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My Husband's Rules

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Dean is lucky to be married at all—least that's what he keeps telling himself—but honestly, he never expected to be married off. As the youngest and the least financially viable of his siblings (he doesn’t stand to inherit what his brother and sister will) it was hard for his brother to find a suitable match at all. A suitable match, of course, being someone of high financial and political standing. Someone well bred. When his brother told him the match he'd made for Dean, he was still surprised, but he shouldn't have been. His brother always considered him a bit wild; of course he'd make sure he was married off to someone who would keep him in line. Someone whose name couldn't be tarnished no matter what Dean might do. So, yeah, it shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was and it's taken some getting used to. After all, when you're married off you're the half of the marriage that has to ask permission for stuff; you're the half of the marriage that might end up raising the children; you're the half under your husband's or wife's thumb.

Dean was just used to his parents. They did have an arranged marriage, but they'd quickly fallen in love. Mary was married off to John, but John had no problems allowing Mary to work and do pretty much as she pleased—within reason of course. John was considered progressive by society's standards.

A car crash took both of Dean's parents and left his oldest brother, Adam, in charge of the family as official Head of House. Other than in looks, Adam did not take after their father and insisted Dean be wrangled to heel. It was Adam that kept Dean in line; Adam was a strict guardian and thus he'd found one every bit as strict as he was for Dean to marry, possibly more.

Samuel Campbell is the equivalent of a thoroughbred in Dean's brother's eyes. When Adam Winchester began the negotiations; for Dean, all Adam needed to know was how much the Winchesters stood to gain in money and power, and of course that Dean would be entering, a strict home. He would be expected to defer to Samuel in some of the ways he did his older brother

At least he's not a troll. He's tall, with chin-length dark hair. He's older than Dean, but not old. He's still got fresh young skin paired with youthful tenacity and his eyes… Gorgeous hazel ovals, deep; soulful.

The Winchester's were already a formidable, well respected clan, but Adam wanted as much power as he could get; he wanted to honor their father's memory—for even if Adam and John were not alike, Adam loved and respected him every bit as much as Dean and their sister had. He would go to any length, even if that meant marrying off his youngest son to the enigmatic man who is one of the most powerful in the world.

Yes, Dean keeps trying to tell himself how lucky he is, but the truth is, he doesn't feel lucky.

The man, Samuel, has some strange proclivities, but because of his wealth and subsequent power, no one seemed to care. For instance, he requested Dean wear a wedding dress to their ceremony and reception. No one seemed to think this strange—least not that they would say out loud. Except Dean of course. He begged and he pleaded for his brother to talk to Samuel and to Dean's surprise, his brother did, but his husband-to-be would not relent.

The dress was made just for Dean and it was breathtaking. It ended up looking really good on him. Strapless, with heart-shaped bodice to his waist with a fluffy princess skirt that Dean kept tripping over because he'd also been made to wear heels.

He wasn't expected to wear anything else associated with being a woman, or man turning female, meaning no wig, or make-up; earrings etc… Except the outrageous diamond necklace his husband saw fit to buy him as a wedding gift—it was delivered to his suite on their wedding day.

Dean didn't know what to expect. Did his new husband fancy a woman? Why marry Dean if he wanted a woman? It's not like the man couldn't have his pick of them: Who wouldn't want to marry Samuel Campbell?

Oh. That's right, Dean.

But Dean put on a good face for the public and his family and let's not forget; a freaking dress—and married him anyway. Dean's a family man and would have done anything they'd asked; he would honor his parent's memory by being a good husband, whatever that meant to Samuel Campbell.

They didn't get to talk much that day, just a few courteous smiles and of course their vows. Dean hadn't got to know the older man at all before marrying him. But when they stood at the altar together and just before Samuel kissed him, he'd leaned in with a cool, domineering voice and told Dean: "You look beautiful."

Dean couldn't stop blushing after that.

The wedding night came. It's not like Dean was a virgin at the time, he'd been around the block with men and women, but none of that made a difference when it came time for Samuel to fuck him.


Samuel undresses like he's done it in front of company a million times. I notice he's not ashamed of his body, and he shouldn't be it's impressive with its strong lines, and thick muscle. He stalks when he moves, assesses things before he takes action, he's a predator.

"Are you shy, Dean?"

"Me? Uh, no." Stupid. Of course me there's no one else in the room idiot box.

Samuel smiles sharing a joke with himself. "I suppose it must be the dress then. I hear women don't want to take them off on their wedding day."

"I'm not a freaking, girl," I say trying to rip the damn thing off. Okay, so I don't rip, I am careful, because it looks expensive. I can't get it off anyway—it took two women to put me in the thing, I don't know how I thought I could get myself out of it.

"No, not a girl. If I wanted a girl I would have married a girl."

Then why the dress? I don't ask. I don't want to piss him off—this man is dangerous, I'll tell you that.

"May, I?"
"Yeah." I turn around. He works the laces expertly with sharp, quick tugs and has them undone faster than it took the chicks to do them up. I shimmy out of the dress; he tosses it to the side and wastes no time checking me out, looking up and down my body.

Underneath my dress, is a pair of white thong panties made specially to hold my dick; I'm still wearing the necklace he gave me, and the white heels. "Let me look at you, Dean."

In other words: Let me view what's mine. I get it. I stand there and try not to cover myself; I get the feeling he wouldn't like that too much. I'm his of that I have no doubt.

"I am pleased, Dean," he says after he's had his fill looking. "Do you like your necklace?"

I reach to fiddle with it, as I've done all day anytime I'd got nervous—which was a lot. Considering I don't take to nervousness, that should say something.

"It's a nice, necklace. I like it very much. Thank-you."
"One of many, I assure you. I plan on lavishing you."

I have no idea what to say to that. He pulls me to him; I can feel his hard cock pressing against my stomach and mine lights up when he kisses me—my cock doesn't care that I didn't want the wedding, it only cares about the pretty man. His hands are everywhere, puling at my nipples, grabbing at my cock through the lace panties, up in my hair; pulling. It's mad, it's fevered, it's consuming.

He scoops me up like Rhett would Scarlett; it's no trouble for him to pull off one white heel at a time as he carries me to the bed. This guy's fucking strong; it's not like I'm a lightweight.

He lays me down, prowling over top of me kissing me hot and possessively. He licks his way down my chest and to my lips and nips at my cock through the panties. I'm so turned on it's ridiculous. I've never been this needy before; I'm damn sure I'll do anything he asks of me; at least right now.

When he slides the panties off, he stares at me, a predatory smile on his lips. He nearly bends me in half when he fucks me; it's a hard, luscious claiming and I love every second of it. He seems to be enjoying me too; high on lust as he is; we fall asleep tangled together.


In the morning, he's not there. I feel… stupid. Why would I think he'd want to stick around? To cuddle? I don't need cuddling.

The dress is still there on the floor along with the shoes and panties. I've still got the necklace on; I decide it's time to take it off.

Once I do, I'm completely naked. I find my way to the in suite bathroom; shower and towel off. I realize once I'm done, I have no clothes. I was told to come here with nothing; it was a firm order along with many, many others. Congratulations Dean Winchester, your life is no longer yours. Though I guess it hasn't been since my parents died. And I suppose it's Dean Campbell now. Huh.

On my way to the large walk-in closet, I freeze. What if it's lined with dresses? What would I do? I'd have to wear them, I guess, but—hell no, I'm not wearing dresses. At the same time, the thought of disobeying him isn't something I want to think about.

I sit on the bed, in a towel, my head in my hands. But only for a moment, I pick myself up with a huff, storming into the closet—I guess that was the lesser of the two, good to know, I'd rather wear a dress than experience my husband's wraith.

There's no doubt which side of the closet is his—all suits and stuffy attire. Mine has suits too, but there are jeans and khakis, button-ups and t-shirts. There are even sweat pants and hoodies and I'm almost kissing the ground, because there is not a dress in sight. I really don't get this man. Whoa. Not that I wanted there to be dresses, but why a dress on the wedding day and none now? At least a closet full of dresses would have explained a fetish or something. It does have me curious.

I'm not going to harp on it; instead, I'm going to move on—yeah, move on, you heard me. I can move on from wearing a dress in a room full of people—all the people I know—on my wedding day.

But when the maid enters, without knocking I might add, and begins packing up my wedding dress, I hide in the fucking closet.

I haven't been told we're doing anything, so I pull on some sweats and a hoodie and try to find my way to the kitchen in this ridiculously huge mansion. I have a keen sense of direction, that and I followed my nose.

"Mr. Campbell, sir, is everything all right?" The chef-looking dude looks terrified. Of me?
"Uh, hey. Where can I get some grub around here?"

His body sheds all tension. "Oh, is that all? No. Not in here. Master Campbell would not like that sir. Go wait in the dining room; I will bring you something nice. Yes?"

"Okay, but, uh, where is the dining room… exactly?"

I'm shown to the room in question, it's set for two, but I'm alone. The chef dude brings me coffee, juice and a basket of fresh muffins; he tells me to help myself and that breakfast will be along shortly.

Here I thought I missed breakfast. Maybe hoped I missed it is more accurate—I wouldn't mind not having to see much of my dear husband. I was thinking I could get a job if he lets me. I had worked for my father's company, under Adam's tutelage, but of course, couldn't now, since I no longer live in Lawrence. And strict as Adam is, if he let me have a job, I don't see why Samuel wouldn't. I mean, it's clear I don't need money, but I'll need something to do.

I'm on my second cup, when Samuel stalks into the room, he leans to kiss me. "Good morning, Dean." He's already looking at me funny. Great. Did I do something? What? Muffin in my teeth?

"Your necklace. You took it off."
"Yeah, I thought—"
"I know have a lot of money, but I do expect you to be appreciative."

Hadn't I said thank-you? Told him I liked it?

Something about his voice tells me I should calm him down, fast. "I'm sorry, Samuel. I am appreciative. I just thought it was, you know, too dressy for sweats. I can go get it if—"

"No. No. You're right. What was I thinking? You can't wear that with sweats. I'll have to get you something less fancy for everyday. And please, call me Sam. Samuel is my grandfather."

I really don't need, or want, any more jewelry, but he's calm and agreeable, so I say nothing. My heart's still racing a bit.

He sits. "Starting without me I see."

I think that's meant to be a joke, but I'm not sure now and I'm on edge. "Oh, the chef said I could, was I not supposed to?"

"Look. Now I've scared you—of course you were, eat what you like, Darling."

I nod and take a sip of my coffee.

Breakfast is served and as we eat, he tells me about his day, which is going to consist of meetings in and out of the house, but he will be home for dinner. He assures me there is plenty for me to do; tennis courts, stables, cricket and more. The staff will get me whatever I require.

Our meal is brief and my illusive husband seems more illusive than ever. But I do check out the grounds. This place is crazy. It really has got everything. Everything except people—that aren't staff—I quickly learn how lonely it is.

I'm almost excited for Samuel, or I guess Sam, to get home, at least I can talk to him—I tried making friendly with the staff, but they seem afraid of me; I still have no idea why.

Dinner isn't that much more than breakfast. We make polite conversation. I could say more, but I'm still feeling him out; probably better to figure him out a little before I open my mouth and say the wrong thing.

The sex that night is every bit as wild as our wedding night. I go to bed an exhausted but happy man. At least we've got good sex between us, right?

Things continue like this for seven days. I've called home a few times to talk to my brother and sister, I've called a few friends from home too; none of it is enough to deal with the crushing loneliness I'm feeling. I think it's time for me to move ahead with my plans to find a job. My friend, Charlie, suggested I ask if I can join a group too, something I like to do; that I'd make friends that way too. Sure. Why not? I'll do it all, so long as I can get out of this house. But I know I have to ask now, which is really no different than home with Adam, but I'd already earned some privileges; they made me feel grown up; it feels like I'm starting over again.

As per every morning, he asks me what I'm going to do today.

"I was hoping it would be all right if I went into town? I guess I'd um… need a car?" Yeah, I already don't like asking him for shit. I was used to it with Adam; I expected to get to do more when I finally left the house; dreamed of it even. Adam was so strict, I couldn't wait to leave someday—even if I loved and appreciated him very much.

Sam stops eating and leans back in his chair lacing his fingers together. "Do you require something?"

"Not really, I just thought I'd get out of the house—a little cabin fever brewing," I say nervously. This whole thing is starting to feel ominous.
"I see no reason for you to go into town. We've got fifty-seven acres for you to explore if you have 'cabin fever,' anything you require can be fetched by one of the staff."

Was I just told no? I'm not sure.

He returns to eating, apparently having spoken, I'm biting my lip and feeling, well, embarrassed. I'm not a little kid. I'd reached a point at home I could mostly come and go. I only really had to ask Adam for the big things once I'd reached the age of 'adulthood.'

I try something else. "Um, well that's not all—I was hoping you'd let me look for a job."

The piercing look he gives me, makes my heart beat fast, but not in an exciting kind of way—okay, well maybe a little, danger can be exciting, for me anyway—either way it scares the fuck out of me.

"Why on God's green Earth would you need a job?"

It's not a rhetorical question, he wants to know, but I already know my answer is going to piss him off more. If I say, 'for something to do,' he'll think I'm ungrateful since according to him there's plenty to do around here.

I go with something else that I don't think is much better, but I feel like I need so say something. He's waiting. "I thought it would be a good way to meet people—I don't have any friends here."

I expect him to swipe everything off the table and throw me against the wall—that's the kind of energy building in the room—but he doesn't. He's calm and it's fucking eerie.

"I see. This is all just a huge misunderstanding." He smiles, but it's not a comforting smile. It's condescending and mean. "You won't be getting a job Dean and you won't be leaving the house without me. Is that clear?"

He doesn't say why, he isn't going to. It's one of those 'because he said so' kind of things. And something about him, the way he talks, the way he looks, freezes me with fear. So not like me. Normally I'd be making a big fuss, arguing my points, asking 'why the fuck not,' telling him 'I'm not a fucking pussy,' and I'd storm out of the house anyway.

But all I'm capable of under that gaze is a very tiny nod and a small "yes."

He stands up in one fluid motion; disgusted with me I guess and leaves the room. For the first time in my life, I can't eat another bite.

"He forbade me from leaving the house without him, Charlie. Can you believe that? What the fuck?"

"Calm down, Dean. It's not like that's unusual; he's your husband; he can do that—I know it's not what you're used to. Besides, maybe there's a reason."
"Yeah. That's he's a psychopathic freak."

"Shhh. What if he hears you?"
"He's not home. He almost never is. I hate it here." I'm crying. I'm actually fucking crying.

"Maybe I could come there."

"Right. I'd have to ask him," I say sarcastically. The prospect of having to ask is not one I look forward to, but I realize after this morning I require his permission to do anything, just like when I was younger.

"Don't fuck it up Dean. Behave yourself, swallow your pride and fucking ask him. The worst he can say is, no."

When I get off the phone with her, I'm pacing like a wild animal. I can't believe I'm fucking anxious at the prospect of asking my husband for something—but if you had seen his eyes, they were like… like a wolf's before he fucking eats you.

But if I don't ask, I'll have to deal with Charlie's hounding, plus she'll raz the shit out of me. I decide on asking at dinner. Seems I'd rather face my husband than deal with Charlie making fun of me—good to know.

I have no idea how to act after this morning. I'm uncomfortable and my nerves are making me shake a little. He was so pissed, I'm not even sure he's going to eat with me, until he strides in looking handsome and fresh as always. I can't help the vision of him fucking my ass, hard with that beautiful cock of his; knowing he'll probably do it tonight too. I blush and turn my eyes to my plate.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hi, Sam."

He sits. "How was your day?" He always asks that and it's no different than any other day as if he didn't storm out on me at breakfast. But for the second time, the food doesn't look so appetizing, even though it should be—the cooks around here are fucking amazing.

We're usually served wine at our evening meal—I take a big fucking gulp. Sam looks at me funny, but doesn't say anything. Okay Winchester, it's now or never.

"So look, I was wondering…" I've rehearsed this since I got off the phone with Charlie, but I still don't know how to fucking ask.

