simon sprawled on a leather clad bench positioned in the center of the room, another man dressed in black standing beside him. Sam couldn’t suppress his trembling now and Marcus yanked painfully on his leash. 

“Ah there’s my boy. Come here Sam.” Simon ordered.

Sam crawled to Simon and knelt, hands down between his legs, head bowed.

“You’re trembling.” Simon’s voice held a note of satisfaction. 

“M-master…” Sam whispered out, daring to raise his eyes.

Simon reached out and grasped Sam’s chin and lifted it up.

“Are you my good boy?” Sam nodded his head without speaking.

“Have you obeyed and done everything you can to please me?”

Sam stilled, and ran through his various tasks, checking to see what instances he might have failed his master. He couldn’t remember any. Even his latest milking… Sam bit his lip and raised his eyes to the cruel blue ones watching him.

“I-I’ve tried Master,” he hedged.

Simon waited so long, Sam closed his eyes in despair only barely stopping himself from begging for mercy, for leniency. He could hear Marcus tapping his whip against his leg.

Simon reached down and began to play with Sam’s nipples, pinching and tugging the flesh so that Sam had to fight back a grunt of pain. He was convinced Simon was a sadist.

“And what did I tell you would happen if you were a good boy, slave?”

Sam looked up at him with desperate eyes, he couldn’t remember, all he drew was a blank. He shook his head slightly, his shaggy hair flopping forward over his eyes. He resisted the urge to push it back, and waited for his punishment.

Simon reached out and pushed his messy locks back from his face and drawled out, “Well it was a long time ago now. You’ve taken a long time to earn this.” Simon’s voice held a scolding tone. Sam’s chest felt tight and he squeezed his eyes closed, waiting.

“I want you to pierce him, both nipples. The barbells I want him to wear are there.” Simon’s voice wasn’t directed at Sam, but at the man beside him. He let go of Sam’s chest and leaned back so suddenly that Sam was left swaying weakly as he tried to regain his balance and grasp what had just happened. Sam’s eyes open with a snap. Piercing.

The man in black was advancing toward him and Marcus grabbed his neck and shoved him to the floor.

“And afterward you can show me how grateful you are Sam. I expect you to be very grateful.” Simon purred.

: : :

Sam shivered at the memory and rolled to his side, caught by the sound of chain. His collar was still leashed to the nightstand. Sam broke a little more with the jarring reminder of what he was and would continue to be, his master’s fanciful words mocking him. His new master seemed to be so good at raising Sam’s hopes, slipping behind his walls so easily. Sam found it so easy to start hoping, wanting, when Dean was around. All his armor of obedience beaten on to him by Simon, armor that had kept him safe and numb for so long seemed to be cracking open, leaving Sam vulnerable. It was little reminders like this, the chains that put him back in his place, back where he belonged, on his knees; he needed to remember that. He knelt up, straighter in the bed, and he wrapped one hand around his ribs. His chest ached suddenly, and Sam couldn’t fool himself into believing it was just his ribs as his other hand grabbed the chain leash. 

“So, what would you like for lunch, Sam?” Dean’s voice carried from out of the bathroom. He entered the room, towel slung dangerously low over his hips, Sam looked up through tear-wet lashes. There was surprise in Dean’s eyes and they both looked down at Sam's hand on the chain before Dean crossed the room, an apology already forming on his lips.

“Sorry, Sam. I meant to take that off, I just... Ssssh, it’s okay, boy. It’s gonna be okay.” Dean sat beside Sam and pulled him into his arms. And without even knowing why, Sam started to cry.

: : :

Dean kicked himself. He should’ve known better. He spent the next few minutes trying to calm the man. He knew touching Sam earlier had been a mistake. The man had been a slave for nearly two years now. He had no concept of self determination, the ability to say no beaten out of him. Dean had just looked at that beautiful face, and for a moment he'd forgotten.

He didn’t know if Sam’s outburst was completely to do with that, or if it was just the uncertainly of his whole situation, being so badly hurt, then finding himself with a new master. Maybe it was only Dean’s guilt making more of the touch than there was, but he knew he had to fix this. He sat on the bed and rocked Sam until the flow of tears finally slowed. He tried to ask what was wrong, but Sam wasn't talking. With no response, Dean decided to comfort at least the body if not the soul. He snagged a clean garbage bag from housekeeping, and he gently herded Sam into the bathroom. He carefully shimmied Sam's new white boxers down over his hips and down over the cast. He broke out the duct tape and proceeded to wrap Sam’s cast in the plastic to waterproof it. He helped the unresponsive man in under the shower. Fearing him passing out or doing more damage Dean dropped his own towel and followed Sam into the warm spray. 

Dean gently massaged his boy’s floppy, overlong hair and shampooed it till it would gleam when dry. Then he set about washing the long, lean body before him, starting at the back and working his way around to the front. Bruises and burns littered the too-thin frame, and Dean’s mouth thinned in determination. He’d bring Sam back to health if it was the last thing he did. He finished sudsing up Sam’s chest, and then his hand dropped lower, he gently cupped his boy’s uninterested cock, at first, for just a quick clinical washing. Then he had another idea. He felt Sam tense as he whispered in his ear, “Wanna make you feel good Sam. Will you let me do this for you?” He felt Sam still and his breath quicken. Dean was sure Sam didn’t know if this was a trick or not, but Dean just wanted to give him this. He was sure it had been a long time since anyone had cared about Sam’s pleasure. He stroked Sam’s soft cock gently with his soapy hand, massaged the warm skin behind Sam’s balls and felt Sam relax against him marginally. Dean squirted some body wash to his hands and slipped the fingers of his other hand into Sam’s entrance. 

He reached in deep and worked to find the spot, rubbing over it gently, repeatedly, until Sam moaned softly, as Dean leisurely pumped Sam’s cock with his other hand. Dean felt both victory and relief as Sam twitched in his grasp and started to harden. Sam’s hands fluttered at his sides, unsure. Dean took them and placed them on the wall, slightly above his shoulders, with a gruff, “Keep them there,” and returned to his efforts. He continued to twist and thrust his fingers back and forth across Sam’s prostate until he was fully erect, and rolled his thumb under the sensitive mushroom head, then stripped up and down his length. 

Sam began to moan and rut forward into Dean’s fist and back onto his fingers. His head slumped down onto his arms braced against the shower wall, and in no time, with a rough strangled groan, Sam spilled in Dean’s hand, the muscles of his ass tightening rhythmically around Dean’s fingers as he stroked him through it. Dean could feel himself grinning against Sam’s shoulder blade, happy to be able to give him this. The shower washed them clean again, and he tugged Sam out when the water began to run cold. He wrapped Sam in one of the cheap motel towels and removed the plastic protective covering from his cast before steering the near boneless man back into the main room. He shoved him gently down onto his bed and helped him dress in his new clothes. Through the whole process, Sam hadn’t spoken a word.

“Why did you buy me, Master?” Sam’s hoarse whisper took Dean by surprise as he finished buttoning his shirt. 

“It’s Dean. And technically, I didn’t so much buy you as win you in a card game.” Dean chuckled as he tried to lighten the mood, but Sam’s serious, tip tilted eyes turned towards him, and Dean felt his mouth go dry as he stared into the gold flecked depths. He licked his lips and started again.

“I hate the Sec system, Sam. Hate what it does to folks. And Simon, fuck, he’s an asshole of the first order; I wouldn’t let him own a dog, let alone a man. So why wouldn’t I try and take you away from all that when I had the chance?”

Sam nodded and dropped his gaze. Drying hair drifted down into his eyes, and Dean brushed it back absently. He couldn’t help touching this beautiful man. Dean had never felt so possessive before. He’d certainly never thought he’d feel this way about a sec, never wanted a slave, hated the idea of slavery, Prime Laws, whatever you dressed it up and called it. But this man sidestepped all that. Dean had felt, from the first moment he’d seen Sam on the roadhouse floor, a fierce desire to protect, an almost primal feeling of possession. Dean didn’t think much about true love and relationships and all that. Bobby had been a crusty, old bachelor, and Dean had always seen himself cut from the same cloth as his foster father. But Sam somehow got to him, and Dean had to keep reminding himself that Sam was incapable of making decisions right now, or forming proper relationships, he was vulnerable and Dean could do far more harm than good if he wasn’t careful. 

“I know I’m probably not your typical master, but I’d like to be a good one, treat you right. I don’t want to see you hurt again if I can help it, and I’ll do my best to keep you safe, Sammy. I-I don’t like making promises I can’t keep, so for now let’s just see where it goes, okay? I-I’d like us to be equals, at least, in private. Out there, in public, we’ll have to play the game, but when it’s just the two of us, it’s Sam and Dean, Okay?” Dean watched as Sam nodded jerkily. He knew the man had been hurt and abused and was a little lost. He wanted to say more, wanted to tell Sam everything, but it was all so new. Dean had to bide his time. He had plenty of that, and Sam wasn’t going anywhere. Dean would make sure of that.

: : :

Chapter Text


Prime – Chapter 10


: : :

Dean decided that he’d risk not moving on and to take it easy today. Sam badly needed time to heal and recover, so they spent the rest of the day in the hotel. Dean cruised the internet and chatted with Bobby in search of a new hunt, and after Dean gave him some pills for the pain, an emotionally and physically exhausted Sam napped. Dean strolled across the parking lot to the nearby diner to grab a late lunch for them both. 

His conscience pinged a bit. He had attached Sam’s leash to the bolt on the nightstand again before he left; he was still leery of what the man might do. Fortunately, Sam was still sleeping when he came back, and Dean was able to un-tether him before waking him for lunch. 

After lunch, Sam had slept for another few hours and when he woke, he then wandered aimlessly around the room. He seemed nervous, unsure what to do with himself. He was startled when Dean tossed him the remote control and told him to watch whatever he wanted. Sam had been hesitant at first but was soon flipping back and forth between the news and the Learning and History channels, brow wrinkled in interest, volume turned down so low he had to bend forward toward the TV in order to hear it. Dean thought he’d fall off the end of the bed soon.

“You can turn it up Sam, it’s not bugging me.”

Sam flinched at the sound of Dean’s voice in the room, swinging his head around to quickly look at Dean, his eyebrows raised in surprise again. Dean nodded his head toward the TV and Sam eased the volume up marginally. Dean sighed and shook his head, and went back to work. For the first little while he could feel Sam glancing over at him nervously, to see if the volume was irritating him. Then he became engrossed in programs again and eventually turned the volume up a tiny bit more. Dean smirked in satisfaction.

That night, Dean ordered in Chinese, and laid everything out on the kitchenette table. He called Sam over and passed him a plate. Sam had stared at him wide-eyed as Dean said, “Grab whatever you want Sammy. I got extra, 'cause I know you’re a growing boy.” Dean smiled and Sam watched Dean, carefully, then taking him at his word, filled his plate. Dean had to ask him twice if he wanted seconds, but the man refused. After eating, Dean stacked some pillows behind him and snatched up the remote before he leaned back, intent on finding a good movie. 

Sam had tidied up the leftovers and now stood in the room uncertain, he looked at Dean leaning back against his pillows and then at the other bed, obviously torn as to what he should do.

“That’s your bed Sam, stretch out, watch TV, or go to sleep. It’s your choice. I’ll try and keep the volume down if you want to sleep.”

Dean watched as Sam bit his lip and slowly limped over to the other bed. In the darkened room from the television flash as Dean flicked from channel to channel he could see Sam lie down and turn his face toward the screen, watching absently. Dean finally landed on a great Godzilla movie he hadn’t seen in a while and said, “This okay with you, Sam?”

Sam turned his head, eyes wide, toward Dean and nodded mutely. Dean smirked; he liked surprising his boy. Dean had only been watching for twenty minutes or so when he looked over and Sam was fast asleep. Dean smiled. It would be a long road back to normalcy, but they’d get there. Dean leaned back into the pillows and winced as Godzilla crushed an Impala underfoot. Monster! The movie was almost over when Sam started to twitch and mumble in his sleep. Dean looked over, concerned, and knocked the volume down a bit lower and continued to watch. He was jolted out of bed by a blood curdling scream as Sam sat up in bed in absolute terror.

Dean leapt over to the distraught man and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam jerked and stared up at him, unseeing; still lost in the nightmare. Dean sat down and curved his hand around his back, squeezing his arm, “It’s okay Sammy, it’s okay, it’s just a dream. You’re all right.”

Reality slowly seemed to sink in and he could finally see Sam staring back out of his blue green eyes. “You okay now?” Sam nodded, still a little dazed, but when Dean rose to go back to his bed Sam whimpered and grabbed onto Dean’s hand.

Dean looked down at the strangle hold Sam had on his hand. “Ah… Sam. I’m gonna need that.” Dean smiled and looked pointedly at his hand. Sam snatched his hand back and the whispered, “S-sorry Master,” set Dean’s heart to aching.

“S’okay Sammy, now do you want to go back to bed, or watch TV for a little while?”

Sam swallowed and looked meaningfully toward the TV.

“Okay well, here’s some pillows, you get comfortable.” Dean eased out of Sam’s bed and went back toward his own. Returning to Godzilla Dean kept a discrete eye on Sam. The man just couldn’t seem to get comfortable and kept looking over at him.

“You want to come here and sit with me to watch TV, Sammy?”

Sam looked at him hopefully, like a giant puppy and Dean waved him over and hoped this wasn’t a big mistake. Sam eased himself onto the bed, careful of the cast. Sam didn’t seem to know where to sit, so Dean pilled some extra pillows beside him and eased the skittish man up beside him on the bed. They watched the show for a while and Dean could feel Sam still tense and on edge beside him. 

“Okay, let’s get you more comfortable. C'mere.” Dean eased Sam into the middle of the bed, leaning Sam back against his chest in the vee of his legs, and wrapped his arms around him. He could feel Sam soften and settle against him, relaxing into his embrace. They continued to watch TV, Dean absently rubbing Sam’s back and arms, and he felt Sam unwind a bit more from his freakout. Godzilla having triumphed again, Dean scrolled through the channels and finally landed on another movie he liked. Sam nodded off mid-movie, and Dean just held him. He enjoyed the casual intimacy, the feel of Sam’s warm body against him. When the film ended, Dean reluctantly woke him, “Hey Sammy, bedtime, big guy, let’s get you ready.” 

Dean helped Sam as he limped to the bathroom. He could feel the weight of Sam’s eyes on him, uncertain, and when he gruffly ordered, “Wash up, Sammy,” he was relieved to see Sam’s head nod as he hastened to obey. Back in the main room Dean said, “Okay, we’ll get you ready for bed now, let’s get you down to your boxers and t-shirt.” Dean's breath felt hot against the back of Sam’s neck as he helped slide the soft flannel up over Sam’s head. The shirt caught slightly on Sam’s bracelets, and Dean’s firm hand reached down and tugged them free.

He heard Sam’s breath quicken as he turned to stand before Dean, his head bowed, as he hid beneath his chocolate locks.

Dean reached across and raised Sam’s chin, so he looked directly into anxious hazel, and said, “Look at me, Sam. Nothing’s going to happen here between us but sleep. Now you want to sleep in your bed or mine?”

Sam’s mouth opened, a look of yearning and confusion on his face as he nodded his head toward Dean’s bed. Dean helped him settle on to the bed, Sam next to the wall and Dean on the other side. In spite of all the rest he’d had that day, Sam quickly drifted off, eased by Dean’s presence beside him. Gradually, much to Dean’s amusement, Sam turned in his sleep till he was curled around Dean like a giant puppy. It made Dean more determined than ever to erase the shadows from the man’s eyes.

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The next morning, Dean ordered Sam to stay in and left him unchained as he made a trip to the diner. He breathed a sigh of relief when Sam was still in the room when he returned. He wanted to trust Sam, give him more rope, but his gut told him that Sam was confused and ready to bolt at the slightest opportunity. 

Dean would set the man free if he could, but for the moment, the laws held both of them trapped. Dean wanted to protect Sam, he knew he was safer with Dean than with anyone else, but Sam didn't know that. Sam had no reason to trust him, and Dean wanted the time to build that trust. Maybe then he could tell Sam the whole truth.

For now, it was time to move on. The issue of Simon still loomed large, and Dean wanted a bit more distance between them before he’d feel safe. Dean hauled his two duffels full of clothing and supplies out to the car as well as Sam’s new, smaller bag. Dean gave Sam a hard stare as Sam hobbled over to the Impala.

“Can I leave you free again, Sam? Will you promise to behave?” Sam looked at Dean and swallowed; earnest tip-tilted eyes stared at Dean and nodded solemnly as he held the passenger side door open for him.

“Not much for talking are you, Sam?” Dean asked companionably; Sam just shook his head. 

Technically there were no laws against leaving your sec free in a car; it had just become customary to lock secs down in cages or slave restraint systems in the back seat or trunk. Dean remembered the crushed cage in the back seat of the wrecked jeep and shuddered in distaste. He was sure Sam had spent far too much time in there as it was. Sam climbed into the passenger side, his movements made awkward by the cast; the man sat there with his head bowed.

“You’re allowed to look around Sam. You can enjoy the ride.”

Sam craned his neck back at Dean to confirm he’d heard right and started to apologize, his cheeks going pink in embarrassment. “M’sorry, Master, sorry…”

“S’okay, Sammy, j-just do up your seatbelt, okay.” Sam rushed to put on the seatbelt, blush still high on his cheek. 

Dean cursed Simon for the one hundredth time as he pulled the Impala out of the lot. Sam now curled up on the passenger seat trying to make himself small and insignificant. Dean slammed a cassette into the old tape deck and hoped it would take his mind off the murder he was contemplating .

They had been on the road for a couple of hours, the early tense start having gradually eased into a companionable silence. Dean knew he wanted to make a start on acclimating Sam to Dean’s way of doing things. Lunch at a roadside diner would be a good start. He pulled over at the next likely spot and, coming to a stop, turned to look at Sam.

Sam sat, twisting the cuffs of his new shirt like it was unusual to have sleeves, head bowed, not looking up at the diner outside the Impala’s windows.

Remembering Sam’s previous wardrobe, Dean realized maybe sleeves were a novelty. Dean rubbed his face and spoke, “So, Sammy, I thought we’d have dinner here. You going to be good for me?”

Sam looked up and nodded again and Dean saw a flicker of excitement in his eyes. Dean wondered how often Sam had been left in the car, caged or chained. Well that was gonna change, Dean vowed. He ordered Sam to wait in the car until he could circle around to the passenger side to help him get out. They walked to the diner, Sam stuck to Dean’s back like an over-tall shadow. Dean could feel fear radiating off Sam in waves as Sam hobbled along behind him. Dean wondered what else Simon had done to make Sam act this way.

They entered the diner, and Dean moved toward a booth. Dean slid in one side, and Sam hesitated and then started to kneel beside Dean’s seat. Dean caught his elbow quickly and steered the man to the other side of the booth.

“But, Master…” Sam’s voice sounded strained. He paled suddenly and shut his mouth with a snap as he realized he had just questioned his master’s orders. Color appeared high on Sam’s cheeks again, and he silently slid into his seat, wrested the cast in under the table, and bowed his head.

A sec waitress approached their table and laid a menu in front of Dean. Sam darted a glance up her briefly, then bowed his head again.

Dean grinned at the waitress and said casually, “So, darlin’, what’s good here?”

“The meatloaf special is particularly good, Master, so is the club, but whatever Master would prefer.” The sec waitress stood awkwardly, head bowed.

“Okay, give us a second please.” The waitress skittered back behind the counter, and Dean looked over at Sam.

“So, Sammy, any preferences?”

Sam licked his lips and darted a quick look at Dean and shook his head. Dean could have made money betting on that response.

“Okay, how does a cheeseburger and fries sound?”

Sam looked up, surprise becoming a permanent state for him. Dean knew there were always low cost nutritional supplements on all menus for secs. The next best thing to dog food for people. Primes didn’t usually spring for real food for their slaves, not when perfectly serviceable supplements were available. Dean called over the waitress and placed their orders.

There was the usual pause once their meal arrived as Sam waited for permission to eat. Dean wanted to reach across and tell the man again he didn’t have to wait for permission, but realized only time and Dean’s consistent actions would teach Sam. “Eat up before it gets cold, Sammy boy. Remember, you don’t have to ask,” Dean said cheerfully.

He thought he heard Sam moan as he bit into the cheeseburger, and Dean couldn’t help but grin with glee. He reached across casually and patted Sam’s too-thin wrist. “Be sure to leave room for dessert,” Dean cautioned, determined to fatten Sam up one way or another.

Meal eaten, Sam fidgeted in his seat, Dean could hazard a guess why.

“Sam, you got something you want to ask me?”

“Y-Yes, Master, I-I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Well alright then, all you had to do was ask.” Dean nodded and asked the sec waitress to show Sam to the sec facilities while Dean ordered up some dessert. They had fresh apple pie on the menu.

The waitress had just dropped off Sam and Dean’s apple pie, but Sam hadn’t returned yet. Alarm bells were going off in Dean’s head, and Dean went with his gut. He threw some money on the table and followed the path the sec waitress had taken to the facilities.

Dean had the sinking feeling Sam had made a run for it. 

He kicked the lock off the sec bathroom door – sure enough, the narrow window high above the stall was smashed open. It would have been a tight fit but thin and gaunt as he was, Sam could have just barely squeezed through.

Dean ran out the back of the diner, around to the window to check the light covering of snow for tracks. There was blood, where Sam had cut himself climbing down from the broken frame. The blood trail was sporadic but enough to keep Dean on Sam’s track as he fled out of the main part of town into the industrial area. Dean was surprised that the hunter-born Sam had missed that important detail, but he knew the boy wasn’t firing on all cylinders right now, and desperation made men sloppy. 

The blood trail soon stopped, and Dean cursed his luck; Sam must have finally clued into the fact he was being careless. Dean continued to comb the area, and only by chance, out of the corner of his eye, did he spot the sec as he limped along a side alley, sticking close to the shadows as he made his way deeper into the abandoned industrial section. Dean was on him in a minute. He smashed the man up against the brick wall of the abandoned warehouse behind him, holding him by the throat, cutting off his air. Sam struggled until Dean was sure he saw stars and sagged weakly against the wall.

Dean grimly brought the leash from his pocket. He was disappointed, but he had to give Sam full marks for trying. Dean ground his teeth and tried to suppress his rage as he continued to press Sam against the wall and roughly snatched his wrists up and clipped them behind him. “Are you trying to piss me off, Sam?” Dean huffed angrily into his ear. When Sam’s hands were secured, he spun him around and slammed him back against the wall. He snapped the leash on Sam’s collar with a rough yank. “Because this – this, Sam – pisses me off.”

He watched as Sam’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and he slid silently to his knees, head bowed, as he awaited Dean’s wrath. “You gave me your word, Sam.” 

Dean jerked Sam’s face up roughly by the hair and was surprised to see tears on the man’s face. Sam nodded and sobbed, his face ugly with red splotches and snot as he shook in misery. “M-sorry, Master, so—so sorry, Master. F-forgive me Master…” Sam cringing away from Dean’s hold, not trying to escape but clearly expecting a blow or worse.

Dean’s anger drained abruptly from his body as he remembered the multiple scars on Sam’s body. “I-I don’t want to hurt you, Sammy. But you gotta believe me when I say you’re better off with me than out there.”

Sam sobbed as Dean helped him stand. He tugged on Sam’s collar and made a point of ignoring the man’s whimpers as they made their way back to the Impala.

Exhausted by Sam’s aborted escape attempt, Dean slammed his hand against the hood of his baby. He rubbed his forehead wearily; he had no taste for driving any farther today.