I've already left too big of a pause, his eyebrows push together pensively like he's trying to just take the words from my mind.

"I was wondering if, my friend Charlie could visit?"

After several painful heartbeats he says: "Guy, or girl?"

"Girl," I say. "And she's strictly into girls," I add in case he's got some jealousy thing going on.

"How long?" He takes a bite of potato.
Shit. We hadn't talked about that. "Two weeks?" I throw out.

He continues to eat for a long while and I deflate a bit. I must have asked for too long. It was all looking so hopeful. I mean, you don't ask how long, just so you can turn someone down, do you? Though maybe he would. I don't know this man at all.

"One," he finally says with coy eyes.

And I don't know why, but that makes me so fucking happy: The fact he's said yes. Of course I'm immediately excited about Charlie coming, but it's more the 'yes' I got. I shouldn't be so grateful to him, I mean, even Adam allows his wife to invite friends over at leisure, but I am stupidly excited.

I smile wide. "Thank-you, Sam. So much." My appetite comes flooding back; I eat another plate. And when we fuck that night, I pay special attention to his cock to say thank-you again.


"This place is ridiculous," Charlie says.
"I know, right? It's stupid—what do you want to do?"

"What can we do?"

"Literally anything, except leave the property."

"You said it's like fifty-something acres, right?"


"Let's go outside and see what we can find—a place like this has got to have skeletons."

I shrug. "It is old." I know that much. It's been in Sam's family centuries.

"The libraries in this place must be unreal!"

"Uhhmmm…" I scratch the back of my neck. She hits me upside the head.
"You haven't even looked Dean Winchester?"

"No, okay. You know I don't read much."

"But the history of this place… You weren't at all interested? Wait, let me guess, you were too busy feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Don't answer that. I already know, but it ends here Dean. So you were married off; so your brother's life plan for you didn't fit in with yours; so your husband is a strict bastard. There's no getting out of it, so just suck it up."

Yeah, I'd like to see her in a gilded cage. No I'm not dumb enough to say anything.

"Let's explore this place together," I say changing the subject. "I saved it for you." I wink.

"Always the charmer—see? Do more of that with your husband and you'll have him wrapped around your pretty little finger."

I highly doubt that.

We begin outside. I already knew this place was huge, and I've seen some of the grounds, but I'd never explored the maze of walls behind the stables. It takes us a long time to walk from the house to the point we're at now. We walk up and down the corridors of the stonewall maze and find that there are doors to each and beyond are gardens, beautiful gardens.

"These are crazy! Why are they behind walls?"
"No fucking clue, Charlie."

We spend the whole day looking in as many as we can, we don't get to them all and it's already time to go back. I've already learned it's not wise to be late for dinner. I was five late once and the reprimand I got's stuck in my mind. Sam can be late, but I can't. He might be coming for a meeting; my day is clear enough to be there for him when he needs me. After all, that is the sole reason I'm here; for him.

The table is a lot brighter with Charlie there. She is not afraid of him like I am. "Thank-you for your hospitality, Mr. Campbell."

"Yes. I hope everything is to your liking. Dean was looking forward to your visit."

He picked up on that, did he? Makes it sound like he cares. I don't see why—he doesn't seem to care about some of my other 'wants.'

I can tell he doesn't have much interest in talking with her, but she chatters on and he humors her until he can't anymore, but he's still polite about it. "I'll see you later Darling," he says with a kiss to my cheek and it's embarrassing as hell with Charlie there to watch—though I don't know why it should be, she's already seen me in a white wedding dress.

Soon as he's out of the room she bursts into laughter and even though it's at my expense, I don't care, because it's beautiful and fills the room with lightness. "Darling?"

"Shut up."

I know to meet my husband at exactly eleven o'clock in our bedroom. He went over a few rules for me to follow while Charlie visited. He made it clear that my first priority is him. When he wants me, I go with him, no questions asked. He didn't say, but it was implied that Charlie staying is a privilege he can and will take away if I don't obey him. I really don't want to fuck it up, so I'm diligent in all he's asked.

I arrive at our bedroom ten minutes early; I know by the look on his face I've scored major points. It makes it look like I couldn't wait to be with him and I am looking forward to the awesome sex we always have, but if I could have I would have slept in Charlie's room with her and we'd of stayed up 'till all hours talking about everything and nothing like when we were kids.

"You're having a good time with your friend, Dean." It's a statement, but I answer anyway.

"Yes." I always keep my answers simple and don't add information he hasn't asked for—I've already learned the folly in that.

"Good. How about you show me how grateful you are to me for allowing this? You do realize that, yes? That she is only here because I have allowed it?"

His voice already has me on edge, as if I wasn't already. "Yes, I'm extremely grateful to you, Sam. What would you like me to do?"

He's really big on this grateful, appreciation thing.

He's lying on the bed with his arms pillowed behind his head. "I want you to undress."

Oh? Easy.

I do, slowly until all my thick muscles are on display for him. I smile and step closer. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Eventually. But you still have something thanking to do."

Okay, still no fucking clue what he means, I try to guess. "How about one of my stellar blow jobs?"

"That sounds, nice. After you thank me."

I'm going crazy trying to figure this out and I can't. I lick my lips, my throat starting to get dry. "How?"

"And here I thought you'd never ask. What I want is simple. You will stand outside the door of our room and keep that cock nice and hard for me—ready for me."

"Out-outside? But what if… there are people that could see me." What the fucking hell? Charlie could see me; the staff will see me. And I'm not ashamed of my body, or people seeing it, but knowing I'm out there, naked, on display, my cock hard—that's humiliating.

"Sam, please."

"Are you ungrateful?"

Shit. This is heading into bad territory—territory I've never tested the boundaries of before. "No, I'm very grateful, it's just—"
"Then I don't see the problem."

I'm not going to win this one. With as much courage as I can muster I head out the door of our room, he follows quickly behind me. No one's around at the moment, but that doesn't mean they won't be.

"I want you to stand with your legs spread apart; hands clasped behind your back, looking straight ahead. There is no reason for you to talk or look at anyone; is that clear?"

I nod because I can't speak anyway—I don't trust my voice. My ears are fucking burning and I know my face is flush. This is utterly humiliating.

"Good, boy." He pours lube he's brought with him all over my cock and begins stroking it. My stupid cock fucking like this too much, it only takes a couple of pulls for me to build to orgasm. He stops just in time.

"You'll stay hard like this. If I come out here and see that's not the case, I'm going to think you're ungrateful and we don't want that, do we?"

"No." I didn't want him to think that. I really, really don't.

"If anyone comes by and wants to touch you, you are to let them. What are the rules?"

People are going to touch me? "No looking, no talking."

"Good. I'll even allow you to touch yourself, this time, now and again if you have trouble staying hard, but I don’t think that's going to be a problem," he says looking notably at my aching dick. "No cumming."

He leaves and I want to fucking cry for two reasons: My aching cock at number one and my predicament. There's no doubt someone will walk by I hope for the small mercy that it won't be Charlie.

I stand there feeling like a fucking tool for what seems like an eternity and I do keep my eyes ahead, but I can still see one of the maids walk by with a basket of laundry—I swear she leered at me, but with my eyes straight ahead I can't really tell.

My heart's thudding in my chest and I'm breathing heavy, I try to act like this is fucking normal though there's nothing fucking normal about it.

My second 'visitor' is a man who is much older with white hairs, but he's still a sharp looking fellow, from what I can 'see' of him without looking at him. He doesn't just walk by. "Looks like sir was a bad boy."

I want to argue that I wasn't a 'bad boy,' I'm simply showing 'gratitude,' but I remember I'm not supposed to talk.

"Or maybe you're just trying to please, Master. Either way I'm glad I get the chance to stroke that cock of yours. I've been thinking about it, you know? It's everything I imagined it to be."

You would think all of this would deflate my cock, but it doesn't, it drives it forward, it starts leaking pre-cum. Oh god. If he touches me, I don't know if I can hold my orgasm. But he's going to touch me. it's inevitable.

I try to think of all the things that turn me off: Grandma taking a shower, Kim Kardashian's ass, centipedes (what? Those things fucking creep me out).

It all helps, but when his hand grabs my cock, I can barely stifle the moan. Thankfully he only gives it a few pumps and stops because I don't think anything short of a miracle is going to stop me from cumming if he continues.

"Wow. Master picked a good one. So pliable—you like this." He's not asking, he's telling.

Is that what it fucking looks like? Because I don't.

He laughs. "I can see the defiance in your eyes, boy. But ask yourself, if you don't like it, then why can I barely touch you without you blowing your load in my hand?"

I'm pretty sure men his age are not supposed to say things like: 'blow your load.'

I glare passed him.

"Goodnight, young sir. I shall see you in the morning." He gives my ass a sharp slap. I want to punch him in his stupid face.

It's a little easier when the next person comes, it's a woman and they just don't do it for me like men do, which is why I'd switched solely to men in my years before marrying Sam. I'm still rock hard though. She's more interested in my ass. She's kneeling at my feet and demands I spread wider. I don't want to, but I also don't want her going to get Sam and telling him I'm misbehaving, so I do.

She's got lube with her. Is being a kinky bastard, or bastardette requisite for hire around here? Jesus Christ.

She rubs her fingers along the crease between my balls and my hole then slips her finger inside. She's close enough she could put her mouth on my cock and I hope to god she doesn't. Woman or not, I'll cum if she continues to rub her finger over my prostate like that and suck my cock.

She's nice enough to stop when she sees my level of distress and the pre-cum dribbling from my cock. She does reach her tongue out to lap it up, but then thankfully she's standing. "I like you, sir," she says with a kiss to my cheek. "I'm glad the Master finally let us touch you. It was driving me crazy."

Yep. It's official. They're all sex maniacs.

None of it being 'normal' around here decreases my level of embarrassment and I'm praying for Sam to come out and take me back inside—he's quickly become my savior, he's the only one who can end this.

I get a few more lookers who look at me like I'm some sort of zoo animal, but don't touch. I'm here for their entertainment; they are not here for mine. It seems like forever later Sam comes out to 'check on me.'

"Are you being a good, grateful boy out here?"

I know he wants an answer for that. "Yes," I grit out. Please tell me I can come back in.

"Has anyone seen you Dean?"

I nod and realize I'm crying.

"Good. I like that they've seen you. They can touch you and see you, but not have you—that's just for me. Do you like standing out here, having people you don't know look at you and fondle you in private places?"

I shake my head.

"Don't cry Darling," he says almost kindly as he wipes the tears away. "I think you do like it—your cock says different. But it doesn't matter whether you do or you don't. It matters what I like."

He's gone again before I can say a word. Buck up Winchester. I allow myself to wipe the rest of the tears away and hope I don't get too many more visitors before Sam comes to get me.

When he does I thank whatever deity I need to that Charlie didn't walk by. Of course I will be telling her about this, but I'd rather tell her than for her to get a first row show, like all the other damn perverts in this house.

I'm mad when Sam comes to get me, but still haven't got the balls to stand up to him.

"Thank-you, Darling," he says ignoring the disdain clear on my face. "Now come lay on the bed so I can fuck you."

Everything's forgotten with those words. My cock hurts so bad, I'm willing to forget about being made to stand out on display, so I can cum. It's almost all I was thinking about by the end.

The orgasm is sweeter than anything, yet. I can't believe how fucking incredible—I felt like my body was exploding through my cock.

I'm shocked to hell when in the morning he's there.

He's still laying beside me, but above me, his fingers are carding through my hair—he stops as soon as my eyes open, like he's doing something he shouldn't be. A bit fucking late for that, don't you think?

"Good morning, Dean."

"'Morning," I say with a lazy smile. I can't stop thinking about that orgasm. How the hell does he do it?

And I don't know how I know this, but he's pleased with me this morning. I've done something right.

He gets up to move to the shower. I think about joining him, but I'm afraid. Will he reject me? Do we have showers together?

I put the pillow over my head and block out the sound of the shower hoping to just fall back asleep. He lets me lay like that the whole time he dresses, but when he's ready to leave he says: "I know you're awake, Dean. Take the pillow off your head."

I do. His eyes are smiling at me, but his mouth is drawn in a thin line. "Your underwear drawer has been changed for the week. I want you to wear what's in there under your clothes—I will check, do not disobey me."

He throws a fucking line like that at me, then leaves. Argh. All right, let's see what's in the drawer.

All of my boxer briefs have been switched out and in their place are frilly, lacey and silky panties. They're all special made for me—like the pair from our wedding, so they can hold my large dick. Isn't he fucking sweet?

During my shower, I dread having to put those on, but I talk myself down by telling myself they're just underwear and no one will see them—probably.

I pick a red silk pair. If I have to wear women's underwear—well they're more like 'women's guy's underwear' since technically they are made for someone with a penis—I'd rather silk over lace. My 'wedding panties' were lace and they fucking itched day and night.

The silk are… nice. I have to admit. They're comfortable. If only they didn't have a freaking bow on the ass and two in the front, one for the top of each leg, I wouldn't mind them so much. I'm not a girl dammit.

In protest, I wear sweats. I've already gathered sweats and hoodies aren't Sam's favorite, but if he really didn't want me wearing them he wouldn't have them put in there, right?

Charlie and Sam are there, waiting for me at the breakfast table. Sam gets up to greet me, which he normally doesn't do. He pulls me to him, his hand slips right down my pants and grips my ass cheek, which is covered in red silk. He can't see the color, but he can feel that they're not my usual cotton boxer briefs. "Good boy," he hisses in my ear and bites it. His lips feast on mine and his tongue is trying to worm its way down my throat.

All of this right in front of Charlie.

But do you think I can resist the asshole? No. And it's both reasons you're thinking. I'm terrified what will happen if I were to ever push him away and I want him, right now. I want him to bend me over the muffins and fuck me after he's pulled down my red, silk panties.

He stops though and pulls out my chair for me. I sit thoroughly debauched and blush when Charlie looks at me with that look that says she knows something I don't.

"Somebody has a crush on his husband," she says when he's gone.

"I do not."
"You do. You should've seen your face when he kissed you."

"I was horny, Charlie. Nothing else."
"If you say so, but it was the same look you had in junior high when you followed Jasper around like a lost puppy."

Jasper. My first love.

"You're reading too much into it." I decide to tell her about last night.

"That sounds completely hot! And you got the best orgasm of your life out of it."

"Sounds like you'd fit right in with this house."

"Can I see your panty drawer?"

"No!" I shouldn't have fucking told her.

"Oh, c'mon. It's not that bad."

"Did you miss the part where people fondled me against my will? That's rape."

"It's not rape, Dean."

"Well it's bad touching. I should know, we had that lady come with her funky fraggle rock puppet in kindergarten. She taught us all about bad-touching."

"It sounds to me like the bad-touching turned you on."

"Fuck off."

"Can I at least see the ones you're wearing? You gave it up for everybody else last night," she laughs.

I push her gently.

"Oh c'mon, Dean."
"Fuck, fine." I pull down my pants and show her, quick then pull my joggers back up. "There, happy?"

"So he's a little kinky. Have fun with it. You should see what Dorothy and I do sometimes."

"Yeah. Don't want to know. Now that show and tell time's over, what we going to do?"

"Let's finish our exploration of the gardens."

We start a ways back today, each garden is more amazing than the next; none of the doors are locked, except for one.

"It won't budge."
"That's weird. No others, just this one," Charlie says.
Of course it makes us want to see what's inside all the more. "Maybe we can climb over the wall," I suggest.
"Let's do it, but we're going to have to come back tomorrow if we don't want to miss your curfew."

"I don't have a curfew."
"What else do you call it? Daddy says you have to be in by a certain time, you must obey him."

"Ew! Don't call him that. We fuck. Would you fuck your daddy?"

"Not my actual daddy, but it's just another form of kink play. Dorothy and I—"
"Okay, okay, I won't tell you what we do, but it's a form of kink play. You should try it."