He ordered Sam into the car and chained his leash to the floor bolt and let him endure the uncomfortable ride around town with his hands locked awkwardly behind him in the seat. His anger still riding high, Dean booked them into a motel for the night. This was a vintage of hotel Sam would quickly become familiar with in Dean’s company: more than slightly rundown, pretty much just this side of condemned, and Singer felt right at home there. Sam might be used to better with Simon, but then from Sam’s perspective, how much better could floors get? 

That night Dean made a point of relegating Sam to the other bed as they ate their take-out. He tethered the sec for the night, keeping his wrist manacles clipped together in front of him for sleep and his leash chained to the central nightstand between the two beds. Sam watched the movie morosely silent and obviously repentant from his side of the room as Dean feigned interest in the flickering screen from his own. He wasn’t sure which of them he was punishing more.

: : :

Dean returned to the hotel room from a supply run. He was happy with their progress on several fronts. In the three weeks since leaving the hospital they’d changed towns a half a dozen of times, registering under different names every night, lying low while Sam healed. But Dean still felt uneasy. He planned on putting out some feelers with Ellen in a week or two, see if she’d heard anything on the grapevine. A pissed off, rich hunter was the last thing Dean needed dogging his tail, not with everything else he had on the go. And his gut said he hadn’t seen the last of Burton. 

Because of Sam's escape attempt, he’d been forced to leave him tethered loosely to the slave bolt in each of their hotel rooms for the following few nights. He’d felt kind of guilty doing so, but he didn’t want a repeat of those highjinx. They had continued to move from town to town, and Dean thought they had made some progress. He’d tried to get to know Sam better, tried to show him in deeds, rather than just words, that he meant to be a different kind of master, and he’d felt Sam slowly settle. He’d spoken about his background growing up as a hunter with Bobby, told him stories of how he’d nearly immolated himself on his first hunt, a simple salt and burn. How he’d tripped when the ghost first appeared, knocked over the gas can, and dropped his matches. Only Bobby’s quick actions had saved him from serious burns. Sam actually opened up enough to tell of some of his close calls with his dad, and Dean was secretly envious of his close partnership with his father. He was careful not to bring up John too often ,though. He knew John’s death still loomed large in Sam’s mind, and talk of him often left Sam quiet with a far off look on his face. 

He felt like Sam was actually beginning to trust him a bit. Meals weren’t the stressful affairs they had been at first, with Sam nervous and twitchy, waiting to be punished for the tiniest infraction. And Dean soon left off chaining Sam in the Impala or at any of their hotels, after he made Sam swear on his honor not to try to escape, a promise Sam seemed willing to keep, for now.

Dean had also resolutely not let Sam share his bed again. When Sam started to toss and turn and cry out with night terrors Dean would sit on the edge of Sam’s bed and run his fingers through the man’s sable hair until his shaking subsided and he relaxed and fell back to sleep. If Dean ended up sitting, long after he’d fallen asleep, watching how the light played over the planes and angles of Sam’s face as he relaxed in slumber, how was Sam to know? Dean kept himself from touching Sam, but it was difficult; he found himself liking the man. Dean had been alone for most of his adult hunting life. Sure, he’d contact Bobby back at home base, but it was only with Sam’s companionship that he began to realize how lonely he’d been. 

He liked the quiet presence of his new companion, liked that he really didn’t care for Dean’s taste in music, but never mentioned it even when Dean offered a change. The few times Sam had taken him up on it he’d picked out some emo crap that had Dean biting his lip, but not saying a word. Sam had picked up on it each time though and quickly changed the channel or popped another of Dean’s old cassettes in the tape player. Dean thought he might even be making some headway converting him to metal rock, but he wasn’t taking any bets.

All in all Dean liked Sam, in a way he’d never really liked any other guy or girl he’d ever been with before: liked the lightning smiles that could light up the man’s face, dimples stirring to transform him from good looking to startlingly attractive. Dean felt his cock twitch thinking about Sam, but firmly suppressed that line of thinking. He cursed the Sec Corps to hell and wished he’d had a chance to meet Sam when he was free. As things were though, this Sam just wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship. Maybe he never would be.

Bobby had called him a ‘damn idjit’ when he told him what he’d done, buying Sam, but that was nothing new. If Dean had left Sam with Simon, there was no doubt in his mind he’d be dead or irrevocably broken within the year. Simon had a reputation of burning through secs like wildfire. Dean had no desire to stir up a hornet’s nest of trouble with his actions but he had no regrets getting Sam out of that situation. He just hoped he wouldn’t see it all blow up on him – and Sam – later on. 

Now he just needed to deal with his own conscience. He knew he’d pushed Sam a little too far, too fast. He couldn’t really blame the boy for taking the first opportunity to run. Dean just wanted to shake him and tell him better opportunities were right in front of him.

He opened the door to the little cottage he’d rented for the next three days. The last one in the row, sheltered by trees, it had the advantage of being quiet, and they had their privacy. This late in the year the few other occupants were up closer to the main building. 

He had decided it was time for him and Sam to start hunting and he’d heard there was a ghost problem here; the cottage had Wi-Fi and was just on the outskirts of town. It would be a great base of operations for their first hunt together. He just had to break the news to Sam, and hope he took it well. Dean shut the door behind him and turned to place the bag of supplies on the cottage’s little kitchenette table.

“Sammy, I’m home, and it took me two stores but I found those gummy bears you asked for, you girl,” he called out to the small adjoining living room.; As he turned, he suddenly went flying.

Dean was smashed up against the wall, the bag of groceries scattered across the floor. A heavy fist landed on his jaw, then another in his gut.

“Umph, fuck!” Dean tried to bring up his hands to protect himself, but when another fist landed in his gut, he realized there were two of them. A second fist connected with the side of his jaw, and Dean felt his head snap back against the wall. Dazed, he began to slide down the wall toward the floor. A last ditch effort had him reaching for his pearl handled pistol at the back of his belt, but as he raised it, a beefy hand grabbed his arm and slammed it repeatedly into the wall to loosen his grip. Dean’s arm went numb, and the pistol spun away into the corner of the room. Together, the men wrestled his hands behind his back, and he felt cold metal on his wrists, then the ominous snick of handcuffs as they shackled them together. 

The men grabbed him and dragged him bodily through the cottage, through the tiny living room, past the door to the back bedroom. They shoved him into the room and he crashed up against the dresser, only to be shoved off the dresser and spun up against the adjacent wall. His back and head hit hard against the wall, and dazedly, he slid the rest of the way down to land on his ass, legs sprawled out awkwardly before him on the cheap carpet. 

Dean closed his eyes briefly in pain, and then looked up. Simon Burton indolently reclined on the end of one of the two queen sized beds in the room, looking like the cat that got the cream. Kneeling at his feet, bound and trembling, was Sam. Simon casually ran his hand through the slave’s hair as he surveyed Dean.

“S-Sam, Sammy, you okay?” Dean’s voice was rough, and he had to start again. Sam didn’t look up, eyes kept resolutely on the floor.

“Don’t you worry about my slave, Singer, he’s fine. It’s you you should be worried about. No one steals my property and gets away with it.” Simon stood up, and Dean could see Sam start slightly as the man rose to his feet. Simon made a flicking gesture to the two gorillas beside Dean, and they reached down and hauled him to his feet.

“That little stunt you pulled. Did you really think you’d get away with it? The slave is mine, and no fucking cheating piece of shit like you is going to take him from me.”

“Funny, I think I did,” Dean drawled. Simon advanced, his hand suddenly crushing Dean’s windpipe as he shoved him up against the wall. The two gorillas on either side preventing Dean from raising a finger in his own defense.

“I should kill you now,” Simon snarled.

“But you won’t; too many people have seen me and Sam. Too many questions. And I own him fair and square, Burton. He’s registered as mine, besides, you owed me.”

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll make you shut up.” Simon’s grip tightened, and Dean started to see black flecks as his vision narrowed. “I’ve already looked after the ownership issue; didn’t you know I’m filthy rich, Singer? There’s nothing I can’t buy. All that’s left is to teach you a lesson for daring to touch what is mine. Take him to the bed, boys. I think I’ll give him something to remember me by.”

The twin hulks grabbed Dean’s bound arms and hauled him, struggling, to the other bed and bent him, kneeling over the end of the bed, face first onto the scratchy hotel coverlet. One held his neck down while the other brought out handcuffs and chained each ankle to the bolts at either side of the foot of the bed. Dean wasn’t going anywhere. After he was secured, the second one unsnapped and yanked Dean’s jeans down around his hips. Dean started to swear and curse. 

“Get me ready, boy. Gonna take your previous master for a little test drive.” Dean heard Simon’s order followed by the soft scuff of the cast as Sam crawled across the carpeted floor behind him to Burton. “And gag that thing. I don’t want to hear a word out of it.” 

Finished with Dean’s jeans and boxers, the second slab of meat came back shortly and shoved a ball gag into Dean’s mouth. Dean twisted his head and tried to avoid it, but he was hauled back painfully by the hair and his nose held, and it was soon forced between his teeth and buckled behind his head. 

Dean’s breath wheezed through his nose, and he tried to shift out from under the giant hand that held him in place. He could hear Burton’s groans of pleasure behind him and the soft, wet slurps as Sam blew him. 

He heard Simon laugh briefly and Sam’s soft moan as he pulled him off. “Enough, you’re not gonna cheat me of this, this is meant for someone else. Over against the wall,” he ordered Sam. Then Dean felt a harsh slap on his ass as Burton stepped over to him. He felt the wet slide of something along the crack of his ass.

He tried to control himself, but Dean couldn’t help the flinch at Burton’s touch. He seldom bottomed, and he hadn’t really been with anyone like that in a long time. He bit down on the gag, thankful it would muffle his reaction. He knew Simon just wanted to make this hurt, and Dean didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Simon rubbed the twin globes of Dean’s ass and said to no one in particular, “Yes, a fine piece of ass here, Singer. Gonna ride it hard, teach you for stealin’ my boy here.” With that, Burton pulled back the cheeks of Dean’s ass and shoved in. Dean’s nostrils flared at the pain of entry. Even braced for it, Dean was caught unprepared. He felt the dry rub as the blunt head shoved through his unprepared hole, felt its width drag along unyielding flesh and tear as Burton continued to push in. Burton groaned and whispered, “So fucking tight, oh god, oh god,” and continued to nudge forward until he was balls deep. Dean’s head jerked back in agony, and he clenched his eyes tightly closed as he struggled to breathe. He was grateful to be facing away from Burton as he felt wetness in the corners of his eyes, and he tried to blink it away.

“So fucking sweet. That hungry little hole of yours is just so hot and tight, like a sweet little virgin. Clamped around my dick like a fucking vice. You ever done this before, Singer? It should be hurting like a motherfucker.” Burton’s voice was deep and lust filled, and Dean hoped this wouldn’t take long. The bastard wasn’t even wearing a condom. Though Dean suspected he was probably clean, rich boy like him. Dean wished nastily that he might give Burton something, but Dean had always been careful in his rendezvous.

“Oh yeah, maybe we’ll have to do this a couple of times before I go. Didn’t know you’d be such a sweet ride, Singer, or I would have managed to tap this ass sooner.”

Burton’s hands gripped Dean’s hips in a punishing hold as the man pulled out and thrust in again. He continued at a brutal, pounding pace, and Dean grunted in pain behind his gag and buried his head in the hotel coverlet. He heard Burton moan and babble above him, but Dean ignored it all, trying to zone out until he was finished. Simon’s movements began to slow, and his pace became jerky, and Dean hoped he was almost there. Dean clenched down in the hopes of pushing Simon over the edge and ending this horror. He felt a brief flicker of pride as he felt Simon stiffen and find his release. Dean felt the warm pulse of fluid as it rushed into his bowels, and Simon collapsed over him in a panting mass. Shoved down deep into the bed, Dean was forced to wait until Simon eventually pushed up and pulled out abruptly. 

He felt an oddly tender hand rub his ass and Simon’s soft chuckle above him. The laugh grew, and he knew Burton was nearly doubled over in his mirth. What was so fucking funny?

“Oh my, Singer, you have been keeping secrets!” Dean felt his bound arms pulled up, hauled at a painful angle as Simon’s hand rubbed over his right forearm. Rubbed and paused. “Such interesting secrets too! So, maybe there is no hurry for you to leave, Dean. Maybe you can stay with our little family forever, now. Such a perfect boy, such a nice addition to our little family. And Sam obviously likes you. Who knew!” Burton broke into another round of chuckles.

Dean closed his eyes, no, it couldn’t be. No! But he felt Burton rub again over the spot. The spot that had inexplicably gone dark on his 16th birthday, a one chance in a million scenario. Some misfiring electron that had changed the course of Dean’s life instantly. And now it was changed back. 

The long, dark code on Dean’s arm had begun to glow blue.

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Chapter Text


Prime – Chapter 11

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Sam moaned, his eyes still closed; warmth surrounded him, and a sweet lassitude pervaded his body. Slowly, he became aware of Dean’s legs tangled with his own, toasty blankets curled around his body, and the sensation of hands gently tracing lines across his back. Sam froze, uncertain, realizing the rough tips of Dean’s fingers were following the many scar lines across his shoulders; he felt suddenly vulnerable and afraid. 

He opened his eyes and found he was tucked into his new owner’s body. He must have pressed up against Dean in his sleep. He could feel his master’s morning wood through the soft material of his boxers, a light pressure on Sam’s thigh. His master’s attention though, seemed to be firmly on Sam’s back.

“So much pain,” Dean’s voice huffed in his ear as he started to lay gentle kisses along the marks. “You’re safe now, Sam, no one’s going to hurt you again.” 

Sam was then carefully turned in Dean’s arms so that they were facing each other, and he ducked his head, suddenly shy.

Dean raised Sam’s chin and looked into his eyes. “Things are gonna be different Sammy, you don’t need to be afraid.” Dean hummed and his thumb reached out to gently swipe across Sam’s bottom lip. Wanting to please his new master, Sam unconsciously parted his lips, pink tongue darting out to lick at the digit.

Dean sucked in a breath, irises blowing out to black as he froze. A startled look flashed over his face and he snatched his hand back as if scalded before he scrambled from the bed. Sam sat up, his lassitude dropping away in an instant, replaced by a stab of terror slicing through his guts; fear he had done something wrong already. Sam struggled to kneel, the cast bulky and awkward. “Sorry, sorry, Master, forgive me Master…” Sam felt like he was babbling, and he was, but he had to fix this, do what his new master wanted. He had been so good to him. If Sam weren’t so careless and stupid…God he couldn’t even wake up right. He should have been focused on his master’s pleasure, giving his master his morning blowjob, not lying around, sleeping when his master woke; Simon would have beaten him for his inattention by now. And last night, he’d kept his master awake. Sam started to shake in fear, castigating himself for his many mistakes. He looked up to gauge his master’s reaction, but Dean was gone with a mumbled, “I-I, I’m goin’ to shower, Sammy. Be right back,” as he disappeared into the other room.

Sam stayed frozen in place, his mind a confused muddle. Maybe his master would punish him after he showered? Sam felt tears prickle in the corner of his eyes as a wave of sadness swamped him. Dean didn’t seem like that kind of master, but a slave could never really be sure at first, unless the harshness started right away – maybe his new master was as harsh as he feared. He wished he knew more about his new master, what he wanted of Sam, wished he knew where he stood in this new situation. Things were moving so fast. His new master was…Sam wasn’t sure what he was, but the feel of his master’s hands on him had been…good. It had been more than a year and a half, almost two, since he’d been discovered and shipped to the Breakers, six or so months of training, and then just over a year with Simon. Sam tried to remember the last time he had woken up feeling this relaxed, this safe – and now he’d ruined it somehow. Stupid sec, Simon was right about how worthless he was. 

Sam knelt there and tried to still the tremors still running through him; soon he lay back on the bed. He kept going over and over in his mind how Dean’s hands on him had felt, the safe, warm feeling of waking up next to his master. Sam kept trying to identify the feeling and finally it came to him…tenderness. The way his master had touched him, reverently, gently, it had been a long time since Sam had felt that, had allowed himself to remember being treated that way by anyone. Memories of his dad and Jess were the only bits of tenderness Sam had in the pens, and he had clung to them. Then when Simon had taken possession of him, there had only been cruelty and torture. 

As each attempt at escape failed, as each sliver of hope was drowned in Simon’s darkness, those memories only served to mock him. So Sam had buried them. Buried them so deep he wouldn’t have to be reminded of what he used to have and what he used to be. 

: : :

Sam walked down the cold, windy streets of Calgary. American winters had nothing on Canada, Sam thought as the icy prairie wind cut through him. He ducked gratefully into the building, frozen to the core.

It had been over a year since his rescue. Thirteen months and twenty-two days to be exact, spent in recovery, and in regret that he hadn’t been able to bring Dean with him.

Jamie greeted him at the door and ushered him into his workroom.

Surveillance plans covered his desk, pinned haphazardly to the walls. Sam wondered how he could make sense of such chaos, but the man was a wizard, and he got results.

“So, we sure he’s there?” Sam asked, taking his gloves.

“We’ve had two separate confirmations. They’re almost a month old; no one’s seen him being taken in or out since, but that’s about as good as we’re gonna get, Sam. It’s the longest Burton has stayed in one place for nearly a year. We’ve got our window.”

Jamie’s voice sounded weary. Part of the Alliance for years, they had all worked closely and been friends of Dean’s. All of them mourned the fate of their friend. Only Sam, though, knew how utterly brutal and merciless Simon could be. Total obedience wasn’t enough for Simon, he wasn’t satisfied until he’d burrowed into his secs' heads and shredded their defenses. Sam was convinced the man was a sadist, he took too much pleasure in pain and humiliation not to be. Sam knew Dean wouldn’t break easily or quietly and he worried for his former master’s mind. Simon wouldn't stop till he’d broken Dean completely, and ground him under his heel. The knowledge had been the source of many sleepless nights.

“So when will we leave?” Sam swallowed; ‘go’ time couldn’t come soon enough for him.

“Tomorrow night’s the window; Burton is supposed to be at a costume fundraiser at a gentlemen’s club, ‘The Oaks’. We’ve got specialized invitations for four of us, plus there’ll be the backup team outside. Security will be tight there, but we’re hoping no one will suspect a Prime of anything, and we’ll be able to take him right out in the open, as your personal sec. But we will have ears on the ground; our plan B is to hit Burton’s compound if we don’t spot Dean with him. One way or the other, we’re breaking him out.”

Sam hoped that there was a Dean left to break out, but he didn’t dare say that out loud.

: : :

Sam’s eyes went wide in shock as he heard Simon begin to laugh. Dean…Dean was a sec? It all made a kind of funny sense now that Sam though about it. Dean’s gentleness, atypical of most Primes, his hatred of the system; all more like the Free Alliance. And what better cover? Hunters moved from town to town with a freedom most folks would envy, the perfect cover for a Ghost. Sam should know; it had been one of his options.

He watched as Simon tucked himself in and stood, surveying Dean’s kneeling body. Dean struggled beneath Marcus; the ham-sized hand still held him pinned to the bed. Sam knew all about Marcus. He and Sheldon were Simon’s personal bodyguards; they acted as Simon’s muscle, and punishers as required. Sam had more than a passing acquaintance with both of them.

“ This little development requires a reassessment of our plans. As I recall, there is a finder’s fee for Ghosts. I might make up some of my money after all when the Center sells your ass, Singer – or I could keep you… Now that is just too delicious. What do you think I should do, Dean, sell you or keep you all to myself?”

Simon traced his hand along the side of Dean’s face. Sam could see Dean’s angry green eyes glaring daggers up at him and was glad the gag muffled whatever words Dean was trying to spit out.

Sam shivered. He knew the true breadth and depth of Simon’s cruelty, and Dean had better get with the program quick, if he was to have any chance of survival.

“Get them in the van, boys. I think I’ve made my decision. Why work in a dive like this when we can relax in comfort and take our time with our new toy? I’ll take the next flight out, meet you back there.” Simon brushed off his slacks, finished shrugging on his suit coat and, without a backward glance, breezed out of the room.

Marcus glanced at Sheldon and said, “Should we strip ‘em? It’s fucking cold out there.” 

Sheldon shrugged and said, “You know as well as I do how Burton likes his secs; get ‘em out of those clothes. I don’t want him coming down on me, do you?”

Both men ignored Sam for the moment as they converged on Dean. Sheldon undid the cuffs holding Dean’s ankles to the floor and yanked the jeans and boxers off Dean’s struggling body. He brought out two pairs of handcuffs, hooked them together and attached one of each pair around Dean’s ankles, hobbling him. He leaned in and spoke softly in Dean’s ear, “Don’t move, sec, or I might cut something important,” as he began to slice Dean’s coat and shirt from his body.

Sam looked where his master knelt at the bed. He had a black eye and a bloody bottom lip, bruises were blooming all over his body from the fight with the bodyguards, and pink-tinged come dripped slowly from his battered hole. Burton's rape had left finger shaped bruises on his hips. But even like this, his master was still breathtakingly beautiful, from the angry green glare that raked over the guards, to the long lean lines of his body. Dean was solid muscle, a little shorter than Sam but still by no means a small man, with broad shoulders and lean hips. Sam ached at the thought of Simon’s hands on that golden flesh.

His master carried his own share of scars, though Sam doubted any were caused by a Prime’s whip. More the battle scars of a hunter’s life. Sheldon started to cut Dean’s leather jacket from his back, not risking freeing the man’s hands, and Sam winced in sympathy as the blade dug in too deep and nicked flesh. Next the flannel shirt and grey Henley were stripped from his body, and Dean was as naked as the day he was born.

Sheldon brought out a choke collar, pulled it down over Dean’s head, snapped a chain leash on and tightened till, gasping, Dean’s struggles faded. When he finally loosened it, Dean’s nostrils flared as he tried to suck as much air in as possible. Marcus hauled Dean to his feet by the leash, and Dean tried to headbutt the guard. From behind him, Sheldon’s heavy fist landed in Dean’s kidneys, and he sank to the floor, on his knees with a muffled groan. Sheldon stepped on Dean’s leash and proceeded to use his foot like a tackle block with a pulley and yank Dean’s head down by his collar toward his foot. Dean twisted and fought like a hooked marlin but was steadily reeled down to the carpet as he choked. When Sheldon finally had Dean’s choke collar pulled up against the side of his shoe, he tightened until Dean stopped moving again. They left him lying there unconscious as they turned to Sam.

Sam knelt where he had been shoved, manacles clipped behind his back.

“I don’t want any trouble out of you, now, you should know better,” Sheldon cautioned as he jerked Sam’s leash and forced him to stand.

Sam was still dressed in the clothes Dean had given him, and Sam mourned their loss as Sheldon unclipped his hands and ordered curtly, “Strip, you’ve got five seconds.” Sam hurriedly shucked the clothes off, toed off his new boot, and left his new, fuzzy flannel on the bed. As soon as Sam finished, his hands were once again chained behind him, and Sheldon pulled on his leash, dragging him impatiently toward the door.

Sam slowed perceptibly as the door opened and snow swirled into the room. But Sheldon yanked on his collar and pulled him out naked into the freezing cold. His bare foot burned as it touched the snow, and the two rings in his nipples soon became chilled barbs in his chest.

“You getting a little too used to the pampered life there, sec? We’ll cure you of that.” And Sam was dragged over to a waiting cargo van.

The door was rolled open, and Sheldon hauled Sam up into the back. Sam was shoved, unceremoniously, into a sadly familiar cage and was barely able to maneuver his cast beneath him before the guard closed and locked the cage door in front of him.

He watched as Sheldon helped Marcus haul the unconscious and half-strangled Dean into the vehicle and chained his hands to a ring in the side panel. Through the open door of the van, Sam could see Simon’s limousine idling in the parking lot as he watched the proceedings. The van door closed and plunged Sam and Dean into darkness, and they pulled away.

Sam knew as the van lurched forward that there was no use calling to Dean; the man was out for the count. He could only hope they hadn’t killed him. Sam shivered in the cold, the van only marginally warmer than the outdoors. The skin of his back stuck to the freezing metal of the bars, forcing Sam to curl into himself even more. The van had a partition between them and the drivers; it would keep Sam’s whispers to Dean, once he woke up, away from the bodyguards, but unfortunately it also kept some of the heat from the driver’s side from reaching the back of the van. Sam began to think about that ice floe again as he lay shivering in the dark until he finally, mercifully, passed out from the cold. 

The trip was as close to hell as Sam had ever got. 

After about an hour on the road the van stopped and Marcus came back to crouch beside Sam’s cage and give him a drink through the bars. “Hmm, kinda cold back here, Sheldon, crank up the heat to the back. We can’t have them dying on us.” Marcus bent crouched down over Dean,removed the gag from the man’s mouth, and checked for a pulse. He reached to unlock a box welded to the floor near the cab. Digging through it, he brought out two blankets, shoved one through the bars of the cell to Sam, and rolled Dean up in the other. Marcus shoved an ampule of ammonia under Dean’s nose forcing him awake long enough to swallow some hot soup from a thermos. Dean blearily surfaced long enough to satisfy Marcus, then passed out again. Sam worried he had a concussion, but was helpless to do anything about it as things stood. All Sam knew was he was pitifully grateful for the warm drinks and blankets, and the slight increase in temperature in the van. He held out as long as he could, but he was finally forced to relieve himself in the cage after being left there for so long. 

Hours of shivering, boredom, intermittent sleep and starts and stops to give them more warm liquids, and to wake Dean went by. Finally the door reopened for good. They had arrived. 

A hand was shaking him, but Sam was still so cold he didn’t want to wake up. Didn’t want to feel the cold hand on his skin. “Move it, sec.” Sam felt the hand move from his shoulder to grab his collar. He was unceremoniously dragged by the collar, half-choking, out of the cage, his blanket dropped behind him. He shivered uncontrollably and weakly curled into a tighter ball until a kick to his ribs made him scream. “Move,” Sheldon repeated, and Sam tried to stagger to his feet. Impatient, Sheldon grabbed him by the collar again and hauled him physically up and out of the van and into the servant’s entrance of Simon’s mansion. He let Sam drop onto the mudroom floor inside, and went back to get Dean.

Sam lay shivering in the heated entrance and tried to calculate how long they’d been in the van. Must be close to a ten or twelve hour drive. Simon’s mansion was in New England, and Dean had been driving in the Midwest. Sam’s teeth couldn’t stop chattering.

Sheldon returned with Dean slung over his shoulder in a fireman carry. Sam could swear Dean’s skin was tinged blue and the man was deathly still. Sheldon gestured to Sam to get going, and he just barely managed to maneuver his cast under him and get back to his feet as Sheldon shoved him down toward the basement.

Sam wanted to run in the opposite direction; the basement held Simon’s playroom and punishment cells, a place Sam had learned early on to avoid if he could, but a large hand on his back pushed him forward.

Sam mentally sighed a breath of relief as Sheldon shoved him down a different hallway to the time-out room. He pushed Sam inside and slung Dean down onto the shelf-like bed that jutted out of the cell wall.

He checked for a pulse again, Dean’s lips were still blue, even in the darkness of the cell, and Sam stood shivering as Sheldon unclipped the man’s arms and removed the handcuffs hobbling his ankles. He attached Dean’s choke collar by a length of chain to the bench and then turned to Sam. 

“Turn around.” Sam turned and he unclipped his manacles. Sam pulled his arms gingerly forward; the muscles screamed in protest after being in the same position for so long. “Position!” Sheldon ordered. 

Sam dropped hastily to his knees, as fast as his cast allowed, and spread his knees. He bowed his head and placed his hands on each widespread thigh. Sheldon circled him. “Remember where you are, boy. It’s your job to look after him. If he dies, Burton’s going to hold you responsible.” Sam nodded in comprehension. Sheldon exited the cell and returned a moment later, flinging an old grey blanket and a thermos at Sam who still knelt by the bed. “Alive, sec!” he warned then slammed and locked the door behind him.

Sam uncapped the thermos with shaking hands and took a drink of the warm beef broth. He stopped long before his thirst was quenched. He had to save some for Dean and for later. He pulled himself closer to the bed and knelt beside his master’s still body. He shook Dean’s shoulder and tried to wake him. Finally, Dean’s eyelids fluttered open and Sam got a glimpse of confused green. 

“Gotta drink Dean, it’ll get you warm.” Dean blinked several times, then nodded and Sam helped him sit up a little so he could raise the thermos to his lips and sip a little of the liquid inside. Dean was so cold that Sam worried his core body temperature had dropped too low during their long incarceration in the van; the only answer he could think of was to share body warmth. He eased up behind Dean’s supine body on the mattress, gently tucked the blanket around the two of them, and spooned in close. It was like clinging to an iceberg, but Sam forced his arms around the man and gritted his teeth. There was no way his master was dying on his watch. 

Sam rubbed his hands up and down on Dean’s shoulders and chest as he tried to stimulate circulation. Dean shivered, which Sam seemed to remember from the emergency first aid his father had made him take, was a good thing. Eventually, Dean’s body grew warmer, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Dean squeezed his hand and patted it shakily, but speech seemed beyond him at the moment. Reassured and exhausted himself, Sam nuzzled his head in close to the back of Dean’s neck, and rubbed his face in the soft, short hair. Sam fell asleep as he stared at the glowing blue barcode on Dean’s arm, so very like his own.

: : :

Sam straightened his tie and tugged his tux into place; it was hour zero, and they were all in the limo. The Alliance hadn’t wanted Sam to come. There was the very real possibility that Simon might recognize him, even at a costume ball, but Sam wouldn’t be swayed. Dean had been discovered because of him. If Dean hadn’t tried to save Sam, Simon would never have found out his secret. There was no way in hell Sam wasn’t in on this run.

He adjusted the almost invisible mic in his ear, touched it to open the channel. Rufus and Bobby would be monitoring their conversations, and if anything went south, they had their orders. Chuck was sweating already, and Jimmy tried to get him to calm down. They all knew covert ops, but going into the enemy’s lair exposed and unarmed, and having to hobnob with the rich and Prime was a bit beyond their norm. Victor was the only one in the group that didn’t look like he was about to panic, but then, Victor came from money.

“Okay, guys, this isn’t our first rodeo, and Jamie set us up with great cover. If we just proceed as planned, it’ll all work out, and we’ll get Dean back safe and sound.” 

Sam tried to settle his nerves and avoided thinking about what would happen if Simon recognized him. He would deal with that when it happened, if it happened. He had a good team behind him, and Dean… Sam had freed enough secs by now to know it wouldn't be good; he had prepared himself for that reality, it wasn’t a matter of bad, it was a matter of how bad. 

He wiped nervous sweat off his brow. Disintegrating into a puddle right now kind of negated his fearless leader pep talk. Sam pulled a face as he lifted his shirt away from his sticky, sweating body. He’d probably run through all 24-hours of his deodorant’s advertised protection already. The limo was quiet, the air tense, everyone painfully aware that Dean’s freedom depended on their success, their actions.

Bobby’s gruff voice burred in their ears through the mic, coming to their rescue and snapping them out of their moroseness. “Listen to your fearless, idjit leader. He’s right. We got good intel, you boys’ll be fine.” 

Jimmy looked over at him from across the bench seat and said quietly, “Sam, Sam…”

Sam looked up and made himself stop running his hands through his hair.

“Sam, you have to prepare yourself.”

“I’m prepared; weren’t you listening just now?”

Jimmy looked at him knowingly and cocked a brow. “You know what I mean, Sam, you have to be ready.”

“What, that we won’t find Dean? God damn it, Novak, we’re going to find him or I’ll tear the place apart piece by piece if I have to.”

Jimmy’s cornflower blue eyes looked up at Sam earnestly. “No, Sam, you misunderstand me. I mean you have to prepare yourself for what we do find. The Dean we bring back may be… quite different than the Dean you knew. He’s been Simon’s ‘property’ for almost a year now. You know how bad it was for you when we got you back. How hard it was to undo what Simon had done. Dean… well Dean’s a stubborn bastard. God knows what they might have done to him. I-I just don’t want to expect too much.”

Sam stared at the resigned face of the man who had helped pull him back from the edge of despair his first days at the center, and sighed. “I-I know. I know you’re right, Jimmy, you’re reading my mind, here. I’ve been going over this very thing in my head, I know what we’re in for. I just can’t let myself think that we – that I won’t get Dean back. M’not prepared to face that possibility just yet.”

Jimmy squeezed Sam’s hand and nodded, sat back, straightened his tie, and said, “I understand, my friend. We will find him.” They sat in silence as the limo sped toward their destination, Sam lost in memory.

: : :



Comments? Feedback is always appreciated. 

Chapter Text


Prime – Chapter 12

: : :


The limo approached the country club, and through the partition, open now between the passenger and driver's compartments, Sam spoke to the driver. "Todd, stay close. We'll probably be coming out hot." 

“No problem, Sam, I’ll be right out front.”

The limo pulled up in front of the huge, sprawling mansion that was The Oaks. The theme for the evening was black and white Venetian ball, and with masks firmly in place, four men tumbled out of the vehicle in a loud, brash heap. Just another group of drunken Primes a little too deep in their cups already. They waved their invitations around vaguely at the sec host at the front door and bullied past the man as he tried, politely, to direct them to the cloak room. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see the burly Prime security guard smirk as he watched the frazzled sec try to manage them. Perfect, Sam thought.

 Rounding the corner, the group arrived at the main ballroom, a voluminous space spanning two floors; an open dance floor already full of hundreds of Primes and their secs. A second level above featured a huge overhanging balcony, continuous around the entire circumference of the room. Its elevation provided any number of perfect spots to unobtrusively observe the evening’s proceedings. Sam grabbed a drink from a passing waiter and slipped away upstairs. Jimmy and Chuck stuck together and staked out the buffet table, and Victor started to work the room. As their only legitimate ‘rich guy’, Victor was the only one to be counted on not to put his foot in it right away. Sam was glad the mask hid his wry grin; they might be great freedom fighters but James Bond…not so much. He couldn’t see Burton yet, but he was sure he would make a grand entrance. As Sam strolled along the balcony, a scantily clad sec approached him.

“Drink, Master?” the sec asked, head bowed demurely. She was wearing a scandalously brief sarong that crossed her breasts and rejoined in the back and wrapped around loosely to leave her belly exposed. The cloth was vivid aquas and blues to match the elaborate mask of peacock feathers she wore. Feathers sprouted, wing like, from her back, and her manacles and collar for the evening were sparkling, gem-like swirls of color. She glanced up briefly from beneath kohl darkened eyes, pupils wide and lust blown.

“Pretty Bird, as you can see I already have a drink.” Sam tipped his champagne glass at the girl, a cruel smirk on his lips.

Her eyes swept demurely down, and he could see a slight blush of arousal on her cheeks. Drug induced, Sam surmised. The elaborate mask obscured much of her face, but Sam thought she would be quite beautiful were he to remove it.

“Maybe not a drink, Master, but is there something else you desire?” The sec undulated closer and slid to kneel at Sam’s feet. Sam looked down, bored amusement on his face. “Ah, how perceptive you are, my dear. I have no sec to attend me this evening, and you seem adequate, you at least know your manners. Of course I will cover whatever additional fees might be required to obtain you for the evening. I would expect to keep you till the morning.” Sam made sure to inject boredom into his tone. 

The girl darted a quick look up at Sam, and for the first time, Sam saw nervousness peek through the drugged bliss. “Of course, Master, I am at your command. T-there is no extra charge; I am provided for your pleasure by the Club, my lord. You need only place your thumb over the tag on my collar to book me for the evening.” The girl reached out, and her tiny hand guided his large one to the silver disk. As Sam pressed his thumb down, pushing it gently into the pale hollow of her throat, he could feel her pulse beat wildly in fear and arousal. The tag turned a pretty blue to match her costume, and she became, for all intents and purposes, Sam’s property for the evening. The girl sagged slightly in relief once he was done. Sam wondered what the punishment might be for not finding a patron for the evening. He sighed; he couldn’t take on the world tonight. It might be selfish, but he was here to save just one person this evening.

“Very good.” Sam snapped his fingers, and the girl laid her aqua leash that had been coiled artfully around her neck into his upturned palm, and rose gracefully to trail behind him. Sam strolled along the balcony, his sec a respectful pace back and to the left. Suitably outfitted for the evening, Sam let his eyes comb impatiently through the crowd again. The Primes were in fine form this evening, Sam had to grudgingly allow. All were elegantly restrained in their lockstep march of severe black suits and dresses. The female Prime’s masks with their added touch of exotic feathers or jewels in silver, black, or white were the only embellishment, but nothing substantial enough to detract from the main attraction, which, of course, was the secs. Each master outfitted his or her sec as decadently or as sparsely as polite company permitted. Secs paraded on golden leashes, dressed as impish devils with horns, satyrs, harem girls, or mermaids. Secs attended their masters wearing pony gear and blinders, proud tails tickling their thighs. The tasteful, the grotesque, the vain, each sec’s costume was a perfect mirror of its Prime’s dark desires.

Sam was grateful once more for his own mask, a pale, ivory Venetian-esque domino that luckily covered the top three quarters his face – and the sneer of distaste he knew rode it, that he wasn't always successful hiding on his own. 

He felt a tentative hand trail up his thigh, and he grasped it tight enough to make his sec moan as she came close to his groin. He pulled her up abruptly and he heard her intake of fear as he deliberately narrowed his eyes at her in simulated anger. She wilted visibly and started to plead, but he let her go so abruptly she staggered a little as he ordered, “Pretty Bird, you do not touch until I say you touch. Now go, I wish another drink; fetch me something else, red wine perhaps.” He passed his half empty glass to the girl, and the sec fled into the crowd to avoid his wrath.

He turned with a sigh; he hated casual cruelty, but kindness here could get him killed.

“They are so bothersome, aren’t they?”

Sam turned, his face a study of boredom. “True, but they do have their moments.”

Sam leaned casually on the balcony railing as he surveyed the man before him. A Prime, of course; attended by a young, nearly naked male with zebra stripes painted on his body who quickly knelt at his feet.

“Arden Mills, and you are?”

“Chance Avory.” Sam deliberately added nothing else to his introduction.

“Good to meet you, Chance, I’m a director here at The Oaks; I haven’t seen you here before… How did you happen to end up at our little soirée?” Arden reached down and playfully ruffled his sec’s hair. The boy leaned into the touch and moaned softly. Sam could see the sec’s cock stiff and leaking in its camouflaged zebra paint and cockring.

“Great, ya big idjit, ya attracted the chairman’s attention. Tell him you’re a friend of Jeff Chorton and were invited here by him; he’s a Stanford grad. He’s the son of the Chorton Group, old money, mines in Tennessee,” Bobby’s gruff voice whispered through the mic.

“Jeff Chorton’s a buddy of mine from Stanford, back in the day. We were up here for the weekend, and he invited us.”

“Stanford, eh? Professor Sanderson still teach there when you attended?”

“The biology professor, no, he’d been drummed out by the time I got there. Good riddance too; rumor had it he was a sec sympathizer.”

Arden nodded, a sharp glint in his eye. Nothing was ever what it seemed with Primes.

At that moment, his pretty bird returned and knelt at his feet as she offered him his glass of wine.

“Ah, I see Marla is looking after you this evening. Lovely choice.”

Sam reached down his large hand and cupped the girl’s chin, lifted it so she was looking at him. “Ah, is that its name. I just called it Pretty Bird. I think it suits.”

“Ha, ha, ha. An inspired name for our girl.” Arden clapped Sam companionably on the back and said, “Let me show you around, son; any friend of the Chorton’s is a friend of mine.”

Arden steered Sam through the crowd, pausing to introduce ‘Chance’ here and there. Sam was grateful for the thorough cover he’d received from Bobby and Rufus. The Avorys came from Tech money, and Sam could talk his way around that pretty easily; he knew Arden was listening carefully.

Sam and Arden had worked their way down to the main floor, Sam’s back to the entrance, when the noise in the room faded to a slight lull. Sam turned to see the reason, and caught his breath as he saw Burton enter with Dean at his heels. A severe looking woman in black was on Burton’s arm, but it was his master… Dean, who caused the lull.

In their short time together, Sam had known rationally that Dean was a beautiful man…but the creature he saw before him tonight stole his breath away. Dean stood, head bowed slightly; his hair's golden highlights glinting softly in the light of the room. . Sam could see a golden sheen to Dean’s pale freckle-dusted skin; he seemed to shimmer in the light. He was naked, or nearly so, a short skirt of leather strips that parted as he moved, revealing his body beneath. His former master looked like a young god stepped down from Mount Olympus: two golden ropes crisscrossed his chest and ran through the loops of his nipple rings, a golden laurel wreath in his hair, matching gold sec collar glinting at his throat. Beauty and strength enchained with a long, gold leash held tightly in Burton’s grasp. What caught Sam’s breath and caused his cock to twitch painfully in his trousers was the glimpse of Dean’s arms as he knelt at Simon’s feet encased in long, white leather gloves laced tightly behind his back in gold laces. Sam swallowed and hated himself a little more as he adjusted his stance. His arousal soon withered though as he caught the dull, hollow look in Dean’s eyes just before he bowed his head.

“Quite something, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?” Sam drawled, feigning disinterest.

“The sec, Simon Burton’s sec. Quite something.”

“Yes, quite something.”

“I could arrange an introduction. Burton’s been known to share quite liberally when he’s in the mood.”

Lust and rage tore through Sam in equal measures. 

“You flatter me with your generosity, Arden, but if I may speak frankly, pretty as it is, I just don’t swing that way. Besides, I have my Pretty Bird to keep me entertained.” Sam leaned down to prove his point and pulled his sec in close. His lips captured hers and his tongue slid into her warm, unresisting mouth as he kissed her. It wasn’t her fault that he wanted firmer, plumper lips that smirked at him as their lips and teeth met.

: : :

Sam awoke that morning to Dean trembling violently beside him where they lay together on the steel shelf. 

“Master, master, you awake?”

“S-s’cold, SS-sammy, S’cold!” Dean shivered uncontrollably, whimpering sounds delete a space slipping from his lips, and Sam, instantly awake, wrapped his arms tighter around the shivering man. His master actually felt reasonably warm now, but Sam realized this was shock setting in. Sam quickly twitched the blanket off his side and made a double layer over Dean. Then he brought his arms back around and hooked his good leg up over Dean’s just for good measure, cocooning him in the warmth of his body.

They lay there for some time until the tremors eased enough for Dean to be able to speak without his teeth clattering.

“What happened, Sammy? I-I remember goons, then…Simon, then nothing. I’m cold, Sammy, so cold, w-what the fuck?” 

“Simon ambushed us in the motel, Master. He just wanted to punish you a-and take m-me back, but t-then he saw your arm…”

Dean pulled his arm out from under the rough blanket and rubbed his other hand over the glowing mark ruefully. “Oh...” Dean dropped his head back onto Sam’s chest and rubbed Sam’s arm, still wrapped tightly around him. “I-I’m sorry, Sammy.”

“M- Master, what do you have to be sorry for? I’m the one who should be sorry.” Sam burrowed his head into Dean’s neck as he searched for comfort. His master was in danger, danger from Simon, all because he tried to save him, save Sam. He would do anything he could to protect Dean. He was just afraid that, against Simon, nothing he could do would be enough.

“No, fuck, Sam, it isn’t that simple. I couldn’t let a bastard like that keep you, not when there was the chance to get you free. This,” Dean pointed at the sec code, “this is just a god damn freak accident. Maybe when Burton’s goons were bashin’ on me…” Dean trailed off and Sam wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

“Sam, I-I kept some stuff from you, secrets. Wanted you to get to know me before I told ya. This,” Dean gestured helplessly to his arm, “this was one of them.”

: : :

Sam wished the evening were over. It was several hours later, and Primes were only now beginning to retreat in pairs or small groups to the alcoves that lined the ballroom or to the mounds of cushions and bolsters slaves had scattered around the floor. The lights had been dimmed, and the music in the background was sultry and hypnotic. Lust was heavy in the air, and soft moans abounded as Primes took their pleasure in their secs and each other. 

Burton was holding court like a damn emperor. Primes gathered around him to kowtow and suck up to the man in droves. At some point in the evening, Simon had moved to a corner of the room and sprawled on a wide sedan chair, Dean crouched in the vee of his sprawled knees. Sam grit his teeth as he watched Dean nuzzle and rub gently at Simon’s crotch, seemingly unaware of the envious gazes directed at him. 

Sam watched with hooded eyes as Burton absently lowered his zipper. He pulled his half hard cock out, for Dean to suckle, his arms still laced behind his back, while Simon carried on a conversation with several Primes, including Arden. For over an hour, Simon was content to simply pet his cock warmer’s hair. Then Simon cast a cruel look at his sec, grabbed his hair, and started to shove his sec’s head down onto his dick in earnest. 

Conversation dribbled off as the Primes surrounding Burton unabashedly watched and sipped their drinks as Burton slammed his length deep down his sec’s throat until he came. Simon let out a long, low groan and sprawled back in the chair as Dean eased him through the last of it, then licked him clean. A short while later, Burton pulled his softened member from Dean’s attentive tongue and tucked himself back in his pants. This seemed to signal a change of venue for the evening, and Sam watched as Simon nodded at one of the Primes near him, and Dean was led from the main floor across into one of the private alcoves. It seemed Burton was feeling generous this evening, as Arden had predicted. Several other hanger-ons broke off and followed Dean and the Prime to the alcove. Simon tracked his movements possessively. Dean, for his part, never looked up nor said a word, his head bowed submissively as he was taken from the room.

Sam scanned around and caught Victor’s eye and signaled it was finally go time.

Victor approached Burton and positioned himself to block the view of the alcove Dean had been taken to. Chuck came over to Sam with a tray of drinks. Chuck gestured at his rented sec and said, “Would your sec mind making a delivery? Compliments of the house.” 

At Sam’s nod of permission, Marla bobbed her head and took up the tray of drinks to deliver to the alcove where they took Dean. It was no surprise to Sam when she did not immediately come back out.

Sam waited ten minutes before he too slipped into the alcove they had taken Dean, with the black bag in hand, which Jimmy had passed him.

Chuck and Jimmy positioned themselves a few feet away from the entrance, further obscuring Burton’s view, and started up an animated conversation.

Sam ducked his head as he entered. In one corner he could see a Prime haphazardly trying to thrust into Marla trapped beneath him, but his movements grew more erratic as the drugged Scotch took effect. The other four primes were already out. One pinning Dean down completely where he passed out slumped over him on the low divan. His huge gut swung down almost to Dean’s knees, and the man’s stubby cock hung out, his pants still around his ankles. Sam went over to Marla, and with a quick hiss of a hypospray, the sec was as unconscious as the Primes. Then Sam moved to Dean and impatiently shoved the flabby Prime off him; he absently registered a soft thud as the man hit the floor.

Dean, obedient and unaware of what was going on, stayed in position facing the wall, but shivered slightly as the Prime was hauled off of him. Sam had to palm his cock to control his reaction at seeing him up close. Dean’s arms were still artfully laced behind him as he knelt over the low bed, his beautiful ass jutting up into the air invitingly. Sam could see the soft sheen of the gold luster on Dean’s skin, the slightly wet shine of lube at his entrance, and the low, submissive arch of his back. 