"Aren't you the expert? No thanks. I've got enough kink in my life with fucking strangers pulling at my cock." Which by the way, did nothing to ease the staff's tension around me. Some of the very same perverts from last night who served us today were still only professional; talking and looking at me no more than they had to. It was like the rules were removed for last night, but were clearly back in effect today.

"All right. You're the one missing out though."

It's clear Sam's displeased when he sits down at the dinner table. He's not nearly as warm as he was this morning. I don't get a kiss; he and Charlie make a bit of small talk, I know to keep my mouth shut.

"Charlie, please excuse us, Dean and I have a matter to attend to. He'll see you tomorrow."

Even Charlie looks worried. My stomach drops. What did I do? Whatever it is, I'm in trouble.

He stares at me awhile before he says: "A member on staff said they saw you showing your panties off for Miss Charlie. Is that true?"

Oh God. He says that like it's completely normal, my face flushes and I have to try and string words together in a sentence that explain what happened in his sentence. A sentence I can't even believe is fact. "Well, yeah, but I wasn't showing them off, really. She wanted to see them."

"So you thought it would be okay to just pull your pants down in the middle of the house and show your panties to anyone you pleased? Have you no decorum?"

What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck?

"But last night, with the naked and the fondling. It wasn't anything like that."

"Last night was orchestrated by me. I get to do those things, not you. I thought I made it clear that you require permission from me to do things."

"I'm sorry, Sam. It won't happen again. I really didn't think it was a big deal—it was for five seconds."

"You're damn right it won't happen again. Anyone could have seen you, doing as you please in our home. Someone did see you in fact. I don't want it getting around that I have no control over my own husband, am I understood?"

"Yes, Sam." I hope he doesn't call my brother.

"Stand up, come here, now."

My stomach is in knots, my throat is dry, Jesus. Take a deep breath Dean.

I stand up and make my way over to him. "Hands on the table."

When my palms are face down on the table I feel him reach for the waistband of my sweats; he pulls them straight down to my ankles. Next to go are my red silk panties, only those aren't pulled all the way down, they're pulled down around my ass cheeks so I can feel them cut into the under side of my peach-shaped mounds.

Sam begins spanking me, the slaps are loud and I'm sure can be heard across the house. They're not just loud, they fucking hurt and it's not long before I'm crying without wanting to; fat tears streaming down my face.

He doesn't stop when servants come in to tidy up around us and he doesn't let up either, so I'm doubly embarrassed. Never mind that they can see me getting a bare bottomed spanking, in red silk panties, but they can see how weak I am, can't even hold it together for a spanking.

He spanks a long time. The longer he spanks the more embarrassed I am; especially knowing we have a house-wide audience.

When he's done, my ass cheeks are throbbing, I've got snot down my face; I want to crawl under a rock.

"Corner. Ten minutes. Pants down," he says.

I think about arguing, but not long, I don't want another spanking. I move to the corner, best I can with pants around my ankles and stand there to endure more humiliation as the house staff cleans up the rest of our dinner.

Ten minutes are over when he comes to pull my panties and joggers back up for me, I'm still sniffling a bit. I went through a roller coaster of emotions as I stood in the corner, one of which was definitely pain. But the other predominate emotion is shame, thinking about how upset he is at me. I can barely handle it. I want to beg his forgiveness.

But I can't bring myself to say a word. "Go to our room; get ready for bed."

I practically run out of there and to our room. As I get ready for bed, I can't help wanting to check out the damage to my ass. It must be bruised; Sam's got a hand like lead. It's red, like really red, but only a few slight bruises forming. It's not as bad as I thought.

I get ready for bed like he asks, but I can't get in the bed, I'm too restless. I pace thinking about what I should say and how I should beg forgiveness.

I have a speech planned, but it all flies out the door when he walks in. I run to him and put my arms around him; I start crying again. "I'm sorry. Sorry. So sorry! Please don't get rid of me."

His arms come around me slowly; he nuzzles his head in my hair. "All is forgiven, Dean. And get rid of you? Not even if you wanted it."

I nod into his chest.

"Come. Lie down on your stomach, I want to apply some ointment to your bottom."

He's gentle when he pulls my pajama bottoms down and it's a relief when he pulls the new set of panties I'd put on down. They're tight and were pressing against the raw flesh there.

"You put new panties on, Dean? Don't they hurt?"

"Uh, well, yeah, but you never said I couldn't so I just thought—"

"You're learning. I am pleased Dean. But yes, you may take these off, do it before I rub the ointment on."

I do, relishing in the praise. I'd done something right.

The ointment feels good, but it doesn't take away the sting.

"I'm still going to fuck you, Dean. Just because you were naughty, it doesn't mean I should be punished."

He's careful, but it still hurts; doesn't stop me from cumming; my cock doesn't seem to mind pain, or humiliation.

It's a lot earlier than our usual bedtime. "I have some work to complete Darling, but it's time for you to go to bed. Naughty boys, get early bedtimes."

I blush at that, though I don't know why. It's not like everything else he's done isn't more embarrassing. I want to be alone anyway—I feel miserable and my ass hurts.

Sitting is uncomfortable the next day, but not unbearable. So I sit and endure Charlie looking at me funny.

Sam isn't as handsy, but his kiss is a lot less chaste than it was the first few weeks. The kind of kiss he gives me can ease my nerves or heighten them I've realized.

I still can't say much to him. He's my husband, but we are in no way equals and I don't think Sam ever wants us to be. He likes me obedient, pliant, submissive. I try.

When he's gone, Charlie is all over me. "What happened last night?"
"You couldn't hear?"
"Of course I could hear, the whole house could hear, but why?"
That reddens my cheeks. The ones on my face. So there'll be no end to the blushing then.

"Because of you and your curiosity."

"Guess that means I can't see…"
"I wouldn't let you see even if I could."
"Okay, okay. Touchy."

"Let's just, go check out that garden." I need a distraction.

"You know, I am sorry and I really didn't intend on you getting in trouble."
"Yeah, I know. We're cool."
"So I'm thinking, maybe you should ask about going in this garden. Maybe it's locked up for a reason."

"I've already thought of that too, but I'm too damn curious and I think I've got a loophole. He hasn't forbid anything on the property yet."
"Something being locked is a pretty clear indication of forbidden."

"Maybe it's locked by accident."
"Let's just do it the once, just to see, and then we'll stay away."

"But how we going to get in now? If we take ladders and crap the staff will know, they're obviously loyal to the guy."

"If there's a lock, there must also be a key and when we find the key we can get into the garden…"
"What are you quoting?"
"Nothing. Let's just go, I have an idea."

"What's your idea?" She asks as we begin the long trek out the gardens.
"I watched this show once, a little girl find a secret garden and the key is buried right in front of the damn door. Well actually, this bird, a robin showed her where it was, but I had the benefit of watching the movie and—"

Charlie's laughing so hard; I almost forget about how much my ass hurts. Almost. "What?"

"Too many… things… t-t-to make fun of… overloaded…"
"I will punch you." For the record, no I won't and she knows that, but Charlie likes being treated like one of the guys and I would have said that to a dude friend of mine. Though with the dude friend I would have actually meant it—she'll never know.

"Not only have you watched a show where a little girl finds a secret garden, you actually think it's an accurate descriptor of life. That's so not going to happen."

"Shut-up. You don't know. It's worth a shot."

Screw her. I'm trying my idea. I've got nothing else left in life that's mine but this.

I dig around with a spoon I'd stolen from breakfast, but nothing. There's no old-fashioned looking key thing and I'm ridiculously disappointed.

"Awww, Dean. I'm sorry," she's genuine this time. Charlie's been great this whole time. I know what she really thinks of my predicament, but she's trying to make the best of it for my sake.

I sit down on my hot, red ass that's wearing blue silk today and let the cool ground soothe it. Even Charlie's left without anything to say. We sit for an hour in silence. It's a dreary cold day; dark clouds overhead, but not raining. Typical spring where we are.

I'm staring at nothing when suddenly Charlie whispers in a hiss, "Dean. Look."
I look up; a robin is staring at me with its head tilted to the side. No fucking way. "Stop making fun, Charlie," I hiss back.

"I'm fucking not, Dean. I swear," she whispers back. "It's been sitting there five minutes. I waited before I said something because I knew you'd think I was making fun of you and I kinda just thought it was mere coincidence—but I don't think that now."

Huh. I look back at my new friend. "Hey buddy. What you doing here?"

He gives a little tweet and starts running, we follow. He takes us around back of the wall and starts pecking at the ground where there's a tangle of brush overtop of the spot he's interested in. Then he flies to the top of the wall and hops inside taunting us.


I start digging under the brush. I'm digging and digging—that bird better not have fucking led us on a goose chase. I almost can't believe it when I hit something. It's an old-fashioned looking key, just like in the movie. I hold it up for Charlie.

"Shit, Dean. What are the chances?"

"I don't know." I'm just as speechless as she is. We run back to the front and slide the key in. It takes a bit of maneuvering—clearly it hasn't been used in a while—but I get it to open. We go inside.

Right away a feeling takes over me. This place is enchanting—it needs work, but much of what was here once before still exists, with a bit of love it could be what it once was. There's a pond and a tree with a broken swing. The robin is perched there looking at me with pride.

"Oh no you don't Dean. I know that look on your face—you can't have this garden. Pick another one."

"But I want this one."

"Do you want to piss of your husband again?"

"He won't find out. Please Charlie, I need something. When you leave it's going to suck again."

"I'll come back, often as I can."
"Often as he'll let you—you mean."

"Don't give me that look—promise me you won't come back here, I have a bad feeling about this place. Something… happened here."

I take a last look around. "Fine. I promise."

We do sit in there for a while and explore with the robin. We have our day there, then we lock it up for good.


"Stop pouting," Sam says annoyed with me. It's been four days since Charlie's left; I'm bored to tears.

"Sorry," I mumble.

His mouth straightens to the firm line that means he's going from annoyed to displeased; I straighten up.

"You miss your friend."
"I do, but…" Aw fuck it. "I get lonely here Sam. Couldn't I please get a hobby, join a group, have a job?"

"We've already discussed this."
"No. We didn't. You dictated rules at me. I agreed by default."

His fork clatters noisily in the aftermath of my words, he's piercing me with his dangerous eyes. Shit.

"That's because I make the rules and you follow them. I am your husband. You obey my rules."

"Yes, you do make the rules," I say trying to backtrack, though I don't think there is any backtracking from what I've said. In fact, what I've said is a huge foot in the mouth in terms of proper husband etiquette. I'll be lucky if I'm not punished for that. "But couldn't you bend on that rule, just a little bit? I'm responsible. I can be trusted. My brother let me have a job before you see…"

I trail off when the room suddenly gets darker, Sam having sucked all the brightness from it to power his anger. "I don't care what your brother allowed you to do. You follow my rules now. Campbell's are not just standard; we are traditional. The spouse remains in the home, unless otherwise requested at the Head of House's behest. And a job? That would bring shame to our good name. People would think I couldn’t take care of my own. Do you even think?"

My appetite's gone again. I let my fork fall too.

"This is the last I want to hear about a job, or leaving the house. I will again chalk this up to a misunderstanding. I won't the next time."

I nod. "May I be excused?"

"I'm not an idiot. You want to leave because you are upset with me with no cause to be. You are familiar with society's rules, are you not?"
"Well, yeah, but—"
"Your brother led a standard home. I know what your father was like, but all of that nonsense was corrected by your brother, was it not?"

I don't even know how to answer that, but I know what he means. It didn't help the Winchester name when my mother had her job. Adam didn't allow Tiffany to work; he had to show we were still strong financially. My involvement in the company wasn't an issue because at the time, since my sister was already married off, I was next in line to run the company if anything should happen to my brother, since his eldest wasn't old enough yet.

I nod.

"If you would like to be excused from the table early and before finishing the meal, so generously provided for you—you may, but you will take it up to our room and you will eat everything. We don't waste food in this house. You can stay there for the night and tomorrow too, or you can sit and finish your meal nicely. Chose."

I think about storming off to our room, but I know I've pushed him as far as I can without serious repercussions. "I'm sorry," I say and pick up my fork.

The next morning is the same, but at least my boxer briefs are back—the panties are still there. I decide to work on acceptance today. He isn't going to budge on me leaving the house or getting a job. I'm going to be an unhappy boy if I mope over it. There's got to be something I can do around here, until he decides we're having kids, if we are; it's never been discussed.

I try really hard at breakfast; maybe it's time to get to know him a bit. I understand we're not equals, but he's still my husband and I think that's got to count for something.

I begin with another apology. "Sam, I was a dick last night. You're right. I know what I can expect from you and that's always been made clear. I was acting like a child. Can you forgive me?"

"I can always forgive you."

Crap. I know what that voice fucking means.

"Take your shirt off."

I'm still not completely comfortable being naked in front of the staff ('cause you know this is going there) but I'm well past hesitating over it. I take it off immediately.

"Pants too."

This is where I hope I'll score brownie points. My big plan was to give him a soul-searing kiss and shove his hand down my pants to feel what I'm wearing; of course he takes it well beyond that.

I remove the pants and I've totally surprised him. "Do you… Do you like them?" Yeah, I'm fucking shy, all right?

"Lace? I got the impression you didn't like lace."

"B-but I thought you did? They're for you to make up for last night."

He may not be smiling, but he's pleased, I can tell. "I like them. Leave those on and come sit in my lap. I'll be feeding you this morning."

How I must look to the servants that come in and out to bring us food, in pink lace panties, sitting on Sam's clothed lap and eating toast and sausage and whatever else he decides to feed me, straight from his hand. There's something embarrassing and intimate about it. I can't say I like it, but it's not nearly as bad as standing outside out bedroom and being fondled, or being spanked hard in front of everyone.

Sam's having fun. I didn't think the guy was capable. I'll do this every morning, if he'll just damn well relax. I know my nerves will be better for it.

By the time we near the end of the meal, Sam can't keep his hands off me. He's nibbling and biting at my neck, his hand is grabbing at my dick through the lace; the scratchiness feels good when Sam's hand is attached to it. "This was a bad idea; you're going to make me late for work—I'm not leaving this house without fucking you. Hard."

When he takes me, I'm bent over the dining room table and trying to grab purchase onto something as he rams his cock into me, my hips smash against the edge (they'll definitely be bruises) and I'm moaning loud enough to wake up the dead.

His cum is still leaking from my ass when he flips me around and sits me on the table, he kisses me and it's hard to believe he doesn't mean that kiss. My parents were also an arranged marriage, but they fell in love. I can live with his rules, I don't need to be an equal, but to have no hope for love? Yeah, I know that makes me a sap.

At least it's easy to pretend when he kisses me like that.

"Go get cleaned up, Baby, but wear those for me today, I want to fuck you in them when I get home."

Baby. He's never called me that. I like it. And he almost asked me, almost. I nod and lean in for another kiss.

Chapter Text

This house is like clockwork. Everything's the same. But today starts out a little fucking different.

At breakfast, Sam announces: "We're going out tonight. I expect you to be ready by the time I arrive home. Your attire will be laid out on our bed for you."

It's the first time we're leaving the house since he carried me over the threshold. Yeah, I didn't mention that, but he did in fact carry me over the threshold in my white dress.

I'm nervous. He hasn't said where we're going, who we're meeting; nothing. At least I'm used to high-end functions and since this is Sam Campbell, most important man in the world, I assume it's a high-end function.

But at the same time I'm nervous, I'm excited—I get to leave the house.

I can't stop thinking about it all damn day and it feels like I've done a million things just waiting for tonight to come. I think of all the positives: I'll be hanging off the arm of the most delicious man alive, I'll get to talk to other people, and did I mention? I get to leave the freaking mansion.

But when I go upstairs to get ready all my hopes are dashed; I don't want to go anywhere.

It is gorgeous; I'll give it that. The dress is grey chiffon (shut up, my sister is really into fashion) on top with a silky grey-green bow that ties high, under the ribcage and flows down the skirt. The bodice crosses over the chest; just over where the clavicle meets shoulder and v's down the back. Under the grey skirt is a second floofy grey-green skirt, also made of chiffon. There are crystals down the front. It's got matching strappy heels.