Sam wondered what kind of man he could be, to get off on seeing another person like this. All he wanted to do was strip down his pants and pound into the bound beauty. Sam had to bite back a moan and palm his rebellious cock again. Stick to the plan, Winchester, he chided himself.

“Dean, Dean, can you hear me?” Sam knelt down by Dean’s side and helped him to kneel up. Sam anxiously tore his domino off and tossed it on the bed. He pulled Dean’s chin up to look him directly in the eyes, but his Dean wasn’t at home.

He watched the languid arch of Dean’s neck as he leaned back and gazed at Sam. A dull, remote look was in his emerald gaze before he looked down again, and the perfectly cut body shivered in the warm air of the room. Sam recognized all the signs; Burton had him drugged to the gills. 

“Dean, I need you to stand.” Sam made it an order to penetrate the haze, and Dean dutifully stood and sighed in relieved pleasure as Sam swiftly set about unlacing the gloved arms and freeing them. The golden laurel wreath and leather kilt came off next, and he stood naked before Sam.

There was a strange aura of innocence about Dean; he looked younger, more vulnerable than the hardened hunter Sam had known. Almost like the real Dean had retreated and left this man-child behind. Dean stood there as his hands were freed from behind his back, and he arched and stretched them like a great golden cat, humming softly. Sam bit back another moan at Dean's unconsciously sensuous movements.

“Dean, here, we need you to change. Quickly now.” Sam held out a black body suit. Dean shimmied into it. Slightly uncoordinated, Sam had to help him balance. He felt the slightness of Dean’s arm in his grip; the man had lost weight over the year, and the cheeks of his face were more hollowed than Sam remembered. Sam cursed Simon yet again. Once the cat suit was on, Sam broke out the bat wings and attached them to buckles on Dean’s back and at several points along his arm. Dean huffed out soft, short gasps as Sam tightened the buckles across his chest. Lastly, he pulled out the partial ‘Batman’ mask to help further hide Dean’s golden features and swapped out Dean’s leash with a black one. There was no way he could remove the golden collar right now, but several secs sported golden collars; that fact alone would not make him stand out. 

Stepping back, Sam surveyed Dean again. He was transformed, from a captive golden warrior to a sinuous creature of the night. Sam couldn’t help but lean into Dean and take his lips in his. Sam bit hungrily at Dean’s mouth; he had missed its warm heat. Dean kissed back, a slow, absent response that seemed pulled from the depths of the ocean. This was not Sam’s Dean, it was a drugged puppet. Disgusted with himself, Sam pulled away and tried to ignore the small, shuddering breath Dean gave as he withdrew.

“Come, Dean, we have to leave, quiet now.”

Dean angled his head quizzically at Sam and nodded absently. 

Sam froze, a sudden sinking feeling in his gut as he realized not once all evening had he heard Dean speak a single word. Sam began to sweat again as he reached out with a trembling hand to lift up Dean’s collar. Dean startled as the large hand descended so swiftly on him, gasping a quick, hard breath as he cringed back in fear. Sam used his other hand to gently grasp Dean’s jaw, arching it back so he could see his neck better. Sam almost sobbed out loud as he saw the two small, diagonal cuts scarring the bottom of Dean’s long, beautiful throat. He tamped down the rage and horror that threatened to swamp him. He had known this was a possibility. With Simon, anything could have been done to Dean. Witnessing it upfront in person, Sam felt the fine edge of his control slipping

Dean's fear punched out in short, choppy breaths as Sam’s hand unconsciously tightened on his jaw, and when Sam suddenly let go, Dean slid to his knees at Sam’s feet, head bowed to the floor in terror. Shaking fingers reached out to grip Sam’s shoes in a pleading gesture as he made small, desperate little strokes on the leather. Sam kicked himself mentally; he had to pull it together for all their sakes. He could mourn what was lost later.

“No, s’okay, Dean. You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t be afraid. I-it’s my fault. W-we just need to leave now. Come now, up. Yes, that’s right.” Sam gently nudged Dean back to his feet and gave the man a quick squeeze of the arm. Beneath the bat mask, Sam could see the green eyes watching him carefully, and as his breathing eased to more nearly normal, Dean’s lips parted in a questioning gesture.

“Let’s go. My good boy.” Sam jammed his domino back on and tugged on the leash.

Sam took a quick peek out the alcove curtain. Simon was looking the other way, deep in conversation with another Prime. Sam quickly guided Dean from the alcove and stuck to the shadowy edges of the room as he moved toward the exit. Sam could see Arden across the room, and the man sent him a questioning glance when he saw Sam with a different sec. He could see Mills smile quizzically at him and move toward him. Trying to throw him off, Sam casually waved and moved determinedly toward the front doors. This late in the evening, there was only one guard at the door, and Sam and his sec passed unremarked upon as the guard held the door for them.

Dean stumbled slightly, his bare feet catching on the uneven stone of the steps as Sam rushed down them, and Sam hurried to steady the man. He felt like Cinderella leaving a very deadly ball. 

Todd spotted him right away and instantly tossed the cigarette he was smoking away, rushing to open the limo door for them. They bundled Dean inside, and Sam thanked the heavens for tinted windows, as seconds after they were all in the car, Arden arrived at the main doors, obviously scanning the grounds for Sam. They sat there, mere feet from Arden, as he looked up and down the crescent shaped drive searching, for him. In the haste to bundle him inside, Dean sprawled over Sam’s lap, and Sam snaked his hand around Dean’s waist and pulled him up to sit beside him, sheltering him close to his body. He looked up at the eyes watching him in the rearview mirror, cautioning Todd to silence with a glance. They waited, looking out through the one way glass. Dean’s breath puffed heavy through his nose, his heartbeat a rapid tattoo under Sam’s fingers until Arden shrugged and finally gave up and went back inside.

As soon as the door closed on Arden's back, Sam released Dean so he could tear off the mask. He ran his fingers through his hair as he spoke into the mic. “Bobby, let the guys know we need to move out now. Return to the nest immediately, I repeat, return to the nest immediately.”

“What dang fool thing did you do? Are we busted?” Bobby’s voice came in his ear gruffly, and Sam touched the piece. 

“No, but curiosity might kill the cat. Get them here now, Bobby.” Sam looked down and realized Dean had dropped from his lap and crawled back on the floor till his back was jammed in the corner between the driver’s partition and the door. He had his face buried into his knees as he rocked back and forth slightly in agitation and fear. Memory of Sam’s time with Simon in various cars and limos came slamming back, and he had to force himself to breathe normally.

“Here, Dean, come here,” Sam ordered softly, and Dean crawled obediently to the vee of Sam’s legs and knelt there, quivering.

“We’re taking you somewhere safe, Dean. I don’t want you to be afraid.” Dean’s eyes went wide behind the bat mask, and Sam cursed himself for a fool as his words had the opposite effect. Dean was shaking his head back and forth as he retreated in again, back into the corner. 

He watched Sam warily and his breathing increased in agitation. One shaky hand reached toward the limo door handle, and Sam rushed out, “No!” which made Dean freeze and then snatch his hand back in fear. He cringed into a ball in the corner, and Sam cursed himself again. Just then, the limo doors opened up and Victor, Jimmy, and Chuck piled in in a rush. All turned happy, excited eyes toward Dean as they all began to speak at once. 

“Dean, oh man, we thought we lost you.” 

“Missed ya’, man, so glad we got you back safe.” 

“Jesus, we pulled it off. Oh man, Dean, so good to see you. Say something man?” As expectant eyes pinned the shivering man in the corner, Sam realized a full on freak out by Dean was sure to follow.

“Todd! Drive now. The rest of you, be quiet.” Sam ordered; he hated the way Dean seemed to calm at the harsh words, relaxed into the commanding tone as he huddled, head down, on the floor. He took in the shocked looks of the other team members and said, “No questions, no talking. We need complete silence.” 

They all looked at Sam in confusion as their eyes darted back and forth from him to the shivering man on the floor. He could see each of them swallow their questions and their celebration as they eased themselves awkwardly into their seats. 

Sam continued, “We have a long drive. I suggest everyone get some rest.” He gave a meaningful look to the men and hoped they’d take his cue.

“Here, Dean, come here, boy. It’s all right. You’re safe. Come here. It’s okay.” Dean looked about warily, and with the quiet in the limo, began to crawl slowly back to Sam’s legs. Once Dean was within reach, Sam wrapped his arms around him and held him. He removed the mask and unbuckled the bulky batwings from Dean’s body and pulled him up onto his lap. As his gentle words continued, Sam felt the rigid body relax slightly, and Sam leaned Dean back into the crook of his arm. “Shhh, shhhh, lay back and sleep. Rest, boy. It’s a long drive, and you’re safe.” 

Sam could feel the furtive glances of the team as they tried to check Dean out, saw for themselves how little of their fearless leader Simon had left. He looked up into Jimmy’s wide devastated eyes and realized they were taking it even worse than he was. Sam had known Simon, had known what he was capable of. Chuck reached out a hand toward Dean and Sam swore as Dean whimpered and cringed back from his touch. Chuck snatched his hand back mouth open in shock.

Sam continued to rock the shivering slave in his arms. He leaned his head back over to Chuck beside him and quietly said, “Pass me the ginger ale.” He could see Chuck’s eyes go wide. The ginger ale was doped. They had it as a backup incase they experienced unexpected company. Right now they had twelve hours of hard travel ahead of them, and Sam didn’t think Dean needed to be subjected to the stress and uncertainty of everything involved with that. Frankly, Sam wasn’t sure he could take it either. 

“S-sure, sure, Sam. H-here you go. S-sorry about…” Chuck let his sentence trail away as he passed Sam the uncapped soda, his movements made a little jerky by his emotion. 

Sam nodded his thanks at the man. He knew exactly how he felt. But right now, his priority was Dean. “Here, drink, Dean, you must be thirsty. Have a nice long swallow or two, and then you can rest.”

Still shivering slightly at the unfamiliarity of everything, Dean dutifully drank down some of the ginger ale, and in no time, the thick lashes fluttered down to hide the confused and weary green eyes. Dean was asleep in Sam’s arms. Dean was finally safe.

Sam wondered if it all came too late.

: : :



Comments? Feedback is always appreciated. 

Chapter Text


Prime – Chapter 13

: : :

Sam and Dean lay on the shelf quietly dozing for a while, the only noise in the cell the gurgle of empty stomachs. Eventually, the two guards opened the cell door and dragged them down the hall into the playroom. They were forced to their knees, their leashes locked tight to the floor, forcing their heads to bow. They clipped Sam’s manacles together and handcuffed Dean. Spreader bars were attached to their legs, and Sheldon maneuvered a large leather wingback chair to sit directly in front of them. Then the two guards left.

Dean was still bruised and bloody from his earlier fight and neither of them had eaten in days. Sam bit his lip in worry for his master…Dean looked so fragile. Dean was trying not to look at all the paraphernalia in the room, his shoulders shuddering in distaste. With Simon’s affection for toys, Dean would become familiar with the contents of the room all too soon. Sam licked his lips as they both waited for what was going to happen next; neither of them said anything.

Sam had just managed to find an angle that didn’t bother his cast so bad, when the playroom door opened. Simon swept into the room followed by a tattoo covered man in a black t-shirt. Simon sat, and his eyes raked hungrily over the two of them as he sprawled in his chair. Sheldon and Marcus returned to the room and hovered behind them.

Simon tapped a piece of paper on his knee in unsuppressed glee and said proudly, “So it’s all done now Dean, you’ll be pleased to know that you are now officially mine. My sec, to do with as I will. I even collected a handy reward for capturing a Ghost.”

“Screw you, Burton, you sadistic fuck.”

“Tut tut, that’s Master Fuck to you now, Dean. Do it!” Simon flicked a hand, and Marcus brought the flogger down hard across Dean’s back. Dean rocked forward in shock, a small grunt of hurt forced past his lips. Marcus forced Dean's head lower and Sam twisted his head in time to see Marcus hold the gun to Dean’s neck; heard a brief snick sound as Simon’s bio chip was injected.

The chip would be absorbed by the body within twenty four hours and the ownership information transferred genetically to the sec code. That was the horror of the sec code; the bar code on the arm was its visible manifestation, but a sec’s whole body was marked at the molecular level as property. In the future, when anyone scanned his code, Simon would come up as his ‘owner’.

“And mind your manners, sec,” Burton sneered. Marcus released their leashes and Sam and Dean knelt up again, furious. Sam could see the red lines across Dean’s back from the blades.

Simon rose to prowl around his property. “Now, to the fun part of breaking you in. First, a collar, gold, I think, to match your eyes. So pretty. And you get a new one too, Pet. There’s no way you get to keep his on you.” His hands glided through Sam’s hair, and Sam fought down a shudder.

Simon snapped his fingers, and the two guards approached Dean and snapped a new gold collar and leash around his neck, but not before thrusting it in front of him to read the label engraved on it, “Pretty. Property of Simon Burton.” Dean’s face went pale then red with anger as he tried to pull his head out of Sheldon’s reach, but Marcus stepped in and brutally grabbed a fist full of Dean’s short cropped hair in a punishing grip and yanked his head back against his hip until the collar was secured. Then they removed the choke chain.

Matching gold Plasticrete manacles were then sealed on Dean’s ankles and wrists. Dean shook with rage. “You sons-a-bitches meet me in a fair fight and we’ll see how well you do.”

Marcus’s fist casually smashed across Dean’s face, knocking him to the floor. They left him, slumped on the floor as he struggled to rise, and turned now to Sam. Sam felt very sedate and tame in comparison as he knelt, silent and obedient, all too familiar with Burton’s cruelty.

“Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten your betrayal, Sam. We’ll get to you.” Simon ran his hand down Sam’s chest and cruelly twisted his nipple ring, making Sam cry out in pain. Simon smirked as he strolled by.

By that time, Dean had managed to pull himself up and lunged forward as Simon walked in front of him, stopped just short of reaching the man by his chains. Simon took a step back, a little startled in spite of himself.

“You leave him alone, you bastard, he’s done nothing. It’s all on me. I took him,” Dean snarled.

Simon snapped his fingers again, and Marcus wrestled a ball gag into Dean’s mouth as he spat and cursed. Effectively muzzled, Dean tossed his head in anger and frustration and glared at Burton.

“Obviously some training will have to happen as well. We can’t have these little outbursts. Don’t interrupt again, sec, or you’ll regret it. I might take away that sexy growl of yours, just ask Sam. He knows how to keep quiet now, don’t you, Pet?” Simon carded his hand through Sam’s hair for a minute before he went on.

 “Now where was I…? Oh yes, on to the fun part: your brand. Hmmm. I don’t usually like matchy matchy, but for you, I think it suits. Marcus, I want Pretty here to have the same mark as on our Pet. And for piercings I think we need some rings too, gold ones, nipples and cock to start. I want to be able to lead him around by it once it heals. And earrings too, I think. Three loops at the top of the right ear.” Dean saw the tattooed man nod.

“Then, I think the stocks for the rest of the day. They haven’t been very good secs so far.”

“Boss, what about food? It’s been nearly two days.”

“Hmmm. Yes, Sam does look a bit scrawny, even for him. Force feed the pair of them. I don’t want them taking pleasure in even the simplest things till they’ve earned the priviledge. They’ve been far too much trouble, and they need to learn their place.”

Sam watchedas Dean was rolled onto his side, arms uncuffed and the spreader bar removed, for the moment, as they wrestled him down on his back and chained him spread-eagle. Dean’s wrists, collar, and ankle shackles snapped to holding rings embedded in the cement. Dean struggled in the shackles but was held immobile.

Marcus moved toward him, glowing electric branding iron in hand. Sam could see the sweat beading on Dean’s brow, but he still glared at the guard.

Dean’s muffled scream, and then his wheezing breaths through the ball gag, were the only sounds in the room. Sam had to turn his head away, battling e nausea, as the odor of Dean’s burned flesh filled the playroom. Marcus left to put the branding iron away and the tattooed man knelt beside Dean. He seemed unperturbed by the smell and Dean’s bitten back moans of pain. Maybe the sight and smells of someone else’s pain were all too common in his line of work. All business, the man flipped open the flap on his messenger bag and hauled out his piercing paraphernalia.

He glanced over at Simon and said, “Should I freeze it first?”

“No, I want him to feel everything.”

Dean bit down harder on the ball gag as the man sterilized his nipple. Sam watched as the needle was shoved through the tender nub and winced in sympathy. The procedure was continued on the second nipple and his ears, and Sam couldn’t watch as the man hefted Dean’s flaccid cock in his hand and glanced back hesitantly at Simon.

“Do what I’m paying you for.” Sam shivered and closed his eyes at Dean’s pained moan as the needle shoved its way through the sensitive flesh of his cock to make way for the Prince Albert.

Simon crouched down beside the panting Dean and fingered and tugged at each of Dean’s new gold rings in turn. “So pretty, so perfect,” Simon muttered over Dean’s grunts of pain.

Sam flinched a little as the tattooed man moved over beside him, Simon stood beside him studying, considering. Sam started to sweat.

“Yes, I think I want a belly ring on Pet – silver – but leave his cock. I like it as it is. Want to see his big fat dick fucking into our Pretty without any adornment.” The guards pushed Sam onto his back and swapped out Dean’s collar for Simon’s. They held him pinned to the floor, his bent legs trapped beneath him as the man ran his needle through Sam’s belly button and inserted the silver barbell. Sam gritted his teeth through the discomfort, and froze when the man reached down and caressed his dick, held it possessively in his black plastic-gloved hands. “You sure, sir? He’d look great with some studs down the length of him. Increases the pleasure of penetration, too.”

Simon shook his head, impatient. “No. Besides the only thing he’ll be penetrating will be our Pretty here, and I’m not worried about his pleasure.” The man nodded reluctantly and let go of Sam in order to gather up his equipment. Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he fought his way back up to his knees and hunched a little over his tender belly. So far other than the nipple rings Sam had manage to avoid too many ‘enhancements’, and that was fine with him. He shuddered in sympathy as he caught sight of Dean’s red and swollen cock.

“Now that that’s out of the way, I think I’ll reward you two with a hearty meal.” Simon laughed and clapped his hands like an evil emperor out of a bad romance novel, rolling around in his chair.

Marcus approached Sam with a a length of flexible tubing about a foot long and an inch in diameter, and something that looked suspiciously like a pastry bag. Sheldon held his head while Marcus stuffed the tube down his throat. Sam clenched and unclenched his hands in panic, chest arcing up as he tried not to struggle. It went so much worse when you struggled. They had done this to him before, not often, but once was more than often enough. It was another of Simon’s many tortures and humiliations; the fear of suffocating was always there. He started to inhale rapidly through his nose, his nostrils flared as Marcus squeezed the bag, forcing the supplement mash down Sam’s throat. Once they had stuffed a sufficient amount into him they pulled out the tube; Sam struggled not to retch everything back up.

Moving on to Dean, Sheldon cautioned Sam, “Throw it up and we’ll put it in the bag and stuff it back in. It all stays down one way or another.”

Dean had watched the proceedings warily from behind his gag, and when they removed it to get him ready, he twisted his head wildly and swore at the two guards. His protests were quickly squashed, and Sam could see Dean’s eyes roll in panic as the tube was shoved down his throat and the procedure repeated. After, Dean lay there on the concrete coughing and gagging weakly. Sam was grateful when Marcus returned with water bottles that he and Sheldon held up to the men’s mouths. Sam drained his. After watering Dean, Sheldon shoved the gag back on.

Simon looked on throughout, his eyes unreadable as the guards next manhandled Sam over to the stocks, in the corner, to continue his ‘welcome home’.

Sam cringed… he knew what was coming. One of Simon’s favorite humiliations. He hoped they would leave Dean alone; the piercing would make this unbearable. Just before they forced him to kneel down, Sam could see Dean craning his neck, watching, a concerned, puzzled look on his face.

Sam was then bent forward through a wooden yoke that held both his head and hands immobile. The chains on his manacles were attached to the cross bars; it was Burton’s variation of a stocks. His ankle manacles were attached to rings on the floor to hold him in position.

Wasting no time, the guards moved to gather the necessary equipment from the toy racks. Sam watched as they took a prostate stimulator out of its box. He knew from bitter experience what the well lubed, nine-inch, steel shaft with its rounded edge, spanning a good inch or more in width, could do. First, Marcus reached down and strapped a clear plastic cock cage on him, then without preamble he could feel the lube covered wand of the milker shoved into his entrance. Sam grunted in pain.


A small apparatus similar to a fucking machine was lifted down from the shelf and attached to bolts on the floor behind him. It would hold the milking wand in place. The guards turned the machine on and then left him. Sam bit his lip; it wasn’t so much a painful process as a humiliating one, the feeling similar to urinating slowly. The milking rod stroked relentlessly on his prostate as the cock cage prevented him from getting hard enough to come. Instead, a steady stream of seminal fluid dribbled from his cock until, after 30 or 40 minutes, until he was dry and machines motion became painful.


Once they had the milker running on Sam, he could hear them manhandling Dean to the second set of stocks beside him. He heard Dean grunt in pain as Sheldon punched him while they struggled to maneuver him into the stocks. Fortunately all they did was leave him bound and hanging there. With the piercings it would be a while before he could handle a cock cage or milking. Sam wanted to tell Dean to quit struggling, but knew it would be useless.


From his position facing the wall Sam couldn’t see Dean’s face as he knelt along side him. He twisted his head around and was unsurprised to see Dean’s face cloaked in misery and humiliation, much like his own, he was sure.He could hear a rustle as Simon moved to stand silently behind them, watching With his head angled down by the stocks, Sam could only hear Simon, and feel the heat of his body along the back of his legs as he moaned softly in arousal, unzipped his pants, and pulled himself out. Then the sound of flesh on flesh as Burton’s hand ran up and down his own cock: short, harsh pants as he jerked himself behind Sam, the machine drilling into his helpless body and come dripping slowly out of his soft cock.


Simon suddenly knelt down beside him, his hand grabbing up Sam’s caged cock, running over the leaking fluid. He moved away and Sam had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach when he heard Dean grunt suddenly and the slap of Simon’s hand on flesh. He hear Simon growl out, “Hold still bitch, gotta loosen you up a bit, gonna ride that tight ass of yours.” Sam closed his eyes as he heard the hurt sounds Dean made, and Simon’s groan as he entered him; listening to the hard slap of flesh on flesh as Simon rode Dean, and Burton’s shuddery moans growing until, with a final stuttering cry, the man came.


Sam closed his eyes as he listened to Dean’s pained breathing around the gag and the sound as Simon slapped Dean’s ass. “Now that’s more like it, boy. We’ll get you loosened up in no time.” He heard Simon walk closer, and suddenly he was standing in front of Sam, a wet come-covered dick hanging in front of Sam’s face.


Sam risked a glance and caught Dean’s grimace of disgust. Burton leaned forward and rubbed his soft cock across Sam’s lips and cheek, smearing him with his come. “Clean me up, boy,” Simon ordered and Sam closed his eyes at the dark taste of it and began to lick. Simon fed his wilted dick into his mouth and, unprotesting, Sam sucked every part of him clean before his master finally tucked himself back in and left the room.


Eventually Marcus and Sheldon returned. The wand was removed, but Sam’s cock cage was left in place. “You stay silent, sec, and I’ll remove the gag,” Marcus offered Dean, and Sam could almost hear the cogs in Dean’s head turning. He finally nodded and Marcus removed the gag, giving Dean a drink from the bottle of water he had brought with him. While Sheldon put the equipment away, Marcus watered Sam. Then both of them left. Marcus patted Dean on the ass as he passed, which caused Dean to jerk against the stocks and growl, but he didn’t say a word.

When they were finally alone Sam said, “H-he likes to do that.”

“Huh?” Dean craned his head toward Sam, bewildered by his quiet comment.

“The milking, it’s a thing with Burton, M-master, he likes the power of it. H-he does, d-did it regularly,” Sam whispered.

Dean nodded in exhaustion, his voice a wreck when he croaked out, “So something else to look forward to at Casa Del Burton. Fucking awesome.”

Sam, guilt and fear riding him, watched as Dean struggled in the stocks. At least he knew what to expect, knew the evil torments Simon would visit on them. Dean couldn't begin to know.

“M-master, I’m so sorry.” Sam looked over at Dean with guilt filled, hazel eyes. “H-he’ll try and break you, M-master.”

“Call me Dean, Sam, you’ll only get yourself in trouble otherwise.” Dean whispered wearily.

“Y-yes, mas-D-Dean.”

Dean closed his eyes, breathing quietly for a moment before he opened them again. He was more focused as he looked at Sam. “I'm not….I'm not going to last here very long, am I Sam? We need to get away.”

“I don’t know Dean, it’s not as easy as it might seem. I-I’ve tried before. When master went on a hunt h-he’d leave me here. Usually one of the guards went with him, so that only left one here watching me. One time I was able to sneak into Simon’s office when Sheldon was at lunch, I stole some of his clothes and got out. You need to dodge the cameras and perimeter detectors, but that’s pretty easy. I made it as far as town, but I couldn’t find a good enough way to block the code’s signal. I only lasted two hours, they hunted me down with a freakin’ GSP device. I didn’t stand a chance. That’s when Simon gave me the worst of the scars on my back. I’d do it again, but unless you have a way to shut down the code, I don’t think we’ll get too far. I was thinking of contacting some of my friends at college, but I didn’t want them to get into trouble, and unless they could lay their hands on a few good doses of suppressant, we’re screwed.”

“S’okay, Sammy, I got some tricks up my no-sleeves. Just warn me when you see the signs that Burton is going away.”

Sam nodded. They lapsed into silence, exhaustion and misery pulling at them until, even in the awkward position, sleep claimed them.

: : :


“Dean, wake up. It’s time to wake up.” Passive green eyes blinked up at Sam.

Sam stared down into the face he had come to love and trust, and his heart broke a little more as he waited for him to come to. So far there had been no recognition in those green depths whatsoever. Dean had been back five days at Alliance headquarters.

Five days of hell as Dean went through withdrawal from whatever drugs Simon had been pumping in to his system. It started when the chopper landed; Dean should have come around by then, but instead he was glassy-eyed, awake, but out of it with the mix of the sedative Sam had given him and the drugs already in his system.

They’d rushed him to the makeshift medical facility they had at headquarters. The Alliance medic on duty, Jim Reese, ran tests and made Dean as comfortable as he could while they waited for the results. Bobby and Sam sat by Dean’s bed as he lay there in a drugged stupor.

“You go rest son, I’ll stay with him,” Bobby offered when it first became apparent the test results would take hours, not minutes.

Sam scrubbed his face, still dressed in the formal tux and he sat heavily in the other visitor chair in the room. “I-I can’t Bobby, I’ve left him alone for so long. I-I have to be here when he comes out of this.”

“Okay son, I understand. I’m gonna go get us some coffee, I have a feeling this is gonna take a while.” Bobby left the room and Sam took the opportunity to hitch his chair a bit closer to Dean’s bed. The man lay there nearly comatose, green eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. Sam reached out and held Dean’s hand, rubbed soft circles into the freckled skin. He turned Dean’s arm and watched the soft glow of his sec code under the skin. So much pain caused by a simple bar code. Sam wished it were as simple as tearing the thing out but it wasn’t  ̶ the code was impregnated into every cell in Dean’s body, and Sam’s own as well. Only suppressant shots and the blocking signal over Alliance Headquarters kept them safe. Sam slumped, dejected, in his chair.

Bobby’s voice woke him, “Wake up son, Doc’s back.” Sam blinked and looked up. He had fallen asleep in the chair, his hand still gripping Dean’s. The coffee Bobby had gone to fetch having long gone cold, untouched on the night stand beside him. Bobby straightened and Sam smiled as he heard Bobby’s back crack. The man shifted and groaned. “I ain’t as young as I use’ta be. Sleeping in a dang hospital chair’ll be the death of me sooner than the Primes.”

“What time is it?” Sam’s voice was rough and he rubbed his eyes as he stood and stretched.

“Morning," Bobby answered. "‘round six o’clock. I didn’t have the heart to wake ya, but there’s been no change. I watched him.” They heard a soft tap on the open door and turned. Reese stood there with some paper work in his hands.

“So doc, what’s the story?” Sam asked, hoping for good news.

 “Well, from these results it isn't good. They’ve got him doped up with a designer blend of drugs to keep him docile and aroused, submissive and compliant. Pretty expensive blend too, certainly not your average street grade, and there’s nothing we can do but let him ride out the withdrawal. It’s gonna be messy and painful and someone will need to be on watch with him at all times. I want to keep him here for another day and monitor his heart rate. If that goes well we can move him to his rooms here in headquarters. You’ll need to keep him hydrated, coax some food into him when you can, but we can’t risk any medication that might interfere with what’s already in his bloodstream. This is going to be a whole lot of no fun. He was on a really strong dose.”

: : :

Sam and Bobby took turns by Dean’s bed for the rest of the day. Sam finally admitted he needed a shower, and to at least get out of the monkey suit..

(New paragraph) By the end of the second day, Dean was stable enough to move. The Alliance had scheduled a huge offensive, breaking out five different cargo containers of secs across the nation at the same time, and Bobby was needed to co-ordinate everything.. He agreed, reluctantly, to allow Sam to take Dean directly to his room to look after him there. Bobby trailed anxiously behind as they moved Dean, . B but Sam was the most expendable on this mission, his role a minor one compared to Bobby’s. Once Dean was settled in bed, Sam ushered everyone out. Dean needed his quiet, and Sam needed to be there when he woke up.

: : :

The long eyelashes blinked again and the lucid look in Dean’s eyes indicated that he was more fully awake than Sam had yet seen him. Sam's heart soared at this first sign of real consciousness in days, then sank like a stone as fear slid across Dean's face.

“S’okay, Dean, you’re safe. You’re free, Dean, no more Master Simon.”

At the sound of Simon’s name, Dean suddenly jolted up in the bed and scrambled backwards away from Sam, not stopping till he butted up against the headboard. He huffed short rasping exhales of fear as his gaze darted around the room. Sam carefully didn’t move, didn’t want to spook him more than he already was.

“He’s not here, Dean, he can’t hurt you.”

Dean looked around wildly; Sam could hear his breath hitch in his chest, all exhale, very little breath getting in.

“You’re back with the Alliance, Dean. Back in Calgary. You’re safe. Do you remember the Alliance?”

Dean slowly shook his head, no. Arms now wrapped around his drawn up-knees, he rocked in agitation as his eyes continued to nervously scan the room .

Sam looked down and swallowed before asking. “D-do you remember me, Dean?” Sam’s voice broke a little as he stared into the blankness of Dean's eyes.

“You freed me from Simon, Dean. There was a car crash and you saved me. M-my leg was broken and you saved me. Do you remember?” Sam’s voice had a pleading note to it.

Dean shook his head, his eyes showing confusion.

“S’okay, you will, you’ll remember; you just need time.”

Dean's head drooped from the effort of holding himself up, the fear and adrenaline slowly draining from his body leaving him exhausted. Sam approached carefully and gathered him in his arms and pulled the unresisting man down lower under the covers and tucked him back in. Dean collapsed with a small whimper and let Sam fuss.

“You’re sick right now, Dean, but I’ll look after you and then you’ll be all better in no time. I think you should try and sleep.”

Sam slumped in his armchair beside the bed, touching Dean’s forehead one last time to reassure himself the fever really had diminished. He’d been through it all these last few days; Dean had tossed and turned, stuttering exhaled gasps of terror as the drugs slowly flushed from his system. The few times Sam had slept he found himself jarred awake by the delirious man as he awoke wheezing from a horror-filled dream. Sam fervently wished he had killed Simon on this last mission. It was better than the bastard deserved, but Sam would rectify that oversight as soon as he could. In the meantime, he had wiped tears from fear-dazed eyes and whispered reassurances he didn’t quite feel sure of, himself. Sam waited.

Dean woke again a short time later, and Sam was able to get some soup into him. They took it easy that day; and later that afternoon, when Dean next woke, Sam drew a bath and he helped Dean into the adjoining bathroom. Dean was meek in his arms as he slid into the warm water with a sigh. Sam washed his hair clean, gently rubbing Dean’s scalp until his eyes closed, lids fluttering in contentment. Sam had carefully removed the rings Simon had put in Dean over a year ago while he slept and Dean’s hand crept up wonderingly as he noticed the change. Dean touched his liberated ear then ran his hand tentatively across his chest and ringless cock. Sam sighed to himself; he wished removing all Simon’s marks of ownership were that easy.

Sam cleaned away the remains of the golden glitter on Dean’s back that sponge baths hadn’t removed, noted the new scars across the pale, freckled skin and cursed Burton again. He scrubbed Dean’s chest and moved down to wash his thighs. Dean tensed, and Sam made quick work of washing his privates with a matter of fact professionalism worthy of a nurse.

He could feel Dean relax again as he moved on down his legs. As he washed Dean’s feet, Dean pulled up sharply and huffed a quick, raspy exhale. Sam froze for a moment, worried he’d hurt Dean somehow. Dean's face was flushed, and his soft grin as he looked away made Sam wonder if he was ticklish. Sam grinned a little and made a mental note to try tickling other parts of Dean later. Dean abruptly curled up in the tub defensively and Sam could only hope there would be a later.

He helped Dean out of the water, sitting him on the edge of the tub and keeping up a constant stream of patter while he dried him, talking about nothing in particular, just non-threatening noise to fill the silence. Dean sagged against him as Sam helped him back to bed and Sam could feel his own exhaustion pulling at his bones.

: : :

Over the next few days Dean’s strength slowly returned. Sam started him on short walks along the corridor on their floor and was pleased at how quickly Dean improved, only a little wobbly now, after his days of delirium and withdrawal from Burton’s cocktail. Sam was also pleasantly relieved the first time Dean had slept peacefully through the night. Baby steps.

Sam thought Dean might be well enough finally to take a trip further outside their room or hallway, somewhere requiring real clothes, not just sweatpants and t-shirts. Once they were both up and showered and shaved, he said, “Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

It occurred to Sam that he had forgotten to ask Bobby to bring him some of Dean’s clothes the last time he stopped by to check on him, so he pulled out a pair of his own jeans and boxers along with a hoodie he thought might fit. He turned to say something to Dean and was startled to find the man kneeling at his feet.

“Dean. Don’t kneel. Please get up,” Sam pleaded as he helped Dean to rise. As Dean’s strength returned it had been an ongoing struggle to keep him from reverting to his training. More than once now Sam had lifted Dean off his knees. A wary look entered Dean’s eyes, but he rose and stood beside Sam. Sam pushed the clothes into his arms and said lamely, “Here, put these on till we go get you some of your own.”

Dean nodded obediently and started to don the clothes. Everything was a bit large on him, but it would do for now, Sam thought. Dean’s ankle manacles were covered by the overlong jeans; there hadn’t been time yet to have them removed. Sam felt his throat tighten when he spotted a hole in one of the borrowed socks on Dean’s feet. He remembered Dean’s disgust when Sam had no shoes. A melancholy reminder of how many things had changed and gone wrong since they first met.

Sam waggled his eyebrows mischievously, dredging up a soft smile and said, “What kind of jerk doesn’t get his man shoes in the middle of winter?” Sam hoped it might spur some synapse of memory to fire. Dean looked down at the floor and wiggled renegade toes in the holey sock but didn’t look up. Sam sighed; small steps, he thought. “Wanna eat breakfast downstairs in the cafeteria today? What do you think, Dean?”

Dean looked up at Sam a little bewildered. Sam was sure this was the first time in over a year Dean has been asked anything. Dean shrugged and Sam took it as a positive, clasping Dean’s hand gently in his own, and leading him out of his room.

He brought Dean, stocking feet and all, down to the first floor, taking the less traveled back route through the kitchen. Sam hoped that this time of day, just after eleven, it would be mostly empty and a little less overwhelming for Dean. Dean stuck close, almost hugged Sam’s back as they moved through the house, his head bowed but his eyes darting everywhere, movements tentative and nervous.

Sarah was working in the kitchens and smiled at Sam as they entered. She had come to the center around the same time as Sam and had carved out a permanent spot for herself in the Alliance’s stomach with her cooking skills and her passion for the cause.

Her eyes caught on the collar at Dean’s throat, and she just upped the wattage of her smile. “Hi, Sam. What would you like: breakfast or lunch, hon? And who’s your friend?”

Dean hid himself slightly behind the bulk of Sam’s body, but Sam pulled him gently out beside him and brought him over for introductions. “Sarah, this is Dean. Dean, Sarah, the meanest cook in the Alliance. Don't mess with her or your bacon will be burnt every time.” Sarah stuck out her hand toward Dean who just stood there and quickly glanced down.

“Dean, aren’t you gonna shake Sarah’s hand?” Sam nudged. Obedient, Dean’s hand raised mechanically as he held it out for Sarah to shake. He held hers limply in his own, just staring quizzically at their joined hands. Sam sighed. He’d have to work on how he phrased things, leave room for Dean to make a decision, and not just follow orders.

“Doesn’t say much, does he?” Sarah quipped.

“No, not too much,” Sam replied grimly. “Well, if you’re offering, I’d like breakfast. You like some breakfast too, Dean?” Sam leaned down and watched Dean’s face, waited for some kind of signal. Dean nodded jerkily, and Sam took that overt sign of agreement as a huge win.

“So, two breakfasts coming right up,” Sarah filled in sunnily.

“Make that three, someone’s gotta keep these two idjits from cleaning us out of house and home.”

Bobby’s gruff voice had Sam turning toward him as he entered the kitchen. Dean jumped a little and shifted to hide back behind Sam again.


Sam nodded. Bobby had visited and sat with Dean whenever he could over the last few days, but Dean was still skittish in his foster father’s company. Sam thought it might have something to do with Bobby’s beard; Simon had had a beard as well. Things were getting better between them, but it was obvious Dean hadn’t gotten any of his memories back yet. Doc Reese thought it was only temporary though, a combination of conditioning and the drugs still floating around in Dean’s system. He was hopeful that given more time, and familiar faces and settings, Dean’s memory would return.

“Son.” Bobby nodded at Dean as he hid behind Sam. He stepped forward to hug Dean, then seemed to think better of it midway, made an awkward about-face, and sat heavily at the long kitchen table. “You look good, Dean. Better every day.” Dean looked up, briefly curious, then away again. Sam could almost see the gears as they turned, as Dean tried to figure out how he knew Bobby.

Sam gently pulled Dean over to the trestle table and said, “Come on, Dean, take a seat. Do you remember growing up at Bobby’s house, Dean? There must be some good stories to come out of that? Bobby practically raised you.”

Dean shifted awkwardly in his seat and played with his manacles, twisting them round and round.

Bobby reached out and stilled the nervous movements and said, “That’s okay, son, I can remember for both of us until you do. Why, I remember when you was a kid, you decided to sneak out one night with the Impala…”

Sam watched as Bobby tried to draw Dean out. Dean had been under Simon’s control for over a year after Sam escaped, nearly the same amount of time Sam had been with Simon. Sam didn’t want to think what kind of hell Simon had put Dean through after his escape, but he knew, like his own recovery, Dean’s wouldn’t be easy. Sam swallowed hard and watched as Dean’s gaze slid away from Bobby and settled on the large, sunny window beside their table. Sam wondered where Dean's mind had wandered.

: : :



Comments? Feedback is always appreciated. 

Chapter Text


Prime – Chapter 14

: : :

They lay again on the cold shelf of the punishment cell. Marcus had made them crawl there from the playroom on hands and knees, after the session. Sam's body was curled around Dean’s smaller, exhausted one, and Dean knew Sam was trying to convey all the heat he could by sheer willpower alone. The thin, grey blanket was draped around them, and Dean shivered with both exhaustion and cold.

After hours of kneeling in the stocks, Marcus and Sheldon had finally returned and released them, one at a time, and force-fed them again. It had been a grisly experience, and Dean’s body shook with muscle tension, and pain from his brand and piercings. 

“Sam…” Dean’s voice whispered in the darkness of the cell. The chain of his leash clicked softly against the bench as he turned his head toward Sam in the dark. “I need you to do something for me, Sammy.”

“Anything, Dean.” 

“I need you to promise me something.”

“Sure, anything, Dean.”

“I need you to promise if you have the chance to escape, even without me, that you’ll take it, Sam. That you’d run. No hesitation.”

“I-I don’t know if I can do that, Dean. I-I couldn’t leave you here with Simon, alone.”

“You might have to, Sam. Promise me. Please, I’m begging you.”

“I-I, okay, Dean, but I don’t promise not to try and bring you with me.”

“Okay, Sam. I can live with that.”

: : :

“That’s it, sec, fuck him, harder.” Sam slammed into him again and Dean's chest slid forward on the slippery bedspread. Sam grunted, his hands braced on Dean’s hips as he pistoned into him. It was one of Burton’s favorite games now to have them rape each other. And though Sam tried to be as gentle as he could, Burton had an eagle eye and a sharp whip. He slapped down with it now on Sam’s balls and yelled, “Harder, sec. I know you’re holding back.” Sam bit his lip in pain, and pulled back, slightly out of Dean, as he tensed. Burton snarled in anger and, slamming the whip down on Sam’s back, stepped up behind him.

“Maybe you just need to be led by example,” Burton said as he pulled the butt plug out of Sam’s straining ass and slid in his own cock with one long, swift thrust. Sam grunted in pain as he was pushed forward into Dean. Simon controlled the pace, and with each snap of his hips into Sam, Sam was forced in turn to move into Dean. 

It was awkward and ungainly, but Simon thrilled to it and pounded in harder. His master changed his angle to hit Sam’s prostate occasionally. He thrust his hips forward a few more times before yanking back on Sam’s hair, ordered, “Come,” as his orgasm ripped through him. With come flooding him and the rub of Simon’s dick just there, Sam jerked helplessly and gritted his teeth, crying out, flooding Dean with his own spend. Sam tried to reach around to grasp Dean’s aching cock imprisoned in its cockring, but Simon knocked his hand away and through clenched teeth snarled, “No, leave it.”

: : :

“You’ll be excited to know I’ve hired a new guard to help train you boys.”

Simon sprawled on the bed and stared at his two slaves as they knelt, legs spread, hands behind their heads, backs straight, as Simon reclined. Come dripped out of Dean’s ass, and his back was bloody and raw from the whipping Burton had given him earlier that evening. Sam, on the other hand, had been trying not to squirm from the overlarge butt plug shoved up his ass that held his master’s fluids trapped inside.

“Yes, he’s going to join us next week, right after I get back from this hunt for a nest of vamps with the boys. I think you might know him, Sam. His name is Trent. He said he was really looking forward to seeing you again.”

Sam dropped his head in shock. Dean could feel him begin to tremble as he watched him out of the corner of his eye. Dean didn’t know this Trent, but by the way Sam’s body went rigid at the mention of the name this couldn’t be a good thing.

“What do you think, Sam? Good addition?”

“Yes, Master,” Sam whispered. Dean licked his lips and thought about creating some kind of distraction to take Simon’s attention away from Sam, but he wasn’t sure he could take much more today. He bit his lip with worry.

“Marcus!” Simon called out to the ever-present bodyguard, hovering near the wall.

“Take them back now. I think I’d like them in their cages for tonight.” Dean swore silently. The cages were small and cramped, and his back was on fire. There would be no way he would be able to stretch and lie flat tonight, or sleep. Bastard knew it too.

Marcus tapped his whip twice on his leg to signal the boys’ exit. They crawled on hands and knees, down the hallway, to the ‘kennel’ they were often kept in. Dean looked with longing at the thin sleeping mats on the other side of the room, but crawled over to his cage. Marcus could be brutal when crossed, and Dean marveled that Sam had lasted as long as he did as Burton’s sec, under his supervision. The boy had slipped quickly back into silence and submission, and seeing how things worked here in Simon’s domain, Dean could see the virtue in that. Better to live to fight another day.

Marcus locked the two cages down, flipped off the lights, and left the boys in darkness.

Marcus had left their hands free tonight, so Dean was able to stretch his arm out between the bars of the cage, across to Sam’s.

“Come on, Sammy, need to touch you,” Dean urged, and Sam, who had folded up into himself when Marcus locked them down, reluctantly reached his hand out to Dean’s. Dean gently rubbed his thumb over the soft pad of Sam’s hand.

“What is it, Sam? Who is this Trent?”

“He…he was one of the guards at the Center.”

“Did he hurt you, Sam?” Dean’s voice came out in a protective growl.

“He-he wanted me. Wanted to buy me.” Sam bit off a sob as his body shook. Dean didn’t need to see the nod in the dark to know there had been one.

Dean continued to rub Sam’s hand gently. He wished he could take the young man into his arms, but that just wasn’t possible. 

“Don’t worry, Sam, we just need to wait for the right opportunity.”

: : :

The days settled into a routine of sorts. Simon worked at the house a lot. This meant either Sam or Dean or both were at his feet, near his desk or close by, available at all times. Marcus or Sheldon would take one or both of the boys off to the mansion gym to run on the treadmill and lift weights for an hour each day, if they weren’t too sore from other activities. The milking continued, much to Dean’s utter humiliation. At least two or three times a week, alone or with Sam, he was strapped in the stocks and milked dry. Often, Burton would come to admire his handiwork and the growing puddle of jizz on the tile floor. 

He would run his fingers through the slick and shove them into Dean’s mouth to lick clean. Dean swallowed down his disgust. Everything about Burton disgusted him. He was rich and petty and cruel, and Dean would love to stake the bastard, given the chance. But Marcus had his eye on Dean, and more often than not, Dean was in too much pain to contemplate much of anything other than remembering how to breathe.

: : :

Simon had finished with them for the night and had sent them to their ‘kennel’ to begin their evening cleaning ritual. Sam was shoved to the corner to kneel tethered next to the wash station while Dean was ordered to crawl into the shower stall. The shower was more of a dog wash station with tiled half walls and a huge tray. The secs were made to kneel on all fours, collars tethered to the wall as they were cleaned. Dean winced as Sheldon briskly scrubbed him down; his striped back started to bleed again with the rough handling, and he mewled in pain as Marcus stuck the spray nozzle in his tender hole to clean him out. 

Marcus kicked Dean’s legs further apart as he forced the hose in deeper than necessary, and Dean dropped his head as low as the leash allowed and bit his lip. He counted off the time in his head till Marcus grabbed him by the shoulder to kneel up and pulled the nozzle out. The swirling mess was washed away, and Marcus lubed up a thick butt plug, now a constant companion for both of them , and shoved it in. He unclipped Dean’s leash and pulled him back by the hair until his body was arched back like a bow, and Sheldon locked his cock cage on in preparation for sleep. Dean could barely crawl from the tray to his thin pallet by the time they were done, and he collapsed on the thin mattress as Sheldon locked his leash down. Sam was up next, and Dean closed his eyes to shut out the humiliating spectacle repeated all over again on Sam.

Sheldon had mercifully taken to allowing them to sleep outside the two small, cramped cages in the room if they had been ‘good’. Finished, Sam was led over and tethered to the wall. He lay down beside Dean on his mat, and the guards strode out and turned off the lights, leaving only one small security light to dimly illuminate the room. 

Alone finally, Sam wriggled over until he was nestled back against Dean. Dean curled his body protectively around Sam’s; the stripes on Dean’s back from his most recent punishment made him stiff, but the comfort of being able to touch Sam more than made up for it. He ran his hands up and down Sam’s arms. Sam snuffled back into him and rested his head on Dean’s arm.