But there's no way I'm going out of the house in a fucking dress, again, so I leave my jeans and t-shirt on and stubbornly play video games until my husband gets home; that's where he finds me. "Dean? Why aren't you dressed? I asked you to be ready when I got home."

"You know why. I'm not wearing a dress. I'd rather stay home."

"Staying home is not one of your options. Go get changed, now. We're going to be late as it is. There's no time for this temper tantrum."

"I mean it, Sam. If you want me to go, I'll put on a tux, but not that." I continue to play video games, if only to keep my hands busy. I've never fucking stood up to him like this before; I'm scared as hell. My hands are shaking, but I'm trying to hide that by moving the controller lots.

"You have five seconds to get your ass upstairs and put it in the dress I've picked out for you, or you'll be getting a second punishment in addition to the spanking you'll be receiving once we get home for your disrespect and disobedience."

I'm not going to fucking disobey an order like that. I do my best to refrain from throwing the controller at him; when I get up and storm past him. He follows.

He's behind me when I reach the bedroom; I'm in the middle of a stand-off with the thing when I feel his fingers at the base of my shirt, he lifts it over my head and off. "I'm very displeased with you."

Yeah. What else is new? "I don't want to wear a dress, please Sam."

"I don't care what you want." He reaches for the buttons of my jeans, undoes them and pulls them off me too, my boxer briefs are the next to go. When I'm standing naked before him, he seizes the opportunity to warm my ass.

"Ow! I thought you were going to spank me later?" I complain.

"What part of I'm displeased with you do you not understand?" He says as he continues to spank me. I shut the hell up. When he's done, my ass feels hot and it's enough my eyes have welled up, but I was successful holding the tears back.

"Now, get dressed."

First there are panties. Of course. I notice they're grey-green silk, probably to match the dress, though it does cross my mind that he knows I prefer silk to lace.

He helps me with the dress by lifting it over my head and pulling it down as I stick my arms through. He zips up the side for me. "Sit."
I sit on the bed and all the chiffon and crinoline bunches around me; he slips a shoe onto each foot and buckles them up for me. He pulls me to standing. "See? You look absolutely divine, Darling. There's nothing wrong with a man wearing a dress."

Easy for him to say. How about he wears the dresses from now on?

"It's just missing one thing."
Out of his pocket he pulls a necklace that's got a blue topaz surrounded in diamonds dangling from its chain. He fastens it around my neck. He stands back to look at me. "I was wrong, one more thing. Come with me."

He drags me into our in suite bathroom and sits me on the closed toilet lid. "Pull your skirt up as much as you can."

I never thought I'd hear those words spoken to me. I do, because despite his careful care and attention of me, he's pissed. He fills up the sink with water and begins wetting down my legs. He confirms what's happening when he smoothes shaving cream on next—yep, he's shaving my fucking legs.

That's when quiet tears, the ones I'd held back, start falling from my eyes. There's nothing I can do to stop him without infuriating him, I have to sit there and watch him remove all my nice hair from my thick, bulky legs.

My wedding dress was long and completely covered my legs—I only had to shave my armpits, but this dress is shorter only falling to knee height.

"Stop it, Dean. You're making a big deal out of nothing."

I sniffle; bite my lip and nod. What else am I supposed to fucking do?

I wipe my tears away as fast as they come, 'cause try as I might, they won't stop coming. When did I turn into a crying pussy?

I try to make my crying less noticeable, since I can't stop, but he notices anyway and looks up at me with burning eyes.

"I'm sorry. I am trying to stop. I swear." I rub my eyes again, he returns to his work. I focus on him.

He's diligent and careful, bent over in his black tux, like he's doing something really important and not just shaving my legs. I get to learn something about my husband. I'll bet he approaches every task like this, big or small.

When he's done, he rubs lavender lotion over my shaved skin, taking his time—even on our borrowed time budget—to make sure the lotions seeps into every crevice.

"Lift your arm."

If you can believe it, I'm still wiping tears.

"Come here," he says shortly when he finished and pulls me up and into his arms. He encases me protectively and I cry harder; he runs a hand through my sort hair like he did sometime ago and never has again.

"Shh… It's going to be okay. Why do you have such a problem wearing a dress?"

"I'm not a girl."

"You're not. I thought we already established that and that I don't intend for you to be a girl in a dress. You're quite clearly a man in a dress—lots of men wear them and more should. Haven't you seen the latest Rolling Stone issue? Brad Pitt owns dresses and wears them."

"He does?"

"He does."


We sway side to side—it's nice, he's comforting me. I was beginning to think it was against Campbell ideals to comfort one's spouse. Too soon, it's over. "Wash your face, Dean. We have to go."

In the limo, he's telling me to close my legs. "I expect you to use proper dress etiquette."

Right. 'Cause I know what that is. Why do women wear short dresses anyway? I didn't have to have any kind of 'etiquette' in my long wedding dress, since the length hid my lack of said etiquette. I sat with my legs open the whole night.

But closing my legs isn't as simple as he's made it sound and I have to cross at my ankles to keep them splaying open. I know women cross their legs, but my thighs are too thick for that; this will have to do Mr. Campbell. I do adjust my skirt over top of my lap, giving him eyes that ask, 'that better?'

He gives a curt nod that goes straight to my fucking cock. Something about being in this damn dress and him giving me rules how to act in the thing, then getting his approval… Do we have time to fuck in the limo?

His eyes say they want to fuck me too, but he doesn't make any moves on me and there's no way I'm making moves on him. I don't really make moves on him. The other morning was about as brave as I got; least for now—I'm just working my way up. I don’t know what it is about him that terrifies the shit outta me. It's not like he's ever done anything other than spank my ass, which was no different than I could expect from Adam if I misbehaved.

I pull the mid-length coat I'm wearing over my dress, tighter around me, and wonder if there's anyway I can concoct to keep it. I could say I'm cold—I doubt he'd believe me.

We arrive and I'm 'helped' out of the limo by the man who's opened my door. He doesn't seem phased that I'm clearly wearing a dress, despite it being mostly covered by my dress coat—I guess the heels are a dead give away. He helps me exactly as one would a lady. I could reject his help, but I suppose it's part of 'wearing a dress and heels etiquette' because there's really no other way for me to get out of the limo nicely and without opening my legs for all to see my panties if I don’t accept his help. Plus, I don't want to make a scene.

"Don't you look lovely, Mister Campbell."
At first I think he's mocking me, but as I study his face, I realize he's serious. He knows I'm a man, that I'm not trying to be a lady and yet he helped me like one. It makes me wonder if Sam didn't have a hand in this. Maybe he instructed them to help his husband in a dress? For all I know this is his function. The whole thing is weird.

"Thank-you," I say politely. And Sam is there to take my arm from him. I take a deep breath before we walk in and prepare for the staring to begin. Showtime kids. If Brad Pitt can do this, so can I—I'll pretend they're the odd ones.

But it's easier said than done and I have a hard time relinquishing my jacket. Sam has to 'help' me out of it, since he can tell what I'm thinking, that I'm about to tell the nice coat-check lady I want to keep it.

But he practically wrangles me out of it and smiles at me amused. The people in our proximities eyes do go wide once I'm unveiled, and I wince in anticipation for their hushed mocking and judging eyes.

None of that happens. They seem to know who I am, most likely because they know who Sam is. "You look beautiful Mr. Campbell," a few say as they walk by. I still blush, not comfortable at all and now I have to walk with Sam in heels all the way across the damn floor. I fucking hate heels. Whoever invented these deathtraps should be forced to wear them for all eternity.

I do gather during our trek, that this is a high-end function and it is Sam's function, well Campbell Inc's anyway. I'm still not sure what for and I'm not bitter at all by the way… that I wasn't important enough to be told. I'm just a trophy husband after all…

A couple approaches us. The woman looks me up and down appraisingly. She must think I'm a freak. "Wow! You are stunning. He's stunning! Don’t you think he's stunning, Perry?"

Perry, the man with her, agrees.

"Dean, forgive my sister. She means well," Sam says. "This is Jules and Perry is her husband."

"I've been dying to meet you Dean, but my brother wants to keep you all to himself," she says.

"I told you, Jules. I wanted to give him time to adjust to his new living space," Sam says and I feel like a pet rabbit.

Nobody notices my bitter look. Jules winks at Sam. "I know brother; just teasing."

I feel a little twinge of jealousy at their easy relationship—I wish I could talk with him so freely.

"Sorry we couldn't make the wedding Sweets, we really just… couldn't. I hope you can forgive us. We did see a picture; you looked equally, if not more stunning in that amazing wedding dress."

I blush. Does she think I like wearing dresses? Oh God. That's what people think. That's why they're being so polite—I'm the husband of their boss and I'm wearing a dress, they're trying to be polite about my 'strange fetish.' Somehow this is worse than them making fun of me—which they're probably doing behind my back anyway.

And how the hell did she see a picture of me? I haven't even seen pictures of me on our wedding day—not that I want to. I was a little glad when hardly any of Sam's family showed up. I didn't want our first meeting to happen in a dress. It was mostly business acquaintances, so I assumed that for him and his family, this marriage was exactly that—a business deal.

"We will come see you Jules—you know we have to visit Grandfather first."

Wait. That dude's still alive? Since Sam had the big house and runs the company, I assumed that man was long gone. Man, I really do know nothing about the man I married or his family.

"I know, I know. Nice to meet you Dean. We'll see you at the table," she says.

We carry on to our table, a large round one with at least ten chairs and Sam pulls out one for me. I sit grateful to be partially out of view of judging eyes.

"Are you not talking to me?" Sam says after twenty minutes of us sitting there, alone, in silence. I think he's actually teasing me. Is this his version of flirting?

"I'm talking to you," I defend. "Just don’t have anything to say."

"I know. How about a glass of wine? Waiter!" He doesn't wait for me to answer and just orders, but I won't object to wine right now; I need something to calm my nerves. Maybe with enough wine in me, this night won't be half bad.

When the wine is flowing through me, I become comfortable enough to ask him questions and find out that this is a benefit the company holds annually, raising money for a children's hospice. I'm impressed.

I also learn Jules works with Sam.

Huh. So Perry was the one married off, I guess he's like me; well, not just like me—he's not wearing a dress. But he must have to follow strict Campbell protocol as well. Suddenly I do want to chat with him.

I get my opportunity when Sam and Jules excuse themselves saying they have to chat with a few people. I'm glad they seem to want to go alone, I have no desire to get up from this spot.

"So… it's Perry, right?"

"Yes. I've been looking forward to meeting you. I'll bet we have a lot in common."

Is he for real? Can he see? How could he say something like that?

"I doubt it—you're not wearing a dress. Yeah that's right, it's not my dress fetish, it's Sam's." Let's just get that clear from the beginning.

He looks confused. "But you look so good in it."

Has the world gone bat-shit crazy?

"Do you see any other men wearing dresses? And I know some men wear dresses, but it still isn't a common thing to do."

"That's because we're all cowards," he says and I suspect him of trying to make me feel better after what I've told him. "You're the bravest man here—everyone thinks so."

I was right. They are talking about me.

I pout a little not really wanting to talk about it anymore and realizing I'm only drawing more attention to myself by doing so.

"You know, they'll probably let us hang out Dean," he says knowing now's a good time to change the subject. "Campbell's make exceptions to the rules for family. If you're anything like me, I know you're probably dying to get out of the house. I'll ask Jules to invite you over."

Ha! So he does follow the same rules—it makes me feel a little better. "You can't leave the house either?"

He laughs. "'Course not. You were raised on Earth weren't you?"

Yeah, yeah. I know. Most married off spouses don't leave the home without their significant other, or in the least permission. But I liked what my parents had.

"Wait. I get it. You're the scandalous sort. Winchester was your maiden name, yes?"

I nod.

"I see. Your father was a progressive," he says that with a down turn in his voice. Progressives are not looked upon highly and the term is more of a euphemism; people still attempting polite in the face of something that disgusts him.

"My brother wasn't," I defend. "He's standard."

"Yes, yes. That's good. And I am sorry about your parents, Dean."

When Sam and Jules come back, dinner is served, then there are speeches. I can't help but admire Sam while he's up there. He's someone different than I know and he's exactly the person I know at the same time. He's every bit the hard, austere man he is at home, but he's animated. I'm proud that he's my husband.

Jules gives a speech next and mentions a brother who's not here tonight. And last, Samuel Campbell Senior takes the podium. He's an imposing man and I see where Sam gets all of his hardness. He's a serious, bald man with black eyes.

Sam mentioned we have to meet him, so I expect him to come over to meet me, he doesn't. He wasn't at the wedding either.

The music starts after the speeches finish and it seems every man in the room, except my husband, wants to dance with me. I don't want to dance with them. Never mind that I don't want to draw anymore attention to 'me in my dress' than has already been drawn, but I'm not an expert in heels and I can barely dance in them. How do women wear these things anyway? They fucking hurt already and I've hardly walked in them. And let's not forget: I hate dancing. Even in flat shoes, I wouldn't be volunteering myself.

But Sam let's them, in fact he insists quietly in my ear that it's part of my duties as the 'Mr. Campbell.' I feel like a borrowed toy.

My first 'caller' is a man that works in Sam's office. He assures me he's married and is mostly into women; that this is totally plutonic. I see. Sucking up to the boss by making nice with this spouse, yeah, yeah, okay buddy.

"You are handsome though," he tells me. "I don't think I've ever been so attracted to a man; if only Sam hadn't got to you first."

Not that I should've dignified that with a response, but I can't help the snarky words leaving my mouth. "I guess it's the dress."

He's serious when he says, "oh, absolutely. You're utterly gorgeous in that thing, Dean. You've no idea."

I scowl at him. "What? Does it bring out my more feminine features?"

"Feminine features? I don't think we can use the word feminine to describe you. No way. If anything, the dress shows just how masculine you are; it suits you somehow—wish I'd thought of it, but figures only Sam Campbell would have the balls." He spins me away then pulls me close.

He's suddenly not feeling so very plutonic, if you know what I mean. Lucky for him, the song ends, otherwise I was going to take my very masculine knee and smash his junk with it. If I'm in a dress and heels, I get to knee dudes in the junk who get fresh with me—that's the exception to the never knock another dude in the junk rule.

He brings me back to Sam and my ass hasn't even touched the seat when another gentleman approaches me. Seriously, where are the chicks? And why isn't Sam going all caveman on them? Doesn't he care that half the room apparently wants me? Then I remember he let his staff fondle me; he's probably getting off on this someway.

Three dances and three men later, I beg Sam in his ear, so as not to be rude to my current 'caller.' I get that part of my husbandly duties include entertaining his work friends, partners and employees, but this is ridiculous. "Please, Sam. My feet hurt—you try wearing heels all night."

"Would you mind coming back in two songs, Bart?" He says. "Tired dance feet."
"Of course, but don't forget me, Dean."

"Oh I won't," I say through my teeth. "I'll forget you right into next Tuesday," I mutter when he's out of earshot.

"Be nice," Sam says, but he's smiling. "Here, give me a foot."

He rolls his eyes annoyed and reaches down pulling the foot closest to him into his lap. He slowly peels off the evil shoe and oh, OH, I think that shoe coming off is better than an orgasm—I moan and lean back in my chair. Then he starts massaging my gross, sweaty foot. It feels fucking amazing.

"That bad?"
"Yes. I vote we throw those shoes away when we get home."

"But they look lovely on you."
"Tell that to the plantar fasciitis I'm going to develop." I grab my wine off the table and take a huge swig. "What you're doing now feels good though."

I almost cry when he straps my foot back into the shoe, but then he starts on the other one. When he's done, they both feel much better. It's bought me some more time in them at least. And more time on the dance floor I realize.

Bart comes back after my allotted two dance break and it starts again. I find drinking wine helps with the pain, but I do start getting a bit tipsy from consuming too fast.

It's not 'till five dances later, my newest dance partner points out, "wow! The great Sam Campbell smitten—who woulda thunk it? But with you I can see why."