“So if all goes well, tomorrow Simon will leave for the hunt,” Sam’s soft voice whispered through the darkness.

“Hmm,” Dean hummed, exhausted and in pain.

“So what’s the plan, Dean? Simon leaves and what? There’s still at least Sheldon here and the sec tracking devices, and if you haven’t noticed, we haven’t been left anywhere unshackled.”

“I have a tracking device on me, Sam,” Dean breathed out.

“Yea… it’s blue and 4 inches long on your arm. I know. I’ve got one too.”

“N-no, I mean I have an Alliance tracking device on me. I’m going to dig it out tonight.”


“The tracking device is small. It’s here in my left hand in the fleshy part between my thumb and fingers. I can dig it out with my teeth. They already know where I am, theywould have been monitoring us when we disappeared off the radar, and they would have flagged the paperwork Burton pushed through to make his claim on me. They might even be watching the mansion now, but when the signal stops, that’s my sign that I’m good to go. I didn’t want to send the signal with Simon on full alert; I don’t need more deaths on my conscience. With Simon away this weekend, their guard will be down and the Alliance will send a team in, hopefully the next day, to pick me…us up. I just never expected Simon to be on top of us every minute of the day since we got here or I’d have done this sooner.”

“Jesus, how important are you to the Alliance, Dean? I-I was in a Ghost Runner unit at Stanford, and we never heard of anything like that.”

“Well, I guess you could say pretty high.” Dean’s soft chuckle was dark and a little twisted, but it felt good to laugh for the first time in weeks. “I-I was gonna tell you all this before, but then I kinda got tied up. Me n’ Bobby, see, we kind of head up the Alliance.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Dean. Bu-but you’re a hunter.”

“Yea, I’m that too, and it’s pretty good cover. Get to travel the country, no one suspecting a thing. Y-your dad was part of the Alliance. It was another reason why I wanted to keep you out of Burton’s hands; I owed John at least that much.”

“You knew my dad?” Dean could feel the tension in Sam’s body at the softly worded question. He relaxed slightly at Dean’s soft nod in the dark. Dean was surprised when Sam changed directions with his next question and asked abruptly, sounding a bit like a teenage girl with a crush. “So, do you know Ghost One?” 

Dean rubbed his neck and hesitated a bit, but then he figured he’d already revealed so much; in for a penny, in for a pound.

“So, do you?” Sam coaxed.

“Yea, I kinda know him, Ghost One… It’s me, Sammy.”

Sam lay there in stunned silence. “You’re Ghost One?”

“Hey, keep it down, Sam, we don’t want the bad guys to know any more than we can help .”

“Holy crap! I’ve been a fan of yours for years. W-When were you gonna tell me all this?”

“I wanted to get us clear of Burton. Get you to Canada and get to know you a bit, that's all. It just didn’t turn out so well.”

“Jesus. All this time. My god, Dean, you’re a hero to…like, millions. And all this time you were a sec, too.”

“Well right now I’m a really fucking tired hero, Sammy, hang on while I dig the transmitter out? We have to cut the signal. My team should be here by tomorrow evening. They’ll find us. We don’t have to do anything but be here. That’s the tricky part of it. It’s kind of a one shot deal. If things go wrong, we’ve shot our wad. I have no other way of contacting the Alliance, no second chance.” 

Dean dug into his hand with his teeth and a few minutes later spat a small bloody capsule into his hand. He held it up in front of him and could just barely make out the tiny red light that glowed inside the capsule. “Man, I gotta give Jamie feedback when we get back that this method of hiding the chip really sucks.” Dean’s voice wobbled a little in strain. “Can you step on it, Sam? I don’t really wanna move right now.”

“Sure.” Sam crawled back in front of Dean and used his manacle to smash the capsule. Dean double checked that the light was out.

“Perfect, Sammy. Now we just have to wait and hope.”

: : :

Sam and Dean broke apart when Sheldon entered the room in the morning. The two men clambering quickly to their knees. Dean was a little slower given the state of his back.

“Hmm. Better not let Burton find you that way.” Sheldon smirked. But Dean knew the guard wouldn’t nark them out. He’d found them curled up together for the last three weeks and he hadn’t ratted them out yet. Marcus on the other hand…

Dean smiled sadly to himself. When he had been free he couldn’t approach Sam or act on his feelings because Sam was in too fragile a state. Now that they were both slaves forced to watch each other’s abject humiliation and rape, now they could fall asleep in each other’s arms. Dean could admit to himself that he was completely in love with Sam. He didn’t know if it was Stockholm Syndrome or a real feeling, but he wanted to believe how he felt about Sam was real.

The guard unleashed them and brought them down to the kitchen, where Burton was reading the paper as he finished his breakfast. Both men knelt to Burton’s right, Sam closest. Burton snapped his fingers, and Sheldon placed a bowl of meal before each of them. Dean hated this part, the two of them waiting like trained pets, looking up at Burton for permission. 

Burton nodded and returned to his paper, and both men dug in, using their fingers to scoop out the warm grain. They carefully licked their fingers clean and waited at their master’s feet. As he continued to read, he took a slice of fruit off his plate and slipped it into Sam’s mouth. Dean could see Sam blush slightly at being fed this way. Dean dropped his head down and tried not to draw attention to himself. Burton seemed to take particular joy in hurting him.

Another piece of fruit was slipped into Sammy’s mouth, and Burton folded his paper and sat back, legs spread.

“So, busy weekend planned. I was gonna leave you boys here for Sheldon to look after, but thinking it over, I’ve decided to take Dean with me. You remember Ray and Guy, don’t you, Dean? They’re on this hunt this weekend, and I’m sure they’d like to see you again. Of course things have changed a little since you last saw them. I think they’ll enjoy getting to know the new you.”

Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam tried to control his reaction. He turned to Dean and swallowed and licked his lips repeatedly in soundless shock. Dean himself felt his face freeze and was glad he had his head bowed at the time Burton broke the news.

“What do you think of that, Dean?”

“As-as Master pleases.”

“Yeah, damned right. Now get over here and suck me off, sec, put those cock sucking lips of yours to good use. Maybe if you’re good we won’t use you as bait this trip.” Simon laughed cruelly as he forced his cock down Dean’s throat and proceeded to fuck it raw.

: : :

All morning, Dean had looked for an opportunity to speak to Sam, but there just wasn't one.. He knew from the worried looks that Sam shot him that he had no idea what to do. Neither did Dean.

Simon told Marcus they’d leave right after lunch. Finally, half way through the morning, Burton had a conference call, and the boys were led back to their kennel. Marcus leashed them in opposite corners and left the room. 

“Dean….” Sam’s worried whisper carried across the room.

“I-I know, Sammy.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“Nothing, no choice. W-when they come, you go with them. Once you’re clear you tell them about us. Th-they’ll try and arrange something to get me out later. Don’t worry, Sammy. I’ve survived plenty of fucked up situations. I’ll be okay. But you have to get out while you can. They’re using us against each other; i-it’ll be easier with you gone.”

Sam bit his lip and gazed down. They both knew Dean was trying to make Sam feel better. Dean shivered; he knew what a vengeful monster Burton was. He didn’t imagine this would go well once it was discovered Sam was gone.

“I-I could put up a big stink, make Burton take me too. At-at least we’d be together.”

“And if the Alliance finds no one here, they’ll presume I’m dead. No, you can’t, Sam. You have to do this. For me, Sam. You promised.”

“But…” Just then Marcus returned and took great glee in ‘preparing’ Dean for the road trip.

First he shoved a bit into Dean’s mouth, and then bent him over his knee and checked the butt plug already inserted earlier. He ‘inspected’ it by pulling it in and out a few times as he deliberately jostled it against Dean’s prostate. He pushed Dean off his lap and made him stand, slapping his cock, that had hardened with interest, as he stood. 

Then Marcus laced thin, roman-style sandals on his feet. He made Dean stand and slip on the grey slave shorts (he and Sam wore whenever they were outside the property) up over his erection, and Dean couldn’t help the groan of pleasure/pain, while willing it to go down. He clipped Dean’s wrist manacles together behind him, and the last thing he did was slip a hooded poncho over his head. Dean shivered, and he wasn’t even outside yet, but it was all an improvement over how Simon had moved Sam around. Dean wasn’t fooled that he’d get to keep it on long once they joined up with the hunters.

He could see Sam as he leaned unconsciously forward toward him, and he shook his head. It was no time to tip Burton off.

“Come on, time to load you up.”

Marcus hauled Dean by the collar and led him out of the mansion. Burton’s new jeep had been loaded with gear, but a spot near the bottom of the stacked equipment had been carved out for the travel cage. Dean was shoved into the too-small space and left in the jeep to wait in the cold. An hour later, Burton came out and started the vehicle. Dean could only hope his team got there and that Sam would be recovered safely.

Surprisingly, in spite of the tension and anxiety of everything going on, as the jeep’s interior warmed up, Dean fell asleep, his too-large body folded uncomfortably tight in the small cage. He awoke to the rattle of the cage door as Burton unlocked it and hauled him out by his leash. Dean stood and tried to roll and stretch his cramped muscles as best he could. He was a drooling mess from the bit holding his mouth open, but Simon didn’t seem to notice. When he looked around, all he could see was a small cabin and two other pickups surrounded by a sea of trees. Burton pulled up his hood and grinned at him as he patted his face, “Showtime, boy,” and pulled him behind him toward the building.

When they entered, Dean could hear the good natured hoots of welcome from the other hunters.

“Jesus, Simon, thought you’d never get here. We’re almost ready to head out; we’ve zeroed in on the nest of vamps: they’re only ‘bout 3-4 miles up the road.”

Burton snapped his fingers, and Dean knelt at his feet, head down. Burton reached down and unsnapped Dean’s leash and removed the bit, then left him kneeling there as he walked further into the room.

Dean could hear back slapping as the hunters passed Burton a beer and pulled him up a chair.

“Who’s the sec?” he heard Roy ask. “Don’t look like that tall drink o’water you brought with ya the last time. Winchester’s kid, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, that’s my new sec, just got him a month and a bit back. I think you know him though. Come here, boy.” Burton snapped his fingers, and Dean knew he didn’t mean for Dean to walk over. 

He knelt there feeling weak and ashamed, the collar locked unyielding around his neck, the butt plug secured up his ass, his every movement caged and controlled, and wondered how he’d been reduced to this so easily. 

He debated the merits of just turning and running out the door, or crawling over to Burton. He knew all of these scenarios ended badly, but right now he didn’t care. Sammy free was all that mattered; Simon wouldn’t be happy until he killed him anyway. Dean rose slowly to his feet and watched from under the hood of his poncho as Burton’s face twisted in displeasure and Dean felt a smile begin to stretch across his face. 

He smirked slightly and without thinking too much further growled out, “Sorry boys, I would love to stay and catch up, but I’d rather take my chances with the vamps. And fuck you Burton, you sadistic prick!” He reached back quickly, and with his bound hands, turned the knob of the door open. He knew he wouldn’t get far, but goddamn he’d make them work for it. He swung the door of the cabin open as quick as he could and ran. He felt like laughing hysterically as the stunned image of Burton’s face seared into his mind, but he needed to save his breath for the escape.

: : :



Comments? Feedback is always appreciated. 

Chapter Text


Prime – Chapter 15

: : :

It took a minute for the hunters to register the cold blast of air and swinging door. By then Dean was deep in the woods beyond the house. He ran until he was out of breath, and thanked the stars for the thin, decorative sandals or he would never have gotten this far in the snow.

He crouched behind a huge hardwood and wrestled and twisted himself around on the cold snow until he was able to work the linked manacles on his hands under his butt and then pull his legs through his linked arms. He was still bound, but at least his hands were in front of him, and he had more of a fighting chance. He felt like he might have dislocated his shoulder in the doing, but grimly, he kept on. He knew it was only a matter of time till they caught him; the snow made him too easy to track. It had been worth it though, just for the look of astonishment on Simon’s face as he headed out the door. A feral smile spread across Dean’s face as he forced himself up and onward into the bush.

They caught him in just over an hour. Dean felt no small measure of pride for evading them that long; he'd had a half-hearted hope he’d run into the vamp nest, and go out in a blaze of glory, taking them all with him. But he didn’t even know which direction the nest was, and the Singer luck had never been that good. 

By the time they ran him down he was numb with cold and barely able to move. The fight he put up was feeble, half-frozen as he was, but one or two swings connected with vicious effect. He could tell from the grunts and curses as they dragged him back to the cabin that they were hurting at least as much as he was. 

Dean was hauled into the main room and dropped to the floor, just as Burton clicked his cell phone closed. Absolute rage on his face, he was on Dean in a second, hauling him up to his knees by the hair, yanking his head back. Dean smiled wide, a bloody grin , before twisting in Burton's grip to spit on the cabin floorboards by Burton’s feet.

“You knew, God damn you, you knew.” Burton’s fist smashing down full force in his face was the last thing Dean remembered.

: : : 

The chopper that carried Sam away looked ancient and rundown, but she flew. He could hardly believe Dean’s plan worked. Sort of. If you overlooked the one major flaw that Dean wasn’t with them.

The members of the rescue team looked at him puzzled expressions on their faces. He knew they were dying to question him. Only the older man, ‘Bobby,’ held them back from their inquisition and shoved a hot drink in Sam’s shaking hands.

Sam shifted so that one hand could grip the blanket that was draped around his shoulders, while the other balanced the cup. He looked up from under shaggy locks and wondered if he’d just traded one evil owner for another.

“Take it easy, son. No one here’s gonna hurt you.” The grizzled face loomed before him, and Sam blinked. “Son, I gotta ask you, where is Dean Singer? We were tracking his transmitter signal, but you were the only sec in the building. Where is he, boy? Do you know?”

Sam nodded and tried to find his voice. “Y-yes– M- master.” 

The stiffening of Bobby’s body and the look of disapproval was accompanied by a gruff, “I ain’t your master, son.” 

Sam gulped in a breath and hastily amended, “S-sir. B-Burton took him. He was supposed to be here with me for t-the pick up, but things changed right at the last minute, and now he’s not here, and I shouldn’t be here. It should be him, not me.” Sam’s hand started to shake so bad the warm tea spilled over. Bobby gently plucked it from his hand and passed it over to a shorter, dark haired man with piercing blue eyes whowas crouched behind him. 

Bobby grasped Sam’s shoulders in both hands, shook him gently a little bit, just to get his attention, and said kindly, “Now, none a that. Dean wouldn’t want you beatin’ yourself up over somethin’ you didn’t even do. It was a risk, and sometimes you roll the hard seven. Dean knew the risks, I’m sure. Where do you think Simon will take him now?”

Sam shook his head and forced himself to speak. “Not sure. H-he owns four or five places; he could g-go anywhere. Be anywhere. A-and he’ll know, he’ll figure out Dean had something to do with this.” Sam felt tears track down his face that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Like he couldn’t hold back the guilt that his freedom had been all at Dean’s expense.

: : : 

He woke up folded in an uncomfortable jumble of limbs, back in a cage. He tried to move numb arms up from underneath him and pull his face away from where it had been jammed up against the cage bars. An unwilling groan broke from him, and he .. winced, feeling his ribs creak threateningly. From the aches in his body, Simon’s rage must have continued long after Dean had checked out. He tried to ease his legs into a more comfortable position, and licked his lips, long gone dry and cracked.

His cage was inside the jeep, and from the slight hum in the vehicle, they were moving. Simon was driving somewhere, fast. He wondered where they were going. He didn’t think he could make it through a hunt right now, even staked out as bait. 

Burton looked back over one shoulder at him, a venomous glance. Burton wasn’t a forgive and forget type of guy, but that was okay, at least part of the mission had gone as planned. Dean wondered if Sammy had gotten away alright, and how he was doing. Burton didn’t say anything, just looked back at the road. Dean lay there, tense, watching Simon through the rearview mirror. Minutes went by with nothing spoken , and when Burton finally turned the radio on and made no further move, Dean started to relax. After a while, in spite of himself, the steady rhythm of the road combined with his exhaustion, caused Dean's guard to drop enough for sleep to pull him under.

Hours later, Burton pulled up at a large, sprawling mansion somewhere much further south. Maybe even Florida, Dean thought. It was still chilly, but not the damp abiding cold of New England in winter.

Marcus met them in the driveway and hauled Dean, uncoordinated and weak, out of the cage and kicked his legs out from under him. Dean hit the ground hard; his chin smashed down onto the brick drive, and he tasted blood. Burton stormed off ahead of them as Marcus leashed Dean, unchained his hands, and forced him to crawl into the house. Dean was so cramped from confinement and cold, he could barely move. 

He knew he was in trouble when he was pushed down the stairs into the basement level and into a new playroom. He struggled weakly as Marcus hauled him over to the center of the room and manhandled him up against the wooden structure positioned there. Dean shivered as he was strapped onto a St. Andrew’s cross. His ribs screamed as his arms were lifted out and his manacles were snapped in place. 

Burton prowled into the room, circled him, whip in hand, and snarled, “How did you do it?”

Dean said nothing. 

“How.Did.You.Do.It.Sec? How did you get Sam out?” Burton ran the bull whip down along the side of Dean’s face to come to rest under his chin. At the rough caress of the leather, Dean stiffened and looked up into Burton’s crazed eyes. 

Dean raised one eyebrow, and in a cocky voice he was far from feeling, said, “Get Sammy where, Master?”

“Oh you think you’re so funny. Well we’ll fix that.” He tossed the whip to Marcus’s waiting hand. “Beat him. Twenty lashes and then ask him again. If he passes out, wake him up and continue.”

: : : 

They couldn’t get what they wanted from him. He managed to bite back the words, lock them down with a strength he hadn't known he possessed. So instead they brought more pain, and when he couldn’t feel even that anymore, they dragged him into the black and closed the door.

: : : 

Sam woke with a start, curled tightly in a ball in the middle of a soft bed. He tensed and listened for the sounds of his master waking, the feel of a hard hand across his spine in demand, but there was nothing. Sam rolled onto his back and looked around hesitantly. Then it all came back to him. He had escaped. Alone. He blinked back the sudden rush of tears that threatened, and his lips trembled. He pushed his fist into his teeth to try and contain the despairing cries that threatened as he replayed the last hours of his escape.

The crew had landed at the mansion just after supper and used tranq guns to subdue the household. When they came into Sam’s kennel, he had been chained in his cage for the night because, angry and frustrated that Simon had taken Dean on the hunt, he had forgotten himself and talked back to Marcus. With no Simon around to gainsay his actions, Marcus had beaten him with the riding crop until he bled and begged him to stop, and then dragged him directly to his kennel cage and left him locked down for the night with no dinner. 

There was no sound to alert Sam to the invaders. No crashing or gunplay, just a man with an AK47 popping his head into the room and flipping on the lights, a questioning look on his face. “Oh, this looks like the right kind of place,” he said as he walked into the kennel and spotted Sam. “And who do we have here?”

Even knowing they were the good guys Sam had found himself shrinking back into his cage. But the dark-haired man seemed to understand, even expect, this kind of reaction, and spoke softly as he knelt in front of the bars.

“That’s okay, no one’s going to hurt you anymore. We’re here to take you away. What’s your name?” he asked as he began to pick the lock on the cage.

“S-sam,” Sam mumbled, eyes darting up from the floor of the cell to the man.

“Sam, do you know a Dean? Is there anyone named Dean here?” he asked as he opened the cage door and reached a hand in to help Sam out.

“Dean’s gone…” Sam choked out.

“What do you mean gone?”

Sam crawled out of the cage but remained kneeling at the crouching man’s feet.

“M-master took him. Wasn’t supposed to. He was supposed to be here, to be freed. But at the last minute Master took him. Now he’ll know… he’ll punish him.”

The dark-haired man reached out to gather Sam to his chest, and rocked him.

“We don’t know that for sure, Sam. We’ll find him. Maybe not this time, but we’ll get Dean back. But right now we’ve got to get you out of here. I’m Jimmy, by the way. Jimmy Novak.”

: : : 

Sam was jerked from his guilty thoughts by the soft tap on the door of his room. He flung his arm over his eyes and scrubbed them to try and obscure the evidence of his tears.

“Sam, s’it okay if I come in?” Jimmy stuck his head in sideways and scanned the room; his expression remained unsurprised when he saw Sam lying in bed. It was pretty much where Sam had spent most of the last month and a half, deep in depression, since they’d brought him to Alliance Headquarters in Calgary.

“Hey, Sam, how you doing today?” Jimmy’s voice was more of a soft, gravelly rumble than anything; it rubbed against Sam’s nerves.

“M’okay, Jimmy. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think so, Sam. Fine isn’t staying in bed and moping for days on end. Fine isn’t not eating; you’re skin and bones already. No, you’re not fine. Fortunately for you, you have this really awesome friend who is going to make sure you become fine.”

“Jimmy, you don’t have to....”

“I wasn’t talking about me, Sam. You have someone waiting to see you, downstairs. Come on, chop-chop, get dressed, and I’ll take you to meet them.”

Sam showered and shaved for the first time in days, ran his hands through his too-long hair, and pushed himself up from the sink with a disgruntled huff. Jimmy waited impatiently at the end of the bed, chattering. “So I guess we’re gonna have to find you something productive to do, now that you’re free. What did you used to do…before? Or were you one of those poor souls taken at 16?”

“No, I was studying law at Stanford. Was going to be a lawyer,” Sam mumbled out as he slid into the new pair of jeans that had been left for him along with some other basics, including the t-shirt and soft flannel shirt he put on next.

“Oh, excellent, our fearless leader. Together with my masterful accounting skills we can fight crime together.” Jimmy smiled at Sam, a self deprecating grin that was infectious, and Sam's mood lightened a little bit.

They walked downstairs together, and Jimmy led him into the cafeteria. Just as they entered, a small blur zoomed across the room and latched onto Sam’s legs.

“W-what?” Sam looked down, startled, as a little face grinned up at him. He recognized the necklace before he did her; his little Sam had grown so much in the last year.

“Sam,” Sammy breathed and crouched down to hug the little girl tight. 

“Sam!” Her high pitched squeal of delight had Sam smiling, dimples bared.

“Oh, you’ve grown so much.” Sam pulled her back gently and surveyed the little girl. From bone thin and gaunt, she was now healthy and tanned.

“M-hum… momma says I’ve growed two inches in the last year. I’m a big girl now!”

“Wow, you certainly are.” Sam smiled and hefted the little girl up and brought her over to one of the trestle tables to talk. He could see a woman hovering in the background and he forced himself to stick out his hand and say, “H-Hi, I’m Sam Winchester.”

“Sara Parker, little Sammy is ours now. We adopted her, my husband Steve and I.”

“Yes,” Jimmy drawled as he interrupted, “and we found out that you and our little Sammy here knew each other. And we thought maybe she could get through to you.”

Sam felt slightly flustered for his troubles to be aired in front of a seven year old, so he ignored Jimmy and turned back to Sam.

“Sammy?” Little Sam looked up at him and reached her hand up to touch his cheek as he sat down beside her.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“You don’t look very happy, Sam. Momma says they turned you into a sec too.” Little Sam’s eyes grew solemn in her small face.

Sam gulped and looked down briefly, let his hair fall down over his eyes.

“Yes, that’s right, honey, I was.”

“Momma says that anything that happened then wasn’t your fault. Cause a sec’s got no choice. So I shouldn’t be sad no more. I was sad for a long time, but then I got better.” A little hand slid gently into his, and Sam held it close as she continued. “You’ll feel better soon too, Sam, just you wait. Momma said you just gotta be brave and everything will be okay. That’s what I did; I tried to be brave. She said that a Fwe-freedom fighter said those words, and I should listen to them; you should too.” She nodded solemnly at him and patted his hand.