"Your husband. He watches you—well mostly you, he's been watching your dance partners too; making sure we keep our hands above waist level—but he's watching you."

He is?

"Don't look so surprised."

But I fucking am. I look over to see if it's true; when I see him look away quickly, like he's doing something he shouldn't be, I know he is so watching me.

"Have you been watching me?" I accuse; soon as I sit down, hoping to escape the floor for a dance or two—surely I've danced with all the men in this room and I don't do encores.

"Yes," he smiles. "Why wouldn't I be? You're the most enchanting thing in this room. Everyone wants you, but they can't have you—you come home with me."

It's probably the best thing he's ever said to me; I'm speechless.

Now that I'm not dancing, the combination of the sweat drying on my skin and the breeze coming in from all the open doors, I start to shiver. Sam's eyes tense up. "Are you cold, Darling?"

"A bit. I'm okay though."

He shakes his head. "Must you always be so, stubborn?" He's already shucking out of his tux jacket and it's quickly placed around my shoulders.

"Thank-you," I say making sure to be grateful—Sam's big on that. And this might really suck, but I can't help, but think all of his niceties: the foot massage, the compliments, the jacket, might just be for show. He's not been unkind to me, but 'till this point he's been rather cold. All this warmth is almost discomfiting—it's got to be for a reason, right?

Something niggles at me. That's not true. You were alone when he shaved your legs. Remember how kind he was then? Remember the consoling?"

But the negative part of me wants to chalk it up to: We were running late; he did what he had to make me presentable and fast. Who wants to take a crying husband to a ball?

I have yet another caller and I've rested, so I don't bother Sam with asking he cancel for me; resigned to my part I begin to stand; I'm surprised when he pulls me down into his lap. "Dean only has one dance left in him and I think it's for me," he tells the man politely. "Next time."

"Oh god, thanks Sam. I am eternally grateful," I say when the disappointed caller walk away.

"Good. You can repay me by dancing. I wasn't kidding."

A new song starts, and it's some kinda old-timey tune. He pulls me onto the dance floor; I'm still in his tux jacket.

"You can dance. Every dance with the guy who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight.

We start in a two-step—just because I hate dancing, doesn't mean I wasn't forced to learn.

"You can smile. Every smile for the man who held your hand 'neath the pale moon light."

He spins me, big and my skirt flares beneath his jacket, my feet protest a bit in the awful shoes, but the wine has them feeling little pain.

"But don't forget who's takin' you home and in whose arms you're gonna be. So darlin' save the last dance for me."

It's romantic. More romantic than our wedding dance was. We continue to mesmerize the floor with our dancing skills, him leading; me following. People stop dancing to watch us. He's smiling and I'm smiling back at him, when we near the end of the song, he lifts me to his body, holding my waist and one of my hands and we spin into the world's most amazing kiss.

Everyone had stopped dancing by this point and they watch us as we still kiss, practically making out on the dance floor. They all clap.

We leave after that. I give Sam back his tux jacket when it's time to put on my dress-coat. His sister and brother-in-law walk us to the entrance. "It seems our husbands have plans of 'hanging' out."

"Do they?" Sam's eyes pin me.

"I—we—that is…"

Sam laughs with his sister. "Yes, we'll set something up, Jules."


In the limo I assume Sam's going to be all over me because, well, I want to be all over him, but he's suddenly gone back to being his cold self. The wine is still fuelling me." Are you mad at me? Did I so something?"

"Have you forgotten about earlier, Dean?"

Oh, right. That. "Uh… a little bit, yeah."

"Well I haven't and I hate to have to end our night punishing you. I rather thought we had a nice time."

I thought so too. "It was a nice time—I swear I've learned my lesson; no need to punish me." I give him my best Dean smile the one Charlie accuses me of using to get my way out of murder.

"I do need to punish you."

Does my smile have no effect on him at all? "Why? I thought you were the boss? You can do what you want."
"Because you broke two rules knowing full well you were breaking them."
"Do we have to follow the rules all the time?"
"Yes. I like the rules. I agree with the rules—they are good rules. I wish you'd stop breaking them."

At home he helps me out of the fancy dress; but unlike my wedding dress, he hangs this one up on the door outside of our closet. I have a feeling that one's getting dry-cleaned and will be added to my side of our closet.

He helps me take off the shoes and the panties; the nerves pool in my gut the entire time—what's he planning on doing to me?

He tosses a pair of thongs at me and tells me to put them on; I do and when I next look up, he's got a switchblade in his hand. He's holding it out for me to take.

I lose it.

"What the fuck, Sam? You want me to slice myself up?"

He pulls the switchblade back looking offended. "You are such a… a drama queen."

I didn't know he used words like 'drama queen.'

"This isn't for slicing yourself up, you imbecile. It's for cutting a switch so I can tan your miserable hide."

I think… I think I've pissed him off, more. But whoa, wait; cut a switch? Naked? He slaps the blade into my hand, along with a flashlight. "Out by the duck pond there's a tree—cut a willow switch and bring it back to me."

"A willow switch?"
"Have you never had to cut one, Dean?"
I shake my head instead of talking because I'm fucking nervous again.

"Find one half the width of your thumb, cut all of the branches and leaves off; present it to me and I will punish you with it."

Sounds like a riot. "You want me to go out like this?" People could see me.

"Yes like that. You can remember this the next time you decide to disobey me. Move. You're not making me any less irritated by continuing to argue."

Fine. I storm out; naked; with a fucking switchblade, through the whole house. I get some funny looks; though I doubt they're seeing something they've never seen before; I think it's because of the look on my face. It's fake anger. Inside I'm terrified. It's all of it. Walking through the house naked for all too see probably knowing I've been sent to retrieve the implement Sam's going to use to beat my ass.

It's colder than a witch's tit out here in the buck and the fucking duck pond is too far away from the house. These thongs are not suitable fucking attire and my feet are already wet; also cold. This does suck and Sam's right—it's a punishment to remember; he hasn't even got to the beating of the ass part.

I have to use the flashlight to scout around for the damn tree and when I find it, I have to climb inside it to find a branch the thickness Sam requested; and it's not something you should do naked by the way; my nuts and my dick get fucking scratched up. I've had a bit of time to cool off and frankly, I hope Sam has too, I decide to find a good branch and do a good job of trimming it.

I shouldn't be so proud of the switch once I'm done, but I am and hope Sam will tell me I've done good—right before he hides me with it.

I take my time heading back, prolonging the inevitable, but mostly giving Sam more time, hoping he feels a little less rage when I finally see him. My feet are a bit muddy from mucking around near a pond, but I feel it's important to stop at one of the small washrooms downstairs and wash them off, I can't take my eyes off the switch I made, not that I can see it in full light. This is going to hurt, isn't it?

Adam's used his belt on me plenty, and a cane once when I skipped school that he made me soak—that all sucked. This is a first. I hope the first part's worse than the next part—I doubt it.

The trepidation increases as I make my way up the stairs; it's like our night of flirtation, foot rubs and dancing has been wiped away and we're back to the first days when I could barely speak to him. He's waiting outside our door for us.

He takes all of the items from me. "Wait here," he says. When he comes back he only has the foreboding looking switch.

"You can accept your punishment out here, since you did not see fit to pay me the courtesy of privacy with your little pre-dinner scene."

My stomach drops further.

"Hands on the railing, please."

I do as instructed knowing now is not a good time to mess around. I hear him swishing the willow switch around behind me, testing it. And then I feel it rubbing against my cold, bare ass. "I think we've been over what this is for enough times. Don't you?"

I give a small nod; hoping he'll just get on with it.

He does. The switch is whippy and he's good at using it; he's not far into the punishment and already I'm dancing out of range of the fiendish thing that looked oh so innocent on the damn tree. "Hold still, Dean."

"I'm trying. It hurts."
"It's meant to."

Wwwhip. Wwwhip. Wwwhip. He builds a steady rhythm in one place before he moves onto the next. I do well keeping quiet for the first five minutes, but then the pain in my ass builds to the point I'm unable to stop from crying out. At least I can muffle my cries, a little, but not for long.

Suddenly he stops; I'm not stupid enough to think we're done.

"Are you sorry you disobeyed me, yet?"

"I was sorry thirty minutes ago when I was freezing my ass off outside. Really. I'm sorry, Sam."

But apparently I didn't know sorry until he starts in on the backs of my thighs. Man it stings and I actually start pleading. "Please Sam, I'm sorry. I'll never disobey you again—you'll never hear another disrespectful word from my mouth, I've learned my lesson—I swear!"

"Right. I'll believe that when I see it. Legs wider. I'd hold onto my valuables if I were you."

Fuck. With my stance wider and my junk protected he can access the inner portion of my thighs and that's what brings the tears. Well, the real tears. I couldn't help the tears that happened due to how damn stingy that thing is. Now they're tears of mortification and feeling sorry for myself. I never, never want to be switched again—I think Adam's belt was a lot less painful somehow. There's no way I'm escaping this without bruises.

My ass cheeks get to the point that they're clenching and I'm bucking my hips forward, trying to avoid the switch. Sam keeps going.

I'm sure the whole house can hear me by now as the fire in my backside and thighs intensifies. It's a long time later when he finally stops and he's made his point I tell you. He really doesn't like being disobeyed. "I-I'm s-s-sorry," I cry still holding the banister. That was the spanking of my life.

He drops the switch to the floor. "I really didn't want to do that tonight—tonight was supposed to be… different."

I think he wanted to take me out and show me a good time, so to speak and I ruined it. If I just listened. It really wasn't that bad—except having to dance in heels. No one seemed to care I wore a dress; least not to my face. In fact, they seemed to like it.

"Keep your hands on the banister, ten minutes."

He leaves me alone to cry, not only am I miserable from the ache all down my backside, but also the wasted evening. I'm such an idiot.

When ten minutes are over, he's there, rubbing my back and soothing me with his presence. He tugs my hand and uses it to lead me to our room and face down on our bed; he rubs ointment into my cheeks and thighs—none of the pain is so bad now (though it still hurts), but I'll be miserable tomorrow.

"God your ass looks hot."

"I'm sure it looks like a fucking paint by numbers."

"You deserved everything you got." He means it. He's caressing my ass gently now lighting up the pain in a new way, one that goes straight to my cock. He yanks on my legs from my unblemished calve so I'm hanging off the bed and spreads me wide open. His rough treatment is fucking delicious and is paired well with the intensity of the night.

His fingers are groping and spreading lube up the crack of my bruised ass. A finger slips in, then out, in then out 'till I'm nice and open for him; more rubbing of my heated ass flesh. "Oh, God. Sam, quit teasing. Fuck me already."

I don't know where the fuck that comes from. I've never said anything like that to him before.

"You want my cock, Baby?"

There's Baby again. I relax a bit. "Fuck, yeah."

I hear a zipper, then feel his cock sliding up and down my ass cheeks. I'm humping the bed. "Why should I give my cock to such a naughty boy?"

"I'm reformed. I'll do everything you say from now on, I swear it." He won't believe me, like he didn't earlier, but I'm not kidding. I'm going to work hard to obey him.

He's still rubbing against me; he chuckles. "Is that all it takes to bring you to heel, Dean? A good spanking and a hard fucking?"

And a fucking siege of disappointment. I don't tell him that though. "That's it."

"I guess I'll just have to spank you and fuck you more often."

I groan. Like he wouldn't have done that anyway.

He finally gives me what I want and slams his cock home. Yeah, home. It belongs in my ass and I'd better not find it anywhere else. Though I guess I don't really have much say if he's fucking other people, it's not my place. It's not like we're in love.

The pain, the embarrassment of being spanked for all to hear and the wearing a dress, all of it, I realize, has added up to one fucking horny Dean. Much as I don't like any of those things, my wiener really does, it doesn't take much for me to cum all over the sheets, Sam's not long behind me.


He nudges me awake early. "Dean. Wake-up."

"Huh? What? Where's the fire?" I make the mistake of jumping up. "Fuck!" My entire backside feels like a truck rammed into it, multiple times.

"That fucking hurt!"

"I know, Baby."

Baby? "Sam?"

"C'mon. I've got a bath waiting for you."

I'm still half a-fucking-sleep and suddenly I'm being whisked out of the bed, bridal style—it hurts like a fucking bitch—and into a hot bath that smells like lavender. I scream at first, but then it feels good—the same kind of good like when he took off my shoe last night.

"Oh… yeah… that's good… that's nice," I say sinking into the warmth.

He kisses me. "I have to go in early—I won't be at breakfast, so take your time. The chef will have something prepared for you, so don't go poking around the kitchen."

He'd heard about that, huh? I nod and feel… kinda bummed out actually. We always eat breakfast together. He scratches my head. "Don't worry, I'll be home for dinner."

Scowling is an automatic reaction that I don't mean to direct at him, but thankfully it amuses him. "See you later, Dean."

When he's gone I sink further into the warmth; there's some gritty stuff at the bottom, he must have put some Epsom salts in; I swish them around to help them dissolve. And now that I'm more awake, it dawns on me: He did something… nice, again.

I feel like such an ass for last night. And I know punishment is supposed cleanse, but I feel like I should do something for him. When my bath is finished (when I become a wrinkly fucker) I've still got nothing, so I decide to try to do the things I know will please him instead of complaining about everything. But all in all, I've got to give myself a bit of a pat on the back. I have been good, for me, he should ask Adam to tell him stories.

After breakfast, I decide to call home. Speaking of Adam, it's been longer than the allotted. He wants me to call often, because he still doesn't trust me to behave and is constantly worrying I'll somehow tarnish the family name, even if that's now completely impossible. Sam owns the whole world. I can wear a dress in public for Christ's sake and people think rainbows flow out of my ass. I'm probably good, but Adam's still on my ass anyway.

"Hey brother, how are the munchkins?" I've got a niece and a nephew; the cutest kids in the world. I've got another niece on the way, my sister's first.

"Good, good. Are you behaving yourself?"

Of course it's the first question he asks. It's a hard question to answer because despite my best attempts I've still fucked up, majorly, but shouldn't I get points for trying? I've hesitated too long anyway. "Dean, what did you do?"


"Do I have to phone Sam and ask him?"

Fuck. No. "Fine. You know the thing he wanted me to do at our wedding?"

"Marry him?"

"No. The other thing. You know… the dress?"


"He wanted me to wear another one to this work function of his and…"

"Please tell me you did not throw a fit like you did before the wedding, young man."

"Well, I—"


"I might have."

"You're my baby brother and I indulged you like always; Tiffany warned me. I knew I shouldn't have asked him to reconsider for your wedding. I'm telling you right now, he asks you to wear a… a freaking bikini you do it. Am I clear?"

I sigh. What if he does do that? Guess I'm wearing a fucking bikini. "Crystal, sir."

"I mean it Dean. I've finally got our name back on top; I want it in good condition when my kids take over. If you won't do it for me, do it for them."

Pulling the old kid trump card; he's playing dirty. "I said I'd behave. I'm sorry, Adam. I just… I miss home. Do you think I could come visit?"

"You know I'm always fine with you coming to visit, but that decision's not up to me, it's up to Sam. Why don't you wait until the new baby comes?"

Because that's still a ways off. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Besides, you've been away from home for four weeks, one of which you already had Charlie come spend with you. Sam's going to think you don't like him."

Shit. Do you think he thinks that? I mean I know we're not biffers, but I… I like him. He's a good man, even if he's fucking terrifying, with fetishes I have yet to understand and likes running a ridiculously strict home—aside from all the perverted things he allows his staff to do, which I guess belongs in one of the above columns…

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just lonely during the day."

"Grow up, Dean. I'm sure there's plenty to do around there—you're moping, most likely because you can't have your way about something," he says matter of fact, knowing me.

We talk a bit more, or rather, he talks I listen and then he has to get back to work. Man, if I had known he was going to kick my ass when I picked up the phone, I might not have, but if I'd of gone any longer without calling to check in, he would have kicked my ass anyway. It was lose-lose for me. Better to get it over with.

An hour later, I get a phone call from my sister, Erin, because Adam's already fucking talked to her and she reams me out too, albeit a little gentler. "Dean Winchester, do I have to come there and kick your ass?"

"As if Kevin's going to let you fly alone in your condition," I tease. "And I'm so bored, I'm willing to take the ass-kicking if you'll just come see me."

"Quit fooling around, Dean. I love you dearly, but you've got Adam freaking out. If you're really unlucky he'll fly out there to 'speak' to you."

"C-can he do that? I thought only Sam could 'speak' to me now."

"Normally, no. But since you're recently married, it's not unheard of for a previous Head of House to help with an unruly spouse. I'm sure he'd be able to arrange something with Sam if he tired hard enough—how about you don't find out, okay little brother?"

"Yeah, yeah. But I'm coming to see the baby."

"If Sam says you can then you may; if you turn up without permission I'm sending your ass back home."

This sucks, even my sister's against me today. "Don't worry, I'll have his permission."

Thank God we change the subject away from me and my deviant ways; and we talk about the new baby.

The telling off portion of the morning took a total of three hours start to finish; I've still got an entire day to waste, but I decide it's probably better I do something that will keep me out of trouble.

So I go to—don’t make fun of me—the library. I have to get directions, 'cause this place is seriously too huge (I still haven't even explored half of it); I get a little lost and have to get redirected, but I finally find it. I honestly have zero idea where to start looking, I don't read books and I didn't have one in mind, so I just comb the shelves by zipping across on the ladders.

The Campbell's have literally got a book on everything, but I'm intrigued by a section of books on gardening. Hey. Maybe that can be my hobby. Maybe I'll use Charlie's suggestion and pick a garden to take care of myself.

Of course every garden is well looked after, except the one I can't have; the 'secret' one. But if I ask Sam, maybe he'll give me one to look after; tell the staff to neglect it or something?

Yes I know how ridiculous I sound, but I'm desperate and it's the only idea I have.

I start thumbing through the books. In one of the largest gardening tombs another book falls out: It's a journal.

Holy crap! Someone's secret journal—I'm totally fucking reading it. I open it and there's a picture inside. It's of a lady, a man and two kids (boy and a girl), the lady is pregnant and she's sitting on a swing, everyone's gathered around her. She's incredibly beautiful with long, dark hair and the man looks exactly like Sam. Holy shit, this has got to be Sam's father, which means the kids must be… I flip the photo over; the kids are Sam and Jules. The baby in the lady must be the brother Jules mentioned at the benefit. It's labeled: "Us in the Garden."

Garden? I study the photo, fascinated, because everyone in the photo looks so fricken happy and because something in my gut tells me they're not just sitting in any garden. The tree the swing is hanging off of, it could be the same, I'm sure it's the same, but there's only one real way to find out.

Don't do it Dean. You promised Charlie you wouldn't, you promised your family you wouldn't do things to get you in trouble. The angel on my shoulder says that.

You shouldn't have made that dumb promise in the first place. The other guy on my other shoulder says and for some reason, he talks in a slightly Scottish accent. It's just an old garden everyone's forgotten about. You don't really know you'll get in trouble for going in.

You don't really know you won't. The annoying bastard in white says.

Forget that guy, Dean. You've already got the key anyway; you've halfway broke your promise already. He's right. The key might have found its way to my side of the closet, stuffed inside one of my shoes after Charlie left.

What? Just for safekeeping. Buried under the dirt was a terrible place for it.

I look to my other shoulder to see what the Angel dick has to say about that, but he just shakes his head at me and disappears.

Chapter Text

The door is covered in ivy grown over from who knows how long.

But I know where to stick the key—from when Charlie and I found it. I go in and shut it back up. Everything inside is dead, but I can see where everything was; and it's huge. It stretches wide in all directions and in the distance I can see the tree—the one with the broken swing. The sight of the limply hanging thing, a sharp contrast to its previously happy occupants in the picture.

It puts a hollow feeling in my gut and I remember Charlie saying: "Something happened here."

I check out the swing though. Can it be fixed? Can this place be fixed? It's got an enchanting beauty. I spend a long time cataloguing every inch, so much possibility. When I'm done, I'm chilled to the bone with the one benefit being the numbing of my ass, which seriously needs numbing. I got through breakfast okay after that luscious bath, and I ate lunch on the go, so I wouldn't have to sit, but I don't know about dinner.

I'm well acquainted with every bit of the place, before I head back to the manor.


"Uncomfortable, Dean?" Sam says when he sees all my squirming at dinner.

"Yeah," I admit, begrudgingly. Like he cares.

"Good. May it remind you to behave. Talk to anyone today?"

He never asks me that. He knows something. Who called him? I swallow. "My b-brother and sister." I'm stuttering. Why am I fucking stuttering?

"Yes. I know. Your brother called me too, what makes you so nervous?"

That. My brother calling.

"I'm not nervous." Except I am a little bit.

"He wanted to see how I thought you were doing."

Fuck. I'm screwed. I'm so very, very screwed. I don't ask what he said. He'll tell me if he wants to and I suspect he does. I'm right.

"I told him that if I needed him, I would be the one to call. But as is I'm quite capable of handling one unruly husband."

I give a small nod and decide to find my plate very interesting. But looking over what he said, I realize he might be teasing.

"You know, if you continue to play coy like that Dean, I might have to eat you instead of my dinner."

I brave looking up at him. "I'm not playing coy."

His smile is demure as he takes a sip of wine and I think we're having a 'moment' until his eyes turn serious. "He mentioned something else—your sister is having a baby. Her first as I understand?"

Oh God. He didn't. I shouldn't have said anything to my brother, but I had to open my big trap. Strict as Adam can be with me, he has his own special way of 'indulging' me. Tiffany, who I've never really gotten along with, hated it. I loved it, until now. Adam doesn't know Sam at all and his good intentions are likely to get me in a lot of trouble.

"That's right."

"He said you had planned on being there when the baby was born."

Of course he did, because that's how Adam fucking talks. God damn. "Well, I believe my exact words were; I'd like to go contingent upon your approval." Shut-up. That's what I said—I'll deny all other accusations 'till my dying day.

"Oh good. I did find that very curious considering you know the rules; we've had not one, but two discussions about that rule in particular."

Jesus Christ. My beating heart. Can this conversation be over now? Apparently not.

"You aren't going Dean."

My stomach drops. I try not to let the disappointment show on my face. "I-I didn't ask to go." Again with the stuttering. I know. Grow a pair Winchester—breathe.

"Which is the only thing saving your sore behind from another spanking... I'm doing you a favor, so you don't bother me with asking and get yourself in trouble."

"O-okay." And it seems no amount of fear of him is able to prevent me from clarifying. "I just have a question to ask about, well something Perry said." I might be getting him into trouble, but I don't know the guy, if I'm throwing him under the bus, I'm throwing him under the bus. Sue me.


"H-he said. Um, that you, Campbell's that is, make exceptions to that particular rule for family members." I didn't even phrase it like a question and I can't bring myself to say anymore than that—I rely on his smarts to figure me out.

"We can if we like, yes." He gives me a smug condescending smile that says he's the king of the castle and he knows it. He resumes eating deciding the conversation is over and all of it is particularly vexatious.

My small burst of anger makes me brave. Stupid brave. "Just so I'm clear, you wouldn’t like to allow me to see my sister and my new niece?"

The building energy I've often felt during these kinds of conversations with Sam, the energy that wasn't even present 'till this very moment, surges through the room as if it was called back from all of those times passed and is suddenly thrust at me all at once. Sam uses it to pin me to the wall by my neck, my recently vacated chair is knocked over; there's a belated clatter of cutlery.

"If I like I can tie you to a tree naked and leave you there for as long as I wish. If I like I can starve you until you beg me to feed you by my hand at my feet. If I like I can confine you to our room to be my pretty little porcelain doll on a shelf. I can do anything I like with you Dean. You are mine."

I know he's waiting for some confirmation that I know all of this to be true and I do, but I can't fucking talk, so I nod frantically and oh God, there are tears.

"But you not going half-way across the continent without me has nothing to do with me liking you to not go see your sister and her new baby."

He's not saying anything particularly mean, but his tone is so vicious, I end up crying more. He slaps me hard across the face. "Are you hearing me?"

"Y-yes, sir."

He releases me, but his eyes are narrowed and glaring, still pinning me to the wall; I don't move and am even careful about breathing. "Sit down," he says after the longest time. And I do, but I can't stop fucking crying and I know it's annoying him.

We finish our meal, in silence unless you count my stupid sniffling. I'm no longer hungry, but there's no way I'll even think of not finishing it after all that; especially knowing how Sam feels about wasting food. In fact, I try to eat a little faster, in hopes of escaping the mood shadowing this room.

After dinner, when I'm away from Sam, I can finally touch my throbbing cheek and morbid curiosity has me looking in the mirror. There's a perfect red print of one of his large hands, well, missing the thumb, but I can see a firm outline of all four of his other fingers. It's also slightly raised. I think it will go away quickly.

I think about escaping to my garden. Yeah. I'm already thinking of it as mine. But that would just be stupid. I don't want Sam to find out and take that away from me too. I'm seriously bummed I can't go see my sister and I know I shouldn't be, but I'm wallowing a bit. I think about what my brother said to me earlier; that when I don't get my way, I mope. I do. I know it. I decide to go mope around the property. There's no rule on what time I'm allowed to do that until, so I go.

It's a bit cold, so I put on a heavier jacket, but don't bother with mitts or a hat. We're just coming out of winter in Bangor. It's a lot colder here in general than what I'm used to, so it could just be me. Either way, the air is nice and crisp; I shrug my shoulders to my ears, stuff my hands in my pockets and watch my breath leave my mouth in a puff of white as it condensates.

I walk a long time and as my own silent protest, I walk along the outskirts of the property I'm restricted to. I come to the edge of the gate and stick my foot through the spaces in the bars and touch 'outside' of the property. Ha. So there Sam. It's stupid and childish, but it makes me feel better.

I'm out there hours, long enough my nuts start to freeze off; I figure another bath can't hurt my sore backside. When I get to our room, Sam's already there reading a book in our bed. "Where did you go?"

I guess he's speaking to me again. "Outside. For a walk." I take my shirt off and start unbuttoning my pants.

"For four hours?"

"Yes. Here. Feel my hand if you don't believe me—I didn't bother with gloves." I move over to where he is and put my hand to his cheek. He snatches it up by the wrist.

"How irresponsible. You can get frostbite you know. It's a lot colder here than where you are from and it's still our winter—you need to dress properly when you go out for such a long trek. I would spank you if your ass didn't, as you say, already look like a paint by numbers. Get in the bath."

I feel chagrined being chastised for such a thing, like a child. I can get frostbite if I want to—I only think it, I don't say it knowing Sam won't agree and might decide to spank me anyway.

He's up too and helping me run a bath. When I get in, it stings a little, my cold skin meeting such hot water, but Sam doesn't look to care about that, more concerned with me getting warm.

"Twenty minutes at least then you may get out."

I take my time. I was planning on this bath anyway. So what he helped me; probably doesn't want his toy to break. When I do get out, I grab a towel, not bothering to get dressed, knowing he'll probably want to have sex. Not that I particularly want to with him at the moment, but I am still a man and nothing short of death would make me want to miss out on our spectacular copulation. Sam and I may not have much between us, but I'm telling you, the sex is something else.

"Enjoy yourself?"

I must have been in there for an hour. "Sure did." I'm relaxed enough I actually wink at him—I don't know why I do the things I do, no wonder I irritate him.

"Come lie on the bed, face down."

Hmmm… I wonder what sort of kinkiness he's got planned for the evening. I do as told and shiver delightfully when the large slick hands come into contact with my bruised skin. I recognize the smell, it's ointment. I moan, losing myself to his ministrations; they're turning me the fuck on. "That feels good, Sammy."

He stops. "Sammy?"

Shit. Did I say that? I did say that. "Sorry. I meant Sam." Thankfully he lets it go at that and resumes smoothing the ointment all over my ass and down my legs, my cock gets harder. When he's finished, he helps me into pajama pants. I clearly get the message he's not planning on the sex I so furiously want. And I've changed my mind—despite everything, I do want to have sex with him.

He pulls open the covers for me and I hop in, but I'm fucking confused. Does he not want to have sex with me? But he always does I thought. I could easily put the moves on him, but I don't do that, haven't done that yet. Let's face it, me, Dean Winchester simply doesn't have the balls to do that. Not with Sam anyway.

I do have balls enough to ask, after he's turned out the lights and I don't have to look him in the eyes: "Aren't we going to um… you know?"

"Aren't I going to fuck you?" He says confidently if only to contrast my lack there of.

"Um. Yeah."



"Good night, Dean." I swear I can hear amusement in his voice.

I lay there for five minutes wondering why the fuck not? Is he mad at me? Was it my snarky wonderings at dinner? Or that I'm an idiot who went wandering around in the cold improperly attired—not really my brightest move I guess. Does he wish he ever married me? I can't stand the not knowing. The not knowing takes precedence over everything else, even possible retribution.

"Why not?"

"Go to sleep, Dean."

"Please, just, if you won't tell me why, can you at least tell me what I did to piss you off and how I can make it up to you? Else I won't be able to sleep."

"I'm not mad."

Of course he's mad. He's always mad. "Is this about dinner? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you like that. You're right. Completely right. I-I did want to go, I won't lie about that, but I understand your rules and will abide by them."

"Thank-you. Now go to sleep."

Dammit Sam! "And, yeah, that was stupid, flouncing off for four hours because I was moping, I didn’t tell you that part, but that's what I was doing—I'm sorry. I won't do it again. And I'll dress properly, I didn't think… I'm not used to the cold… I—"

"I'm not having sex with you, because your ass is too raw."

Oh. "We c-could, go gentle."

"I wouldn't be gentle Dean. That's an absolute impossibility for me."

That sends a tingle to my already aching cock. "So don't then—don't be gentle."

"Go to sleep."

How the hell am I supposed to do that? He's been training my body to expect sex every night for weeks and suddenly he just bows out because he's afraid my ass skin is too raw? "P-please?"

Like a roaring tidal wave, he's ripping the sheets off me and he's over my groin pulling my pajama pants down. His mouth swallows my cock in one bite and he's sucking furiously. "Fuck," I scream. There are teeth and tongue and lots of hot saliva. "Fuck, Sam!"

But he doesn't back off the intensity for a second and it doesn't take long for me to cum down his throat, he swallows like a fucking champ. He has never sucked my dick once and I don't know what made him do it now, but am I ever glad he did.

But the second wave comes with him whipping his dick out and shoving it in my mouth. I respond quick trying to suck and make room, but it's being thrust too deep and too fast making me gag. It's not long for him either and cum is pouring down my throat, but I'm not as eloquent as he was and cum is leaking out the sides of my mouth and down my chin.

He doesn't seem to care when his lips press down on mine, his tongue dominating my mouth just as fiercely as his cock had. He must taste his own cum; I know I still taste it. When he pulls away, he stays there for a moment above me, staring at me. Now that my eyes have adjusted to the moonlight streaming in our window, I can make out his face a bit. He's almost smiling. He wipes the rest of his cum from my chin from his hand. "Will you sleep now?"


He kisses me one more time and moves back to his side of the bed. I close my eyes.

When I open them again, it doesn't look like very much time has passed. I look at the clock; I've slept one hour. Sam on the other hand is fast asleep. I turn on my side facing him and study him. He's a mountain of a man. So peaceful when he sleeps, all of the storms that thunder through him when he's awake are still now and that's a funny thing to see; it's like watching an ocean. You can always sense an ocean's vastness no matter how little you can see, you know what an ocean's capable of no matter how calm…

Sam's breaths make his ribs expand and puff up wide with serene exhales. I don't know if I'll ever make sense of him.

I shouldn't be, but as I watch him I can't help wanting to know the why's of the things he wants me to do, the rules he wants me to follow. It seems that even of the Campbell's, I've married the most ridged of them all.