Sam gulped down emotion and looked over at the little girl. “And what words are those, Sammy?”

“He said, ‘He who is brave is free.’ And we’re free now, Sam! So we have to be brave. Momma says Ghost One was a really smart guy.”

Hearing Dean’s alias mentioned aloud by this brave little girl was almost more than Sam could bear. It cut into his tender guilt over Dean, and he had to look away to stop himself from breaking down in front of the earnest little face. When he could speak again, he replied brokenly, “Yes he is, Sammy, yes he is.”

: : :

Dean existed now in darkness. He floated in an endless sea of silence, his body barely tethered to this plane by the chains that held him. He had been there so long he found it hard to remember the sun anymore.

The sun or warmth. He lay on the cold cell floor. He was always cold now. Cold and hungry. The only thing that kept him vaguely warm was the thought of Sammy, escaped and away from all this. Dean wished he could be with him, wrap his arms around Sam’s long, lean frame and never let him go, stare into his tip-tilted, prismatic eyes and allow himself to want. Allow himself to love.

Dean curled up tighter on himself in the vague hope of conserving heat. Simon entered the shadowy cell and brought pain. Dean arched and cried out as the lash fell down on him, and Simon forced himself into Dean's body with too little prep, and fucked him raw. Dean cried out in the darkness as Simon climaxed and filled him with his seed. He felt the dry, hurtful drag of his cock as it pulled out too quick, too rough. Harsh fingers squeezed and pinched him, and his body shook, muscles quivered, as he came with a scream. His cry echoed in the dark void as fluid spurted from his aching cock onto the cold floor. Nothing but pain and lust touched him here. Everything felt insubstantial, like he was already a ghost. It was only a matter of time till he crossed over, and he waited for that, maybe longed for it, a little. An ending, an easing of the torment. Maybe he would come back a vengeful spirit and haunt Simon.

Sometimes there were more of them: Marcus and Sheldon, and a new voice, Trent. They pushed into his helpless body, took what they wanted, and left him alone in the black. He could feel corruption and sin on his skin, taste their leavings on his mouth and hair, that were never were fully washed away..

Mostly Simon appeared to give Dean pain, to vent his anger and rage on Dean’s flesh and watch him writhe in agony. When it was really bad, Sam held him and rocked him and whispered that everything would be all right. Silly Sam, he should know Dean could always tell when he lied.

: : :

Trent liked to hurt Dean more than the others. In the darkness, Trent would wait. Wait until the others left so he could punish him more. Dean mewled in the black, whined low in fear. He didn’t want to hurt anymore. He tried to crawl away. But in the dark he didn’t know where he was going, didn’t know how to get away, and Trent always seemed to be there. “Take Sam away from me, will ya. I’ll fix you, you little bastard.” And Dean could feel the whip again as it sliced into him over and over and over. 

: : :

Simon was angry again, but this time Dean knew it wasn’t at him. Dean lay in a pool of his own blood, eyes open and unseeing. His breath was shallow, the pain so all enveloping he could barely breathe. He had heard Trent drop the whip, the soft smack as it splashed in a puddle of Dean's blood. Trent apologized over and over, but not to Dean.

 Dean rolled his forehead against the floor to try and stay focused, stay conscious, as he lay on his side. The words were hard to hear over the scalding pump of blood over tender nerves.

“You stupid, thoughtless asshole, you nearly killed him. What kind of fucking guard are you? Get the hell out of here. I don’t want to see your face again.” Dean lost his battle and slipped away, a slight smile on his face.

: : :

He floated in a sea of pain. It took a long time for him to come to shore. At first he could hardly move. He cried; everything hurt so much. He was in shreds; he wanted to move, but the chains held him down. He shivered with cold, his mind frantic, worried, that the cold could reach its icy fingers in through the slashes in his skin and that he would die. Maybe that would be good. Sam was free, and he would be too. Yes, that would be good. 

: : :

Simon stood over him; he felt his master’s legs pinch in on his sides as he lay there. He felt the heat that radiated off Simon’s body as it loomed above him in the dark. 

Dean never saw them enter or leave. There was no door to here; it just was, but Simon was here, and it seemed important for Dean to listen.

“Do you wish to return to the light, sec?” Simon’s voice whispered in the dark.

Dean nodded his head mutely, but he knew Simon heard. He wanted to see the sun again. Feel it on his face. Know that he existed as more than thoughts suspended in darkness and pain. “I… Please,” Dean begged. He could feel tears in his eyes.

“Will you be a good boy for me if I bring you back?”

Dean licked his cracked lips and nodded.

“Say it.”

“Y-yes, Master, I’ll be good.” Dean tried to moisten dry lips again, but there was no moisture. He felt dizzy, the dark spun lazily around him; he wasn't sure he wasn't spinning with it. He wasn't sure he cared.

“What will you give me, sec, to see the light? It requires a sacrifice. You have taken something very important from me; I must take something from you. A symbol, to show your repentance and to show me that you are mine, my devoted slave.”

“Anything…” Dean heard his own voice rasp out brokenly, “Master.”

“Anything?” Simon’s voice was menacing in the black.

: : :

Dean healed in the light. Chained at the foot of Burton’s bed, he sprawled like a lizard as he basked in the sun. His head was turned toward the window, and he watched dust motes dance through the spears of sunlight that shone through the glass. He rubbed his face gently on the carpet, so soft, so warm. 

He would have purred, if he was able to anymore. He felt his master’s presence nearby, and he rolled to his knees, the soft tinkle of the chain leash the only sound. His master came up to him, and Dean rubbed his face along his leg, luxuriated in seeing real legs, textures and sensations other than concrete, cold and pain; color... Dean whimpered to himself at the thought of the endless days of dark. He didn’t like that time. Didn’t like to think about it if he could help it. His master had saved him from the darkness, and if Dean was good, he would never have to go back again. 

Dean wanted to be good. 

He tipped his face up toward Simon and was rewarded by a hand rubbing his long hair. When did it become this long, he wondered absently – but that didn’t matter. Only his master’s happiness mattered.

Dean mouthed along his master’s leg, rubbed sinuously against his length, and nuzzled at the erection he could feel through the jeans.

Simon moaned and unsnapped his jeans. Dean took it as a sign of his master’s permission and quickly unzipped the pants and pulled them down enough to free his master’s cock from its cotton prison. Dean licked Burton’s turgid length, sucked at the fat head, and at his nodded approval, swallowed Burton down. His master arched into him and grabbed his too-long hair, rode his mouth like a wild bronco. Dean licked his master’s length as he pumped in and out of Dean’s face, and finally came deep down his throat with a sigh. Dean gently held his softening length in his mouth, his eyes half-lidded as he bathed in his master’s happiness. Anything to stay in the light.

Simon finally pulled out, and Dean licked him clean and tucked him back in his pants.

“Such a good boy for me now.”

Dean nodded, obedient. 

“Come, Dean, you can sit in my office as I work.” Dean crawled behind his master, sinuous as a cat. He curled up at his master’s feet as Simon started to go through his email. His eyes were pinned on the large window near Burton’s desk and the sunlight again. He would never grow tired of the sun, he thought, and blinked slowly, catlike, in satisfaction. The day slid by; sometimes Burton would snap his fingers and Dean would crawl under the desk and take Burton in his mouth, and just suckle him gently. Dean didn’t like those times, he couldn’t see the light, but his master was happy, so Dean lapped at him softly until Burton tapped him twice on the head as a signal to finish him off. Dean licked his lips, after, his duty to his master satisfied, and returned to his place in the sun. 

At lunch, Dean lapped at the dark grey meal in the dish he was given. It was warm, and Dean was grateful his master wanted to feed him again. When his food was finished, Dean curled again in the sunny patch near Burton’s desk and slept. He was awakened by Marcus and Sheldon as they entered the room and stood over Dean. Marcus clicked his tongue, and Dean rose, graceful, and offered his wrists to Marcus. He chained his gold cuffs together, and Dean followed him out. It was time for Dean’s bath; master was having company tonight, and Dean would serve. 

Marcus gently pushed Dean under the warm spray; he crouched there on hands and knees in the shower tray, naked, as Marcus proceeded to wash him with strong, gentle strokes. Dean submitted pliantly to Marcus' hands, taking pleasure in getting clean. Marcus laughed at his happy/pleased expression as he turned to offer access to every inch of himself for cleansing. Marcus seemed to like the new Dean. He didn’t hurt him so much now, and Dean liked that. 

Marcus washed him clean and then Dean slid back on his knees on the shower floor and showed him his gratitude. Marcus sprayed his face and chest clean after and slapped Dean’s ass affectionately as he herded him out of the shower and gently dried him. The last thing he did before leading Dean to dinner with Burton was to press a vial of golden liquid to Dean’s mouth. Dean drank it down; he didn’t want the golden haze to leave him. It was the only thing that made living in the light without Sammy bearable.

: : :



Comments? Feedback is always appreciated. 

Chapter Text


Prime – Chapter 16

: : :


Sam dreamed of soft skin and plush lips that tickled gently down his spine, of wide, earnest moss green eyes, of strong hands that held his hips down and left marks as Dean thrust into him, made him his, of cheap hotel sheets that scratched, and what it was like to ache in a good way. He awoke half hard and a little dazed, his freckle count disrupted once again.

Sam rose from the bed and rubbed his hair. The guilt, never far away, washed over him; he stepped into the shower and tried to recapture the images from his dream as he took care of himself against the shower wall. He missed Dean, like a part of his heart had been cut away and left behind with the man.

He didn’t quite understand his feelings. Since he’d first been enslaved, all he’d ever wanted was to be free. But since he'd met Dean, things were different. At first, he'd feared and distrusted the man, but as time had gone by and Dean had only treated him with kindness, his feelings had begun to change. . He began to crave Dean’s touch – not a gentle pat or rub of his shoulders that was all the man would give him, but a craving for more, for something darker that he wasn’t sure it was right for him to want.

He had loved Jess, he had. But that remembered love now seemed a pale and simple thing, compared to the fierce hunger he felt for this man’s touch, the desire to submit to him. He shouldn’t want that, should he? He was free now. He should be running in the opposite direction. But he had never trusted anyone more… The time he and Dean had spent with Simon had been as degrading and awful as Sam had known it would be, but Dean – Dean had tried to protect him at every turn. Even when Simon had forced Sam to rape him, he had known Dean understood and would forgive him – had already forgiven him.

Sam felt like maybe he was broken, or sick in the head. How could he want to be free and want to be owned at the same time? This desire had to be different from slavery… and he needed to figure it out, for his own sanity. He shook his head, impatiently, setting his thoughts aside for now. This wasn't the right time, he had to get ready: they were going on another run today. He dressed quickly and moved downstairs “Okay, we leave at seven sharp; hurry up and eat, people.” James’ voice, the team leader for this mission, rose above the quiet murmurs of the early breakfast crowd.

Sam filled a plate and plunked himself down at the table next to Bobby..

“You look tired, son.” Bobby’s gruff voice had Sam looking up.


“You sure you’re up for this? It’s been a hard couple months for you.”

“No, it’s good. It’s, like, the only thing that makes me feel half real. Like I’m doing something useful.”

“I get that.”

“So any word…anyone spot Burton lately?”

“The man’s a god damn ghost. No one’s seen him in months. Don’t worry, we’ll track the sonofabitch down. He can’t hide forever.”

“I just… I just worry for him. You know?” Sam gulped and added hastily, “I-I know what Burton is like.”

“Don’t worry about Dean, son, he’s a tough son of a gun. I remember when he first showed up in my scrap yard. He’d been living off the land for months after runnin’ away from home, was scrawny as a scarecrow, all big eyes and bony shoulders. He’d been sleeping in one of my storage sheds for weeks. Thought I didn’t know, but I’d seen the kid. Kept ‘forgettin’ my lunch in that garage. Somehow it was always looked after.” Bobby chuckled and rubbed his beard. “I don’t know what drew me to the kid. Maybe I was just a lonesome old coot, but winter was coming on and I worried for him, so I went over, one day, to the stack of junkers I knew he was camped out behind and said, ‘So, you gonna just hide out and eat my scraps, or come out and learn a trade?’ I wasn’t sure what would happen, but damn me if he didn’t come out, dirty and hungry, holdin’ his knapsack in front of him like a shield. Best decision I ever made to take that boy in.”

“So, did he try and go back to school?”

“Nah, Dean’s smart, really smart, but he'd had enough of school. He loved to fix things, and once I showed him the basics, he just went with it. Soaked information up from anything: old mechanics' digests, online, anywhere, he basically taught himself how to be a mechanic. I gradually let it slip that I was a hunter, and Dean wanted to learn everything he could about that, too. I even called in a few favors from hunters I knew to teach Dean more once he'd learned everything I had to teach him. Damn kid is quick. Good hunter instincts, too. When we decided to start doing something about this sec thing, we joined the underground and started goin’ on runs, and used huntin’ as our cover story. Dean was just so good at it, had so many ideas, it was only a matter a time till we damn near ran the Alliance.”

“I guess as part of the underground it was easy to get Dean’s shots.”

“His shots?”

“Yeah, the sec code suppressants. For when you traveled around hunting.”

“Son, Dean never needed any sec code suppressants. His code just went out. On his sixteenth birthday, matter of fact. The boy was smart enough to run. His dad was a mean bastard, had already told Dean what he was going to spend his portion of Dean’s sale on. Who does that to their child? When Dean’s code blinked out that morning, he grabbed a bag and ran and never looked back.”

“You mean the day Dean’s code glowed with Simon…”

“Was the first time it had worked in years. One in a million chance that he would have a glitch code. Jamie’s been studying Dean’s sec code for years to see if it could lead to any clues. It was thanks to his research on Dean’s sec code that we even have the suppressant shots. John prototyped them with you, as a matter of fact.”

Sam looked up startled. He’d never known. Hadn’t even realized his father had been working with the Alliance all this time. God though, it made so much sense. He knew his dad had been desperate to keep him safe. He never realized his dad has let him be used as a guinea pig without telling him. No wonder he had had so much trouble with his code. Resentment and pride battled equally in Sam’s heart, but the emotion that won out in the end was loneliness. He missed his dad so much. He had been such a good man, this news made him even prouder.


He continued, “I was never associated with the Alliance until Dean came into my life. He sort of put the point on the end of the stick for me. Never much liked the whole idea of secs, anyhow. So we started small and did little things, worked our way up through the organization. It was Dean’s idea to mobilize with social media, create the Ghost One character. He just kept comin’ up with bigger and better ideas. Boy was driven, that’s for sure.”

“Why did my dad keep his involvement in the Alliance such a secret?” The words were out before Sam could think.

“I don’t think it’s because he didn’t trust ya, son, just trying to keep you safe. The less you knew, the less you could give up by accident. You know, you just reminded me of something. With Dean out of commission for a while, we need someone to take over the Ghost One transmissions. Just until we get him back, mind you. Think you’re up for the job?”

Sam's mouth fell open a little in surprise as he stared at the grizzled hunter“Hey, we got to saddle up. Those slaves aren’t going to free themselves,” James’ voice announced to the room.

Bobby rose from his seat and scraped off his plate. “You think about it and get back to me, son.”

Sam remembered to close his mouth as he stood up from the table. .

: : :

He rubbed a soft cream on Dean’s whole body, and it took on a golden gleam, much like the sun, and Dean leaned into the gentle strokes in contentment. Marcus then kohled his eyes and dressed him in a pleated skirt like roman warriors might wear. He draped two thin, braided ropes criss-cross along his chest and threaded them through his nipple rings, then placed a circlet of golden laurel leaves in his hair. He knelt at his master’s feet in the limousine, content to curl up against his leg. His master was with a woman tonight, but it didn’t matter much to Dean; as long as he pleased them, master would be happy. Just before they stepped out of the limousine, master covered his face with a white mask. Dean feared he might not recognize him, but master held the long gold chain in his hand, and Dean knew he would keep him safe.

: : :

Sam watched as Dean slept. He ran his hand through the overlong hair and sighed. It had been nearly four weeks now since they’d rescued Dean. And the work of bringing the man back had just begun. Sam’s hand curled gently round the wrist where manacles once rubbed. He remembered the fear in Dean’s eye the day he took him to have them removed. It had been his second week back, and Dean had finally worked through the last of withdrawal from Burton’s drug. It had been none too soon for Sam’s nerves, rubbed raw by the tension of seeing Dean sick and in pain.

They had gone down to Jamie’s workshop; the man had every gizmo and gadget going.

“Hey, Jamie,” Sam greeted the man as he and Dean walked into the lab.

“Sam, Dean… oh my god. So good to see you, man.” Jamie hurried over, arms outstretched in greeting, and Dean shrank behind Sam in fear. Sam could feel Dean’s hand curl tight around his belt, anchoring him to Sam’s side, and the slight tremble of that hand.

Jamie dropped his arms. “S-sorry, man. I didn't mean to scare you…I’m just so glad to see you, Dean. It’s been so long. I’m glad to have you here, safe.”

Sam reached around and put his arm around Dean’s shoulders and whispered in his ear.

“It’s okay, Dean, he’s a friend, a really good friend.” Sam gently nudged Dean around so that he stood beside him.

“Yeah, good to see you too, Jamie. Thanks to all your great research, our rescue of Dean, here, went off without a hitch. Now we have to remove these suckers.” Sam’s hand slid down from Dean’s shoulders and caressed his wrist.

Dean startled slightly and looked up at Sam, his eyes wide.

“Sure, no problem. Come on over here, guys. I have just the thing.”

Sam let his hand slip into Dean’s and continued to caress the back of his hand with his thumb. He half-pushed Dean onto a stool near Jamie.

Jamie returned with lockpick equipment and pulled on a pair of magnifying glasses. “Which one first?” he asked, looking from Dean to Sam.

Sam lifted Dean’s hand up onto the bench, not letting go of it, still rubbing gently to keep Dean calm. Jamie hunched down and got to work.

“These are quite sophisticated locks, you know, magnetic AND a combination. Someone really wanted to keep their hands on you, Dean. Haven’t seen this kind of workmanship before,” he remarked as he continued working on the lock.

“You’ll have to come back another time, Dean, when you’re rested and feeling up to it. I’d like to take another look at your sec code, see why it started working again. It’s pretty fascinating.”

The first manacle unclipped, and Jamie waited while Sam lifted Dean's other wrist to the workbench. “Fortunately, our dampening field covers the city. They can track you to the city limits, but then you disappear. And once I get you set up with your suppressant shot, they won’t be able to follow you at all. The shots last now for six months – five, to be safe, so don’t forget. I’ll write you into the schedule. Canada doesn’t have an extradition agreement with the States to return secs, but with Burton’s money we don’t want him trying anything to get you back." Jamie flicked a glance up at Sam. "Sam, you’re probably due for a booster too.”

Jamie released Dean’s second wrist cuff and then propped one of Dean’s heels up on the stool next to him so he could work on his ankle. Sam could have smacked Jamie for bringing up Simon’s possible reach,as he felt Dean tremble in response to the name. He rubbed Dean’s back and said,, “No chance that bastard’s laying a hand on Dean again. I’ll personally make sure of that.” As Jamie set Dean's socked foot down, Sam made a mental note to himself about shoes. It shouldn’t be this hard. As Jamie moved on to the collar, Dean huffed stuttered little breaths, and his hand shook, when he lifted it to touch the collar,

“Shhh, shhh, Dean, it’s okay. You don’t need that anymore. You’re free, Dean. We need to get that off you.”

Dean shivered, his nod barely perceptible, but Sam saw it and gestured to Jamie to continue. Dean bowed his head to give Jamie access, and Sam's arm anchored him while Jamie worked. When the collar came off, Sam took a moment to show it to Dean.

“There, that’s the last of Simon. You’re free of him, Dean.”

Dean watched him carefully, but his expression gave nothing away, and Sam wondered what was going through his mind as they left Jamie’s lair. He couldn’t say he’d been strangely quiet, Dean was always quiet, now. But as Sam was coming to find, Dean could still make his feelings quite elegantly clear.

“Time for a nap, I think, Dean. That was quite a long outing for you. Then we can see about getting you some shoes. Your old room is still set up with all your clothes. If you like, we can pick up some of your stuff there. Then, maybe if you’re up to it, a little walk around the neighborhood, some fresh air, sunshine, what do you think, man? ” Dean nodded, a contented look on his face.

As they entered his room, Sam suddenly had a thought. He paused and sat heavily on the bed. The silent man stood before him.

“God, Dean, I – I just realized, I- maybe you want your old room back? I just-just kinda assumed, and everything sort of happened so fast, and you were sick, and now you’re here. But you’re free, you know. You-you don’t have to stay with me now that you’re better, if you don’t want to. You can move back to your own suite; Bobby kept it for you, just as it was from the last time you left. You can go.” Sam looked up at Dean, his face flushed with embarrassment.

God knew it wasn't like they'd ever had a real relationship. They’d known each other less than a month before Simon grabbed them. And then they were held captive together for only a month or so. Sam supposed in ordinary circumstances, witnessing each other’s rape and humiliation weren’t exactly great get-to-know you techniques. Sam shivered. Just because Dean loomed large in Sam’s thoughts didn’t mean that Dean felt the same way. He wanted to kick himself for not thinking, for forcing himself on Dean. The man had had enough of that to last a lifetime. He looked up and watched in horror as Dean dropped to his knees in front of him, a look of absolute terror on his face as he bowed his head and exposed his bared, scarred neck to Sam.

“Dean, please, stand up. What are you doing?”

Dean looked up at him from beneath long lashes; tears glinted at the corner of his eyes, a hurt and puzzled look on his face. He gestured to his wrists as he put them together and extended them in supplication toward Sam as he bowed his head again, his knees spread wider.

Sam experienced an ‘Oh God’ moment as he thought of things from Dean’s muddled perspective.

“Dean, Dean, you’re free. I’m not going to collar you.” Dean didn’t move for a moment, then flung his head down on the floor with a gasp and wrapped his hands around Sam’s feet, piteously, with what Sam took a shocked moment to realize were whispered words of desperation.

"No no no no, please don't make me go. Please, please, please." Sam had to bend lower to catch Dean’s desperate pleas not to be sent away uttered on a breathy exhale.

Sam gently pulled Dean up so he was sitting back, up on his knees. He saw the tears that ran down Dean’s cheeks and kicked himself for screwing this up so badly. He was stunned by the emotion in Dean’s voiceless pleas. He knew from talking with the doctors when he’d first brought Dean back that with severed vocal cords Dean would only be able to communicate in a whisper. The desperation he must have felt to need to get his message through… Sam had never felt so ashamed.

“Dean, no, it’s not that I don't want you, but I don’t want you like that. Not as a slave. I-We brought you here to free you, and I kept you here with me because you were so sick. I just don’t want to keep you here against your will. You can go to your own rooms if you want. But God, it’s not that I don’t want you – want the man, Dean – right here, with me. I-I just don't know if you’re capable of making that decision right now." He met troubled green eyes with his own, smiling reminiscently, and hoping Dean would remember, too. "Someone taught me that, once.”

Dean looked at him, lost, and Sam gave up and pulled him into his arms. Dean sobbed, rasping gasps of air that sounded like something ripping. A heartbroken, wretched sound, and Sam rocked him in his arms as Dean clung to him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll figure it out. You’ll stay with me until you want to leave. You have the power, Dean. I-I’m not gonna leave you. You’ll have to leave me. There, I said it, you’re stuck with me. Have been ever since you slowed down and saved me in the snowstorm.”

Dean looked up at him; tears still streaked across his cheeks. He reached towards Sam’s face; a glimmer of real recognition seemed to enter his eyes, then disappeared.

“We’re gonna be okay, it’ll just take time.” He watched as Dean nodded half heartedly.