And in the darkness, everything seems so much more oppressive than in the light. I cry again because I can't go home and see my sister, because I never can again. Now I'm really awake. I wipe my eyes and check Sam to see just how asleep he is. He's not said that once I'm in bed I'm to stay in bed, but I doubt he'd like me poking about the house late at night.

Maybe just one cup of tea, I'm sure this house has some of that girly chamomile my sister used to make me drink, and I'll be off to dreamland.

I slip off the bed and out of the room quiet as I can. When I'm out of the room and a little ways down the hall, I have to duck behind the corner as one of the maids scurries passed me. It's not that late I guess, just after midnight, but it still seems too late for staff to be scurrying about in such a rush.

Go to the kitchen Dean, get your tea and go back to Sam It's that damn angel again. He's really not very much fun.

Thankfully the little guy with the slightly scottish accent, wearing a spiffy black suit is there too. Go ahead, Dean. You've earned it. You deserve to know if something's going on in your own home.

Yeah, he didn't even need to give me much of an excuse this time—I'm way too fucking curious not to go. I follow where the maid went, behind a door leading to stairs going up three flights. All I have to do is follow slowly; she's not paying much attention to what's behind her, just whatever it is she's headed toward.

At the top of the stairs, I realize I'm in a whole other wing of the house. One I never knew existed. I haven't been in every crook and cranny of the house yet and I doubt I would have bothered to look being far more interested in what's outside this house than in.

Right away I hear someone screaming and shouting things I can't quite make out—a man I think. I keep myself hidden as I watch people flying into one room in particular including the maid I saw. I watch and wait for sometime, until everything quiets down and presumably everyone leaves. The lights go out, the night goes quiet again.

And I'm fucking curious. I don't even think when I walk up to the door and slip inside.

I can't see a thing. I look around for a crack of light to be coming from a window, but there isn't. And apparently I don't make a very good blind person; I stupidly take too large a step, tripping over a carpet and barrel right into what I presume is the bed.

"Who's there?" A lamp is clicked on and the bright light blinds me a second. When my eyes adjust, I can see it's a large room, with a four-poster bed and what looks like windows that are all boarded up. How odd, but it explains the complete and total darkness. Other than that, it's a perfectly normal room and fits right in with the older décor of this stuffy mansion.

In the bed there's a man; the one who turned on the lamp. And he's fucking looking at me. He's horrendously thin and pale, like a white jade, with a mop of shaggy, black bed-head. He's wearing a housecoat over his pajamas that I don't think he takes off. There's something oddly familiar about his dark eyes. He leans over and sniffs something from a jar, replaces the lid then turns back to me waiting for an answer.

"Ah, I'm Dean. Dean Win-Campbell."

"Dean. WinCampbell? That's an odd name."

"Well I was Dean Winchester, I'm still getting used to being a Campbell."

"You must be the bloke who married my brother then. I've heard all about you. What are you doing poking about late at night? Snooping into business that isn't yours?"

Brother? This is Sam's brother? Of course. He's just as friendly as Sam is too. "I-I'm sorry. You're right. Curiosity killed the cat. I'll go."

"No. Wait. Come here. I'm just teasing. Besides, while you're about you might as well fluff my pillows. And my covers have gotten all twisted…"

Whoa. Not that I'm opposed to helping him, but I don't want to touch him. He looks sickly—if I break his brother, Sam will really kill me. "I'll get someone."

"No don't! They'll kick you out. Afraid you'll upset me, make me more ill."

Intrigued I move closer. "What's your name?"


"What were you screaming about earlier?" I dare to ask, since he's invited me to stay.

"I'm going to die and I hurt all over. Everyday I get closer to death. Spent my whole life in this bed."

"So, you can't walk?"

"Nope. I've got a lump in my back, like my father."

"Your father?"

"Yes. It's what I'm told anyway. He left after I was born; I don't remember him. My mother died giving birth to me and he couldn't look at me after that. My grandfather's had servants look after me ever since. Sam and my sister visit me, but he doesn't. I'm the reason his precious son left."

"I thought she died in her garden," I say to myself. No one had told me that; it was a conclusion I'd come to when I saw the broken swing, guess I had that dead wrong.

"Her garden?"

"Oh, just a garden," I backtrack. "There are so many of them here—haven't you ever been outside?"

"Are you deaf? I said I've spent my life in this bed. I've never been out of this room."

How peculiar. "Pull that cord," he demands. I do and curtains open to reveal a painting of the same woman in the swing in the picture I found. This is Sam's mother.

"I don't look anything like her, but my brother and sister do." His voice is rough and gravelly, probably from doing nothing but scream at people all the time. "That's enough, now. Close it. I don't like looking at her, she smiles too much."

"How can anyone smile too much?"

"I don't know, but she manages to do it."

"Well, I better go, before I'm caught out of bed," I say.

"And before you're caught here, Sam's not the only one who will skin you alive. But… please come back? I've enjoyed talking to you—it's lonely up here."

It's hard to say no even if I most definitely should not. I feel bad for the dude. "I'll come back."

"Come in the day, just after the noon hour. No one's around then."

I don't get tea after all that, but slip back into bed. As if Sam subconsciously knew I'd left, his arm slings over my torso. But now I've got so much more to think about and life at Campbell Manor just got interesting.


"I've been dying to ask you why your windows are all boarded up?"

"I'm very ill, Dean. Those are to prevent spores getting in and attaching themselves to my lungs."

"Spores? I don't know anything about spores." But I'm not a doctor either.

"You don't have to worry about things like that. You've got strong lungs like everybody else."

"Oh." Jesus. Poor Bastard has everything wrong with him.

"So you were a Winchester?"


"What are your parents like?"

"They're dead actually. I was eleven when they died; my brother raised me with some help from my sister, they're quite a bit older than me. But from what I knew of them… they were the best."

"You were lucky to know them at all."


I've paid many visits to Cas (that's what I call him now) since the first night I met him, he's an interesting dude. He's a bit immature in a naïve sort of way, which is to be expected since he's never left this room. It sounds like he's used to telling everyone what to do and getting his way, probably because they feel sorry for him.

But I like him. He's kind of funny and his naivety makes me want to teach him things. He asks a lot of questions and I enjoy telling him stories of my younger days. But despite his naivety, he's smart and can be extremely insightful.

"So what made your family chose my brother of all people? Other than all the money and power of course." Least he knows some things.

"Those are pretty much the reasons, but I'm certain my brother liked your family's more traditional methods. I'm a bit wild, like my father was."

"I see. Yeah. You won't get away with any wildness here. What do you even do all day?"

Should I tell him? About the garden? I'm a bit hesitant to. I don't know how he'll react. It was his mother's garden and Sam doesn't even know I go in there. "Not a lot. At first I tried to get your brother to let me leave—"

"Are you crazy? Don't ever do that."

"Believe me. I've learned the hard way not to, but what's his deal about that anyway?"

"Part of it is Campbell protocol. Your place is in the home, end of story."

"Yes, yes. I understand all that. It's nothing different from anywhere else, but often spouses can get permission to go somewhere… once in awhile."

Cas is already shaking his head. "From what I've already told you, can't you figure it out?"

"It's because of your mother and father, isn't it?"

He nods. "It was said they were all very happy once, before I came along. Mother was taken from him and Father left the house one day never to return."

"He stupidly believes if I leave the house, I'll never come back," I huff.

"Call it stupid if you want, but you only just got here, you don't know what's it's been like. Besides, you should take that as a high compliment."

"I should?"

"Have you any idea how many lovers Sam's had? How many people have asked, begged for his hand?"

Sadly, I know nothing about Sam. I can't tell Castiel that. "A lot," I guess.

"That's right."

It makes me a bit jealous thinking of other people with my husband. It shouldn't, I didn't have claim on him then and I don't have much claim on him now.

"Do you hear what I'm telling you, Dean?"

"He's had a lot of lovers, yeah I heard."

He huffs frustrated the same way Sam does. "He didn't care if any of them came or went, he didn't care if he never saw them again, yet he's terrified of losing you."


"My brother is hopelessly in love with you Dean."

"What?" I say again. It's the only word I know at the moment; I've forgotten all other words.

"He is, he told me himself."

"That's impossible."

"Humankind going to the moon seemed impossible once, yet we've been there."

"But… he doesn't even know me."

"Knowing someone isn't a requirement for love, Dean. Even I know that."

"He sure doesn't act like a man in love."

"He's angry. He didn't want to love you, but here he is, in love. You should know, he hasn't been a soft man in a long time. When mother died, so did that part of him. But no matter how he shows it, or doesn't, he does indeed love you."

"All right already. Can we talk about something else?" This whole conversation makes me uncomfortable.

"Shit. Quick—get under the bed, someone's coming. Now."

Crap. I roll off to the far side of the bed and under it. My balls run up inside my groin when I hear the voice attached to the person who's entered. "Castiel? The physiotherapist's here and he's brought the machine for your legs." That's fucking Sam. I do my best not to breathe.

"I don't want it."

"You need it little brother."

"I don't see why you care, why don't you just let me finally die, move on with your life?" I don't know Cas well, but already I can tell by the lilt in his voice he's fishing for a nice word or ten.

"Oh Cassie, I wish you wouldn't say such things about yourself. You know you are loved." Sam's voice is hard as always, but there is a particular kind of gentleness he clearly reserves for his brother.

"I'll hang on as long as I can then, wouldn't want to displease all my adoring fans by offing myself."

"If you weren't so sick, I'd spank you for that."

There's the Sam I know. I hear sounds of something being set up, another man's voice for a second, then it's just the two of them again. "Can't you turn it down a bit—that tickles. This is torture."
"You'll live. Can I bring you anything?"

"No. But you can tell me a story. How are things with Dean? You haven't talked about him in awhile."

I have to bite my arm to keep from laughing. I know what Cas is up to. He knows I don't believe him. He wants to get Sam to say something to prove he cares about me.

"I don't want to talk about him." His voice is that crisp, hard one I know well—the one that makes me shiver with dread. I can picture his dark eyes right now, staring down his brother—pissed he's even asked. But Cas isn't afraid of him like I am.

"There's a Dean talking ban? Why was I not made aware?"

"Stop it Cas. I mean it. The less I talk about him, the less I think about him."

"How's that working out?"



"Because I still think of him every God damn second. Now can we please talk about something else?"

"Huh. I feel like I've heard that already today."

Yeah, from me. Fuck you Cas. Is he trying to get me murdered by my husband?

"Too bad. I want to talk about him," Cas pushes on.


"Because I'm bored and because as much as my well-being concerns you, your well-being concerns me. What happened?"

"Nothing happened. He just, he hates me."

"That can't be true. I hear the staff talk, they say he's smitten with you."

Cas better hope Sam kills me, otherwise he's going to get the death wish he's asking for. How much you want to bet I'm the 'smitten' staff?

"They say that? Who says that?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."


"I can tell you, they say he gets a certain look in his eyes when he talks about you."

"It doesn't matter anyway. He's my husband; he's mine now. I have him and that is enough."

"Of course brother, but why don't you take him out, on a date? You'll both like it. You can show him off in another pretty dress and he'll get to leave the house."

Death is too good for him, I'm going to give him a second lump on his back and release spores into his lungs.

"He is misbehaved. He doesn't deserve rewards."

"He's wild and just needs to be tamed—remember what you told me father taught you about new horses? You need to take him out and ride him."

"I do ride him, hard and every night," he says proudly. "It does nothing."

I'll never leave this spot. I can never face Cas again after Sam's said something like that.

Cas laughs knowing I heard that. Sam thinks it's for him. "I'm sure you do, Brother. It's got to have some effect? Maybe even just a little?"

He sighs. "Perhaps a little. I'll think about what you've said."

Something, probably the machine for his legs, starts beeping. The man from before comes in. And when I'm sure everyone has left, I leave my hiding spot. Cas has a huge Cheshire grin on his face.

"You dick!"

That just makes him laugh more.

"A dress? You know about that? Couldn't you have worked your magic to get me out of wearing those, rather than making it so I have so spend another evening in public with your brother in a dress?"

"Sorry, Dean. There's no way out of wearing dresses for you. You want to leave the house; it's in a dress—you might as well get used to it."

"I don't want to go anywhere then."

"Yes you do."

"Not in a dress."

"Even in a dress, Winchester."


I still go out to my garden as often as I can, between visits with Cas and I've taken to reading garden books I've pulled out from the Campbell family library.

Cas succeeded in making everything more fucking weird and uncomfortable than it already was, between Sam and I, but I know he was trying to do good, so I forgive him. Yeah right. The real reason I forgive him is because he could die tomorrow. Otherwise I'd still be holding a grudge.

I'm on the deck, dressed warmly, so Sam doesn't get on my case. My ass is all healed from that switching after the ball, he won't hesitate to beat my ass if he finds out I've gone outdoors without proper winter attire again. I've got gloves, a scarf, everything.

I jump when I hear his voice. "My mother used to garden."

I shut the book fast—he's home early—I didn't intend on him seeing me reading gardening books.

"You've got so many of them," it's lame, but it's the fist thing I can think to say.

"Yes. She had her own garden, though. No one knows seems to know where it is and even if they did know, no one could get in—Father hid the key before he left. No one's been able to find it."

Except me.

Charlie and I had found the garden itself pretty easily too; maybe I was meant to find it.

I must be looking at him funny—and of course I am, he's never been so forthcoming.

"But enough of that—we're going to dinner tonight—I've come to help you get ready."

So he doesn't trust me to get ready myself? Actually that's probably a good idea.

He pulls me inside and up the stairs. "I'm glad to see you wore mittens this time—you are capable of obeying me."

I'm a bit insulted by that. I do obey him, quite a bit actually. It's not my fault he expects perfection.

"Jesus, Sam. Does it have to be pink?" I say when I see the dress I knew he'd have waiting for me. We're in private, so I feel like I can say something—don't worry, I will put it on. I really meant it when I said I never want to get switched again.

"It's a great color for your skin tone—and it's long… as you prefer. We don't have to shave your legs."

Since when do I prefer any kind of dress? I don't say so.

When I'm in the thing, I realize it's practically scandalous. It's got no back to speak of, other than the line of beaded and crystalled fabric that covers (and I'm being literal here) only my spine. And if it weren't for the thick band of beaded and crystalled fabric that v's up my posterior pelvis, you would be able to see the crack of my ass. In front the dress is A-line with a top half that only covers my pectorals and attaches halter style to the piece that goes down my back, my mid-drift is showing with a large crystalled circle for the top and bottom pieces of the dress to attach.

It is a long dress at least, like Sam said, but the heels he wants me to wear are ridiculous. They've got at least a three-inch spike, but at least they cover my toes. The panties are just as absent as the dress—the thong a string, but thankfully enough material in front to hold my raging erection. I hate that my cock likes wearing dresses.

"Aren't you worried that everyone will be able to see me?" I try. "This dress doesn't leave much to the imagination."

"I've told you before Darling, I love when everyone looks at you; looking is all they'll ever do." He kisses me and I have to pull away. He scowls, but I scowl harder.

I 'go woman on him.' "You're going to make me leak right through this dress Sam Campbell—I'm not going to whatever fancy smancy place you have in mind with pre-cum down my front."

For the first time ever, he laughs at something I've said. "My apologies, Mrs. Campbell."

But all hope of keeping my dress clean is lost when he puts on his sexy white tux, I have to adjust my dick in the stupid dress—there's zero hope of people not seeing my hard on. "Jesus, Sam, you look—really great."

I think he's smiling, but it's hard to tell. I may have used up his allotted nightly happiness on that laugh; we'll have to see.

"I have something for you, Dean," he says and pulls out a crazy ass tennis bracelet. It's got more diamonds than I've ever seen strung together.

"Thank-you, Sam. It's beautiful, but don't feel like you have to buy me something every time you take me out. I'm just happy to go out."

"But I want to buy you things." He straps the thing on my wrist and it does match the dress well—I swear, I could feed an entire country with what this probably cost.