: : :

Sam woke slowly and stretched; he opened his eyes to Dean’s watchful face mere inches from his. They lay nose to nose on the bed; Dean’s eyes looked worried and haunted, as though he was trying to remember something.

“Morning, Dean.” Sam’s voice was purposefully soft. Dean jerked back a bit like a startled deer and looked down briefly, then firmed his shoulders purposefully as his body started to slide beneath the covers down the length of Sam’s body. Sam startled as he felt the soft, damp lick of Dean’s tongue as it trailed down his belly. He groaned softly as Dean’s hand encased his morning wood and slid up and down its length. When soft, moist lips touched the velvety head, he snapped to full wakefulness.

Unthinking, he scrambled back, pushing his body up the bed, leaving Dean alone and perplexed under the covers.

“No, no, stop, Dean, stop.” When Sam’s back smacked hard into the headboard, sanity returned. He felt, more than saw, Dean’s swift slide from the bed to collapse on his knees beside it as he quivered in fear, head to the floor.

“Dean, god, no, you did nothing wrong.” Confused green looked up at him, and he cursed himself for a fool as he saw tears return to Dean’s eyes.

He slipped down to the floor beside him and gathered the smaller man up in his arms and kissed him and ran his hands up and down the shivering body as he repeated, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Dean burrowed into Sam’s side, and he could feel him tremble as Sam carded his hand through Dean’s hair.

“Dean, Dean, I-I love you man, b-but until you remember, until I know it’s you in there, w-we can’t do this. I have to know you’re doing this of your own free will, not just….”

Sam huffed a soft breath in Dean’s hair and rocked him. He missed Dean, the Dean he had been, it was like both of them were searching for him, someone to come back into their lives and take charge. Sam ached with the loss of that strength, that surety of ownership, but he firmed his spine and moved ahead. This Dean, the Dean he had, needed him, and Sam had to be there for him. “We okay?” Sam finally breathed out a while later when Dean’s breathing had slowed and his body relaxed. He felt Dean’s slight nod against his chest.

“Okay then, let’s go see about getting you some shoes, and maybe a haircut.”

: : :

Sam watched as Dean looked in the mirror and ran his hand questioningly across the short, spiky hair. So strange from the over-long locks of before, but familiar. This was the look Dean had when they first met. Dean smiled shyly at him through his reflection, and Sam grinned back, wide and full, and took his hand. He led him out of the bathroom and said, “So, maybe wanna go to your old room and collect some things?”

Dean wandered through his room like a stranger. He picked up item after item and stared at them intensely, like that act of sight alone would force the memories to return. He sat heavily on his bed and looked around as Sam quietly started to fill a bag with essentials: shoes, socks, jeans, Henleys.

Dean had traveled light. Sam understood that, as a hunter, everything had to fit in the back of your car, and Dean’s wardrobe was no exception. Sam watched as Dean’s gaze caught and stayed on an old, battered frame sitting on the bureau. A picture of a young man, blond bright from the sun, and a bewhiskered older man with a scrappy ball cap on his head: Dean and Bobby, in younger, happier times.

Sam looked at the image and saw the skinny youth that had first crept onto Bobby’s scrap yard, and into his heart. Dean ran his hand over his face and jumped up from the bed; impatience and agitation radiated off him, and he made a gesture to Sam like ‘you done yet?’ as he moved anxiously toward the door. Perplexed, Sam picked up the tote he’d been stuffing with clothes, and followed. At the last minute, his hand snaked out, of its own will, and snagged the battered picture of the two men on that long-ago summer day and added it to the bag.

: : :

He found Dean in the small park behind the Center. He was lying in the sunlight asleep, half hidden in the tall grass, curled into a tight protective ball. The ducks in the pond below, the trickling water, a soothing murmur of sound that must have lulled him. The old picture frame lay before him, pressing the grass flat from where Dean had tossed it. Sam settled down beside him and moved Dean’s head gently into his lap, careful not to wake him.

He sat there for a long time in the sun simply holding Dean, luxuriating in the warmth and weight of his body in his arms. He combed his hand gently through the soft spiky hair, and admired the body curled around him. Dean sturdier, stronger, starting to fill out to the Dean of old, as his health slowly returned.

He knew the moment Dean awoke, felt him stiffen in his arms and shiver in fear as he oriented himself.

Sam moved his hand to Dean’s bare neck and rubbed his thumb across the soft skin at the nape of his neck to calm him.

“It’s me Dean. Y’okay? Dean? We couldn’t find you. Was worried, man.”

Dean rocked forward out of Sam’s hold, and rose slowly to sit up, leaning on one arm. He seemed to gather himself and looked up at Sam. Recognition and awareness burned bright in Dean’s eyes.

“S-sam, Sam, Sammy," Dean whispered as he reached up hesitantly to touch Sam's face.

Just short of touching, he dropped his hand nervously and moved instead to rub the edge of Sam’s sleeve between his thumb and finger. Sam swallowed. Hearing Dean say his name hit him like a punch to the gut. His eyes were glued to Dean’s face and he felt dizzy as he saw tears start to slide down his cheeks, the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm him as well.

“De-Dean…Dean, do you remember me?” At Dean’s slow, considered nod, Sam exhaled a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Sam knelt up and hugged Dean before he even realized what he was doing. “Dean, God! I’ve missed you so much.”

Dean’s tentative hand reached up again to Sam’s face, and Sam captured it, held it to him. He had thought they might never be together like this again. He stared into Dean’s eyes and saw sadness and pain but more importantly saw yearning and hunger. Sam bent his head down towards Dean’s lips,brushed his tongue across their blushed surface, and sighed as they opened.

They came together in the grass. Soft and slow. Like a first time.

In the setting sun they learned each other’s bodies again. The weight of Dean’s hand as it glided over his chest, the soft hitch of his breath as Sam grasped the velvety mushroom head of Dean’s cock and swiped his thumb over the weeping slit. Sam's heart soared when he heard Dean’s feather-light sigh of arousal; Sam looked into Dean’s eyes and saw love, vast, abiding, and so aware, shine from the moss green depths.

Sam licked and tasted every freckled inch of Dean until he had him squirming and shuddering, gasping a sigh of arousal. Sam’s heart clenched with joy as Dean whispered dirty, filthy words as he exhaled, “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck,” and "Sssam, SsssammySssamSssam,” in a mindless loop of want. Then Sam’s large hand enfolded them both, stroking them together to aching completion. They lay embraced, replete, and watched the sun go down. Dean started to rise, and Sam hauled him back, laughing, into his arms as he stole another kiss, unwilling, unable to move yet, having just shot all his brain cells out his dick.

He pulled Dean tight and whispered in his ear, “Mine, Dean, you’re all mine again.”

Dean nodded, hugging him back, and whispered a faint, barely there, “My Sssammy,” into Sam’s neck below his ear.

: : :

Dean sat at a stool in Jamie’s workshop. He squirmed slightly. The stools in Jamie’s workshop were hard, and Jamie’s excited chatter about Dean’s sec code was just so much noise in Dean’s ears. He guessed it was kind of exciting, maybe if it wasn’t on your arm. He sat gazing out the window, and thought about how far he’d come in the last few months. How far he and Sam had come together. Dean shivered at the thought of Sam, his hands on the cut of his hip, holding Sam down, licking a slow trail down his chest. Dean shook his head, a rueful smirk on his face, as he tried to concentrate on what Jamie was saying. Jamie paused with his scanner and said, “So, Dean, I hear you’re going to start going out on runs with Sam. That’s pretty cool.”

Dean shrugged, Dean speak for ‘ Yeah, I suppose,’ now, and returned to staring out at the sunlit street.

“Holy Crap, look at that!”

Dean looked over, brows furled a little skeptically as Jamie jumped down from his chair, almost vibrating with excitement. “No, no, this is big, this is huge.” He hugged Dean suddenly and said, “My god, Dean, this could be the secret to bringing it all down.”

Dean arched a brow and grabbed a hold of Jamie’s bicep to still the man; Dean speak for ‘slow down and tell me what you mean by that’.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. It’s your sec code. I’ve been trying to figure out the flaw. What made it turn off and now suddenly on? We’d looked at it before, years ago, when it was off and couldn’t really find anything. But now, the way it came back on…my god, it’s opened a whole window on how these babies work.”

Dean stood up and stretched, unwilling to sit so uncomfortably any longer. He smiled a little at that small freedom to choose.

“We all know sec codes are a biofluidicpolymeric device; once the seed code is implanted at birth, it actually sends signals to the body on how to build it, grow it, and maintain it. That’s why secs don’t mature till 16; it isn’t benevolence of the state, it’s the biocode maturation date. At that point it is able to join up with the network and begin transmission of information, i.e.: every sec’s location. That’s why suppression techniques for the signal are so hard. The body uses its own fuel to rebuild and break down any blocker code; it’s a genetic imperative that’s hard to work around.”

Dean shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know, kinda boring, but your faulty connector was just that, a faultily developed piece of bio technology, like people with extra fingers, or not enough of them, a weird, genetic, random act that could have happened to anyone. BUT – that faulty connector was attached to a part of the code that we had thought was redundant. But it’s not, Dean.”

Dean furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, impatient; what did that mean?

“Yeah, well, what that means is, we always knew the sec code had a GPS component; how else were they able to track secs down so efficiently? BUT this branch of the code where your bar is faulty sends information back AND forth to the satellite. We’ve never been able to hack that link; it’s always a unique DNA strand, and too complicated to be hacked. But your faulty code has fragments of the uplink code, unpartitioned. Or at least enough of them so we can extract the channel and the algorithm they use to scramble the code."

Dean pursed his lips and shrugged.

“Yeah, soooo, now we can reverse engineer a carrier wave. Dean, we can send a signal to every sec’s bar code and shut them down. Every code all over the world at the same time. Not only that, but because this is a bio device powered by the sec’s own body, we can send a command order with the shutdown code to remove that code from the genetic base. The body would begin to tear down the building blocks of the sec code, and within a few days or weeks, there would be no way to ever tell that they’d been a sec. The marker, the code, everything would be gone, permanently. Every arm of every sec everywhere would go dark like yours and then disappear. The governments could never prove who was a sec and who wasn’t. Oh my god, Dean, and all because your bar code had this specific glitch.”

Jamie jumped up and down and hugged Dean and rushed out of the lab.

Dean was left there alone in the sunlit room to contemplate the idea of a free world, and he smiled.

: : :



Comments? Feedback is always appreciated. 

Chapter Text


Prime – Epilogue

: : :

Freedom Day arrived all too soon. The launch date had been set at six months from the time Jamie had first broken the code. It had given Jamie enough time to develop the reverse code and to set things up for simultaneous transmission of the cancellation signal to all of the 37 satellites that ringed the globe. It had been a massive undertaking.

Time had seemed to fly by, with the lab a veritable hub of activity, with Free Alliance scientists being smuggled in to help complete the project from all parts of the world. All hands were on deck, and Sam and Dean had run countless covert missions to bring people back to HQ to work with Jamie.

Sam smiled fondly as he remembered their first run together. They were headed to the states to pick up a telecommunications specialist and smuggle him back across the lines. Dean had been doing better, and Sam had convinced Bobby he was ready for a job. As they strolled out to the Alliance garage out back, Sam picked Dean up suddenly and twirled him around. “This is gonna be great!” he enthused and laughed when Dean stiffened and blushed and glanced around quickly to see if anyone had witnessed Sam manhandling him.

Dean swatted him gently, and Sam took the hint and let Dean slide slowly down his body till his booted feet again touched ground. He sneaked a quick kiss as he lowered him, Dean’s upturned face too delicious to resist. Dean’s expression went from amused and exasperated to soft and needy. Sam deepened the kiss and Dean’s lashes fluttered down over his eyes as he melted into Sam’s embrace.

Sam kissed Dean deeply, leaving him slightly disheveled and flustered. Dean leaned forward again and whispered, “Fucking Sasquatch, love you so much,” as he nuzzled Sam’s neck and stole a kiss of his own in return, then straightened with a regretful sigh.

Sam smiled wide, pleasantly pleased with himself as Dean pulled at his pant leg to adjust himself. Sam let out a warm, dirty chuckle and adjusted his own suddenly too tight jeans. Dean grimaced and cocked an eyebrow at him that promised to pick this up later. Sam swatted his ass, and Dean jumped forward with an undignified huff and Sam could just barely make out the breathy, “Asshat!” Dean directed at him.

They entered the Alliance’s massive garage, and Sam led him over to the far end where one car lay hidden under a dusty tarp. Sam stood back and crossed his arms. “This is our ride; hope she meets with your approval.”

Dean brows shot up and he licked his lips; he darted a quick, curious look at Sam and turned back to the car. Sam knew he was trying not to get his hopes up. Dean pulled the tarp off slowly, reverently, and stood there open mouthed. The Impala sat gleaming beneath it. He glanced back at Sam, a questioning look on his face as he gestured with his hands and shaped the word with his lips, ‘How?’

“One of my first missions, after I was freed, was to go back and get her out of impound before she was sold. Knew how important she was to you. So I had to have her here for your return. They kept her all tuned up and ready for you, Dean. Think you’re up to taking her out for a spin? Of course, if you want, I could drive.” Sam chuckled and thought, yeah, like that was going to happen, maybe when hell froze over. Dean ran his hand lovingly across the Impala's hood, tentative and careful, as though she might disappear before his eyes.

Sam watched as the older man reached up and discreetly brushed something out of his eye. He turned then, looked back at Sam, and squeezed his hand briefly before a smirk slid over his face, and he moved to the driver’s door.

He looked over the interior with a bemused expression and grinned his approval as he eased into the seat. His hand caressed the steering wheel, and he wet his lips in anticipation. Sam slid into the passenger side and dropped the driver’s side sun visor down. Only Dean’s catlike reflexes let him catch the Impala’s keys before they hit the floor.

“Think you remember how to drive?” Sam teased, and Dean snorted and shot him a disdainful look, then arched a brow as he popped in the key and turned the ignition. The Impala purred to life, and Dean leaned back into the seat and just surveyed it all. He cast a fond look at Sam, and the lines around his eyes crinkled as a huge smile split his face, and he clapped him on the shoulder in thanks. Sam could almost hear the ‘Good job Sammy,’ that hung in the air unspoken between them.

“Yeah, well, you know. Some things should always be together.” Sam reached down to the shoe box still sitting on the floor in front of the bench seat between them and popped in a Zeppelin cassette as they pulled away from the garage.

: : :

Of the hundreds of decisions and timing issues decided, probably the most import one involved Dean. They decided that Freedom Day should be launched with one last Ghost One Broadcast; that this broadcast would go out live, and most importantly, with the original Ghost One.

Dean couldn’t use his voice anymore, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t speak for the movement. He could sign now, thanks to Rufus and his deaf sister, Rhonda. And Sam would translate. Dean and Bobby had started all this with their Ghost One transmissions, and Dean would end it.

Sam woke that morning to Dean’s lips around his shaft. He moaned and ran his hand through the short, sandy locks and arched up into his mouth. Dean held his hips down firmly, and as Sam fully opened his eyes, he could see the smirk on Dean’s face as he swallowed him down. “Mmm, please, Dean—I…”

Dean licked and sucked and continued to bob his head up and down Sam’s length . Sam tossed his head, then groaned as Dean squeezed the base of his dick and pulled off of him. Sam moaned at the loss of the hot embrace. He heard the soft click of lube and cracked open his eyes again to see Dean’s cocked brow as he sought permission. Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Since Dean’s rescue he had only ever bottomed, only seemed comfortable that way, and Sam hadn’t wanted to push, but he had missed Dean taking the lead, commanding Sam’s body, playing it like a fine instrument, treasuring it, making Sam feel owned and cared for in the very best way. To have that again… Sam bit his lip and nodded. He saw the dark heat in Dean’s eyes as his pupils darkened with emotion and he felt Dean’s hand descend, purposefully, to where his mouth has just been.

Dean caressed his length, gave it a couple of swift strokes, then ran his hand down Sam’s balls and back along his perineum to touch his puckered entrance. Slick fingers circled and slowly pushed in. Sam tossed his head back at the sudden burn; it had been over a year since he’d, since they’d… Dean grinned his approval as his gaze locked with Sam's. The tip of his tongue appeared before his teeth closed softly over his own bottom lip as he began to push the digit slowly in and out of Sam.

He waited until Sam relaxed into the rhythm, then added another finger, scissoring him open, and Sam mewled in need, gasped out, “Need you, Dean, want you in me. Missed you so bad,” and then Dean was kissing him again as he twisted his fingers so they hit that little gland just perfectly, and Sam cried out. Dean smirked and kept rocking his fingers against it over and over as he added another finger to open Sam up further.

Finally satisfied, Dean withdrew his hand, and Sam trembled with tension as he waited while Dean lined himself up and thrust in. Sam rode a crest of sensation as Dean sank into him in one smooth, steady thrust until his balls rested against Sam’s ass. Sam cried out; his cock was rock hard now and leaking steadily against his belly. Pre-cum dripped from the head, and Sam felt deliciously dizzy as Dean paused to let him adjust to being filled so completely.

Sam stared up at Dean through half lidded eyes, and Dean began to move; his own eyes dark with desire. His hips pumped slowly, deliberately, and Sam moaned incoherently as Dean changed the angle and started to brush over his prostate with every thrust. Dean’s hands held Sam’s hips firmly, and Sam was entranced as he stared up at Dean, his head flung back, sweat soaked muscles straining, strong and confident, healed.

Dean paused mid thrust, and Sam rocked his head back and forth and moaned, “More, Dean, more, need you.” Dean nuzzled into his neck, warm breath ghosting over the skin and fine hairs as Dean whispered, "Mine, Sam. You belong to me, my SammySamSam. Mine."

Sam shivered at the touch of his breath as much as the words, and he nodded and sighed in agreement, “Yours, Dean, always yours.” Dean thrust back in, and Sam arched up as another cry of pleasure was wrenched out of him. Sam wanted it to last forever, bit his lip and tried to head off the inevitable until at last he was forced to groan out, “Gonna come, Dean, can’t last…” Dean reached forward and with two, three strokes Sam came, spurting wildly across Dean’s hand and his chest and chin. As he clenched down, Dean released hot and jagged, a few seconds later, deep inside him.

They collapsed in a sweaty heap on the bed. Dean pulled Sam into his arms and gently combed fingers through his long, floppy hair. He rested his chin on Sam’s head, practically glowing with happiness.

Sam looked up at Dean, so trusting, so strong. He wanted to lie like this forever, but guilt crashed through him, guilt he had been holding back for so long. He had been strong for so long, carried his burden, this guilt inside him, letting it drive him to first find Dean, and then nurse him back to himself…and it felt so good to slide into Dean's embrace again, but he needed to confess his sin. He pulled himself away, needing space to speak, then, surprised even himself as he started to cry instead.

Dean froze for a moment, then purposefully sat up and gathered Sam to him, despite his efforts to pull away. Dean held him in place, rocking him gently as shame burned low and hot in his belly.

Dean chucked him under the chin to get Sam to look up at him, his brows arched questioningly. Sam swallowed and gasped out guiltily, “I-I left you.”

Dean gathered him closer in his arms. “M’sorry, I didn’t want to, I k-knew what Simon would do.” Sam broke into heart wrenching sobs, and Dean continued to hold him, rocking them both gently, comfortingly, as Sam cried out his guilt and misery.

Sam’s hand reached out, shaking, and touched the twin lines on Dean’s throat where Simon had taken Dean’s beautiful voice, and his mouth began to tremble. He remembered the first months of his enslavement when Simon had used a shot to snuff out Sam’s own voice while Simon ‘trained’ him. He had tried since Dean’s return to imagine existing like that forever, but his imagination failed at the horror of it, and he broke down in another round of sobs.

Dean let him cry a while longer, then he took him by the chin and made him look up into his stern face again as he shook his head. Sam stilled and tried to pull himself together, tried to ready himself for Dean’s judgment, his deserved punishment. As he watched, Dean leaned forward and nuzzled his mouth under Sam's ear, against the tender, sensitive skin of his neck, as he began to speak.

“Nooo, don’t cry, Sssammy. My Sam.” Dean whispered against his skin, “I knew…the chances I was taking, Ssam. I don’t regret anything.”

Sam turned his head so he could look at Dean, see the truth in his eyes and watched as Dean leaned back and began to sign.

We both made it through alive, and now we have the rest of our lives together to look forward to. Lives that will be lived in freedom without having to check over our shoulders.

Dean leaned forward again, stubble rough chin against Sam’s jaw as he whispered in his ear, “Besides, I didn’t think you liked my singing anyway.” Sam could feel Dean’s smile as he rubbed his face up against Sam’s.

He sat up again and smirked and kissed the inside of Sam's palm, and as he gazed into the warm, green eyes so full of love, Sam realized he had to let go of his guilt and forgive himself. If he could let himself do that, then they were going to be okay.

: : :

They stood together in front of the Ghost One Banner so achingly familiar to Sam. He was now standing beside the man who , if he was honest with himself, he had been a little bit in love with for a long time. The camera lights turned on, and Bobby fiddled with the settings for the live feed. Behind the camera, the room was filled with all their friends as they waited to watch this one final broadcast. Freedom fighters, scientists, freed secs, and just regular folks, all the people who had been willing to help in any small way to make this day happen. Dean stood beside Sam and squeezed his hand.

Sam tipped his head and watched Dean’s hands to see if he wanted to say something, but it was just nerves, and Sam huffed out a relieved breath. Bobby called for their attention from behind the camera and gave a one minute warning to start the countdown. Sam had always wondered what Ghost One looked like. Now he knew, and other people around the world would know soon too. There would be no camouflaging digitization of their faces. They were too far down the road for that. People would get to see Ghost One and measure for themselves the high cost of freedom.

Sam swallowed and took a sip of water. Dean smiled fondly at him and leaned in for one long, tender kiss. Sam was getting used to these small, tender touches, Dean’s new way of communicating, reassuring. Sam inhaled the scent of his lover, his master, his friend, the combined smells of leather and gun oil and the gummy bears Dean so loved, along with something deeper and more mysterious that was just, uniquely, Dean.

Sam snaked one large hand around Dean’s waist and wondered at so much power and strength and integrity all wrapped up in this one man. He grinned at Dean and Dean grinned back and laughed. The things that Simon hadn’t been able to steal were Dean’s beautiful smile and laughing eyes.

They turned together as Bobby started the final countdown, his gruff voice a little rougher today with emotion as he watched his adopted son step into history.

“In Five, Four, Three…,” Two and One were silent gestures, and they were go.

Dean signed,

This is the Freedom Alliance, and if you’re listening with an open heart and mind, you are doing your small part to free this world.

Sam watched Dean’s hands and spoke into the microphone, repeating aloud the familiar introduction, echoed by Dean's barely audible whispered words .

Today we are taking one large step toward righting a wrong perpetrated nearly a century ago. We are striking down the Prime Act, not just in America, but throughout the world.

As of 12:00 Eastern Standard time, a signal will have gone out that will shut down all Sec Codes world wide. Not only has the signal shut them down, but it has started a process that will purge them from the body forever. There will be no trace left of the code, nor any evidence of who is Prime and who is Sec. As of today we are all free men. We need to embrace this opportunity and turn a new page in history. We have an obligation to do better this time, to be kinder, and to live up to the potential for good that is in all of us. Freedom is not just the privilege of the few; it is a right all of us are entitled to. We must act together to ensure that this door to freedom stays open for all of us.

Remember: He who is brave is free.

Today we are all brave, for we are all free.

This is Ghost One signing off.

: : :


: : :


NEXT: Check out the Prime – Timestamp: The Left Hand of Vengeance [NC-17] Sam/Dean, SPN AU, slave!fic

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