As I expect, all eyes are on me as soon as I step out of the car. I realize now we have our own driver and he will always be helping me out of the car. I don't know how this 'being stupidly rich' thing works. My family is rich, but not Sam rich. When I give my coat to the hostess, all the girls fawn over me. "Wow! Who are you wearing Mr. Campbell? That dress is to die for!"

Who? Oh, the designer. As a dude, I don't care about shit like that. "No fucking, clue ladies." Shit. Sam's already giving me the 'he wants to spank me' eyes. It's not my fault I don't know who made this dress. Maybe he should have told me.

"It's Oscar de la Renta," he tells them to make up for my fashion fuax pas, or so I assume. Once the initial 'me arriving in a dress dies down' in other words all the ladies and men have come to admire me and Sam has ordered wine he informs me: "I told you—I expect proper etiquette when you are wearing a dress."

Is that why he's pissed? "Don't really know what that is, Sam. I kept my ankles crossed in the car and that's about as far as my knowledge goes. I'm sorry."
He takes a breath and sighs heavy. I hate that I'm always fucking disappointing him no matter how hard I try. "Yes. Probably not, my fault."

Wait. Did he say his fault? 'Cause if he did I hope someone got that on video, I want to watch that shit over and over again.

"I'll teach you, how does that sound?"

Like a fucking riot. "That sounds good," I lie.

"It sounds like you already know how to sit. I'm pleased, Dean. But you need to clean up your language."

"How clean are we talking, here?"

"As clean as a bar of soap, otherwise that's what I'll be using to clean out your mouth when we get home."

My brother always hated my dirty mouth, but I've been swearing since the womb and even he knew not to waste his time with that one. I'm going to be eating a lot of fucking soap, aren't I?

"This is just while I'm wearing a dress—yes?"

"That's right."

"Thank fu—fudge…" Close one. "So, like, what do you consider swear words? Because some people don't consider 'damn' a swear word and—"

"Dean. How about if it might at all be thought of as a curse word, you just don't say it? That will make yours and my life a lot easier."

It would make my life a lot easier if he stop giving me impossible rules to follow. During the first few weeks, it was easy for me to hide my displeasure, but now he's getting to know me a bit; it's a little harder. "Don't pout Dean, you can live without swearing for a night."

"Yeah, if I don't talk." I did not mean to say that out loud. I must already be going through 'swear withdrawal, or something like that.

I think I've amused him though. We order when the wine comes, and I'm not sure I should drink. When I drink, I swear more. Fuck. I decide on slow sipping, so I don't drink too much, but I have something to calm my nervousness not only at the wearing of a pink dress in public, but now I can't do the thing that comes second nature to me. I'm screwed.

I'm wallowing again. My family's right about me. If my sister were here she'd tell me to 'Smarten up Dean Winchester.' My brother would kick my ass. I want to have a good time—I can see Sam went through a lot of trouble to make tonight a good one and now I've got Cas who will kick my ass with words if I'm a pouty brat. After all, this was his idea. I think I can talk without swearing for few hours.

"Thanks for taking me out, Sam. This is really nice." I am more of a burger and fries kinda guy, but I don't mind being wined and dined by my husband.

"You are welcome, Dean."

I've got so many questions I'm burning to ask him, but I'm scared of putting that look back in his eyes. Damned if I know why, but I hate when he's unimpressed. I'm relieved when he starts talking first. "There are some things we need to talk about Dean."

Sounds ominous.

"My grandfather will be coming for dinner next week. It's not really a Campbell family tradition, or anything, but I would prefer the two of you meet before we start inviting any other of my family members over."

"Okay." I think I could go my whole life without meeting that man; he's more terrifying than Sam. I gulp down more wine.

"You don't have to worry—he wanted this union. I wouldn't have married you without his say so, but Grandfather seldom says no to me."

Our meals come and that gives me something to focus on. Going on a date with my husband is more nerve-racking than I thought. Sam and I are good at sex—meal times are fairly business-like, neither of us knows what to say to one another even after weeks. But I'm drinking more than usual tonight and my inside commentary slowly becomes my outside commentary.

"God I've missed you," I say to my steak. It's been a lot of fish, poultry and greens since I moved to Campbell Manor. Not that I'm complaining, the Chef is amazing, but I'm a red meat boy.

"You… like steak?"

"Freaking love it!" I really hope freaking isn't a swear word.

"We can have steak at home, if you like. I'll tell the chef—you should have said something, Dean."

"Does that mean I could get a burger once in awhile?"

"If you like. Any other requests?" He asks a bit wryly.

"Well, I have one, but it's not a food request."

"As long as it's not something you shouldn't be asking for." Like leaving the manor he means.

It's something I thought of when I first found the garden. "I'd like a bit of land, to grow things."


"Yes, just a small bit. Something not being used…"

He smiles. "You shall have it, Dean. Take any piece you want; if you need items send the staff."

"Thanks, Sammy." Shit. That's the second time I've slipped up like that. Can I blame the wine? This time he doesn't say anything.

"Which brings me to the next thing I wanted to tell you… Another gift I suppose. I've talked with your brother-in-law and your sister, they've agreed to have us both for around the time the baby's born."

"You're going to take me home?"

"I'm going to take you to your sister's home," he clarifies pointedly. Right. My home is with him now. "Just for a few days, it's all I can be away from work."

I'll take what I can get. "That's… that's great… I…" That's when I remember through my getting tipsier and tipsier haze that Sam never gives anything for free. With all these things I've asked for, I wonder what kinds of kinky sexual acts he'll want in return…

"Something wrong, Darling?"

"No, everything's great." Whatever it is he'll want me to do, it's worth it to get to see my new niece being born. "Thanks, again. Any other big pieces of news? You going to tell me I'm pregnant next?"

He laughs; that's the second time tonight. "No. But here, drink some more of this, let's hear what else is going on in that head of yours."


Walking in heels when you've had too much to drink, sucks, but I make it to the car—both Sam and the driver have to help me in. I'm hammered. Sam's fault—he kept filling my glass; though he didn't exactly hold a gun to my head.

Soon as we're in the limo, he begins unstrapping my feet from the horrible things. "There. That's better," he says.

"But how'm'I gonna walk 'cross the pavement, Sammy?"

"I'm going to carry you."

"Oh." That makes complete sense. Why didn't I think of that? My feet are across his lap. He's rubbing them. "We should make that'ah rule."

"What's that Darling?"

"Every time I've gotta wear death-spikes, you hafta do that. Feels nice."


I think I drifted off; the car ride home seemed a lot shorter than the car ride to the restaurant. "Okay. We're here, Dean."


He's lifting me out of the car, and he must be strong, because I know I'm heavy and it doesn't seem that hard… hmmmm… but I know something that is hard. He carries me bridal style all the way up to our bedroom and places me on our bed.

I decide it's high time I got out of this thing. Long dresses score points on the not having to shave side of things, but they're fucking hard to move in. I have no idea how to get out of it though. "Allow me, Dean."

He unzips the back and I watch him carefully peel me out of the dress. "Hey," I notice. "You're not drunk at all. Why'd you give me so much booze, huh?"

"I wanted to see you relax Dean. You're so tense all the time."

"Yeah, because you're terrifying. I never know what to say to you." He freezes up a second, but only a second, he carries on undressing me.

Once I'm out of the dress, he quickly divests me of the hardly there panties. He softly caresses my hair as my eyes flutter closed. I want to have sex, but I'm losing the battle with sleep. "We should drink coffee, Sam."

"Why's that Dean?"

"Because I want to fuck—feels good to say that again—I want to fuck, but I'm so sleepy."

"We can fuck tomorrow, Darling. And the day after that… and the day after that…"

"Yeah, I guess. I'm definitely not going nowhere, but my husband—he's the best. He's takin' me to see my baby niece, so that's kinda going somewhere."

I hear laughter above me. "I know, Dean."

He's still caressing my hair. "You do?"

"Yes, I'm him. Your husband."

I open my eyes so I can see him. "Oh, right. Sammy?"

"Yes, Darling?"

"I can't have sex with you tonight."

"I know. Just close your eyes and go to sleep."

I do and I feel him pull the blankets down and cover me with them. I'm still awake listening to the sound of him getting ready for bed and awake still when he slips in behind me. But I'm not awake much longer than that.

Chapter Text

In the morning, it feels like someone's driving one of the spikes from my shoes through my head. "Oooohhh…" I groan and stuff my head under my pillow.

"Dean… Dean?"

"Dean is not available right now. Please leave a message and when he returns to the land of the living, he'll get back to you."

If I'd known the annoying voice was Sam, I would not have said that. It's highly disrespectful to slough off one's husband and superior as such.

In seconds, the covers are gone and he delivers a crisp whack to my naked ass. That gets me up. "OW!" Fucker. I bolt up and grab at the covers thinking they can shield me from another assault. Asshole thinks it's funny.

He's holding out a glass. "Here. Drink this and take these. Shower and come down for breakfast."

"Huh? What is this?" I take a whif and then a sip. "Blech! Gross! This stuff tastes like horsepiss, Sam."

"It was Grandmother Campbell's secret hangover cure. She liked to…" He makes a motion with his hand like he's drinking from a bottle. Gramma C liked to booze it up.

I plug my nose and drink the rest, including the two Advil he's given me. "See you downstairs," he says.

He leaves me alone and oh Gawd, everything from last night starts flooding back. Did I call him Sammy for half the night? Fuck. I think I did. He's going to lamb baste me at breakfast, isn't he?

The shower helps and though it still feels like I've been punched in the gut, the Advil does a quick job of getting rid of my headache. As a back up plan, I choose panties over boxer briefs. If Sam is pissed at me, I'll flash him my ass in these and distract him with sex—that usually does the trick.

Okay Winchester, breathe.

He fed me the alcohol; practically hooked up an IV to my fucking arm. He knows how it works, people act like idiots under the influence. Just, stay calm.

But when I walk into the dining room and take my seat, I can't fucking look at him. I did see him out of the corner of my eye—he looks all sexy in his suit, like an important somebody and I'm just the drunken jerk from last night.

I don't look at him; anywhere but actually.

"Dean." It isn't a question, or a command, it's a wry acknowledgement.

"I'm sorry about last night," I mumble and help myself to coffee.

"Sorry? For what? I spoon fed you alcohol and I'm not sorry."

"I coulda stopped at anytime."

"True. But I'm glad you didn't."

Man up Winchester. I look up to meet his eyes. "But I was an idiot."

"Everyone loved you last night Dean. You lit up the whole restaurant with your… Whatever it is you do that makes people fall in love with you immediately."

I don't care what everyone else thinks—just him. I notice he's commented on everyone else supposedly falling in love with me, but not him. I know Cas seems to think so, that he claims Sam told him he loves me, but I don't fucking think so—I think Cas hopes we'll fall in love, a happily ever after for him in another one of his stories he likes to hear so much. Besides, I know he said he can't stop thinking about me, but there's a big difference between love and lust. So Sam lusts for me; that much I knew and now I've gone and made a complete idiot of myself and in front of a whole restaurant of people by the sounds of it. Wait 'till Adam hears.

I grab a muffin and pick at it. Whatever.

"Are you actually going to eat that? Or do you simply plan on desecrating it? I'd really prefer if your sulking didn't waste the food." That's not him teasing me, he's pissed all of a sudden.

What the actual fuck?

I thought he'd be mad in the first place, but he wasn't, but now he is and I haven't done anything.

I eat the muffin to avoid his wraith.

From there, breakfast is painful in two ways: I'm still fucking hung over and neither Sam nor I know what to say again—we're hopeless. But when breakfast comes to its close, I suddenly don't want him to leave for work with such a bad taste in his mouth over me. I've seen some of his gorgeous colleagues and I remember what Cas said about him having many lovers. In effort to make himself feel better about his idiot house-husband, maybe he'll fuck some nice hard ass by the water cooler—I know you think I sound crazy, but, well, maybe I am.

In any case I say the first stupid thing that pops into my head. "Um… Do you work everyday?"


"Oh. Well, you can't, you know… take a day off?" And hang out with me.

"Why would I do that?"

Fuck. Just go fuck your secretary. "Whatever. No reason."

He glares at me, puzzled. We get up to go our separate ways; both knowing the other doesn't want to leave just yet, but it's too fucking awkward now to say anything—we've been staring at one another too long; longer than is socially acceptable.

I decide to just walk out, but when I move, he lunges forward and grabs my wrist and before I can blink again, I'm pushed hard against the wall, his lips, bruising mine with blunt force; his tongue forcing its way inside mine and I'm responding with equal violence.

I can't contain myself, nor can I believe the things I'm doing, to Sam.

While his hands pull at my hair, mine are pushing his jacket off as I hook a leg around him to keep him pressed against me. Like I need to, but I want to feel his hard cock and it's way too fucking clothed, the only way is to grind him to me. At the same time, he lifts my shirt over my head, never stopping his assault on my lips and I begin undoing the buttons of his white blouse, untucking it from his pants. I desperately try to undo the buckle—my hands aren't moving fast enough, I want his cock in me.

He yanks me off the wall and slams me onto the table after he's pushed the empty plates aside. He rips down my joggers and sees the fancy panties: A midnight blue silk with thick white lace trim.

"Oh, Baby—these are divine on you. We'll keep these on."

I can't help it. I fucking smile knowing I've pleased him and it's one of those shy fucking smiles too. Crap. I'm turning into a belle.

When I'm ready for his cock, after he's scissored me open with his fingers and some fucking butter, he undoes his pants with one hand; the other guides my leg so I'm bent in half, with one leg hanging off the table; his white, button-up shirt, still hangs off his torso, open so I can see his sexy, muscled torso—fuck, my husband is the best looking man alive.

He pulls his dick out of his pants, and only pulls the lacey thong part of my panties aside, sliding the head past the tight rim of muscle at my entrance slowly; my cock still trapped inside the silk and straining against it.

With both hands free, he's able to push both legs to my chest, my feet are by my ears as he splits me open with his cock, ramming hard with frantic need, over and over…

We both cum at the same time and I swear I'm going to die from… Can you die from having an orgasm that's too good? My pretty panties are full of two sets of seamen: From my dick and Sam's, now leaking out of my ass.

I help him re-dress and fix his hair. I'm still wearing nothing but seriously wet blue and white panties. He scoops me up when he's proper again and sits me on the table. He's kissing my lips and down my neck, frantic again; his hands are in my hair and his head ends up in my shoulder. "I can't get enough of you," he whispers so quiet I almost don't hear him.

He meets my eyes again. He's not smiling but his eyes have a new hint of softness "Stay like this."

"What, like all day?"

"Yes. Put on a fresh pair, but I want to know you're here waiting for me like this... In pretty panties and nothing else." He smoothes a hand over the wet silky blue. "When I get home, we'll play a game."

Fuck. His voice is so fucking sexy when he talks like that. For once I'm looking forward to his homecoming and he hasn't even left yet. "Be a good boy," he says and leaves me all riled up again.

I find this lacey black pair that have a huge ass black bow at the back and split at the crack of my ass—that'll make it easy for Sam to take me in them. I think about hiding in our room all day, but, meh, nothing the staff hasn't seen before. I take my exhibitionism to another level and decide to go freak Cas out.

"Those are obscene," he says barely glancing up from the book he's reading as I flop, belly first across his bed to display my finer assets.

"That's all the reaction I get?"

"You'll have to try a lot harder than that. My brother has often sent me up a treat or two."

I stare at him stunned. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Why not?"

"Well, because you're so ill—you'll die anytime now, remember?"

"Of course I remember," he says finally putting the book aside, angry. "How could I forget? The doctor has been telling me since I was born."

"Why would your brother send you up sex toys if you're so ill? Don't you see? That's what doesn't make sense."

"Something to see me to my grave? Dying man's last request? How am I supposed to know?"

I like Cas, a ton, but there's so much that's peculiar about him. "So did you?"

"Indulge? Yes. But I can't fuck them you see, they'd just suck me off."

I shake my head and roll on my back. "Jesus, Cas. And they were okay with Sam just telling them to come up here and suck his little, ill brother off at his request?"

"Most people do what he says, when he says," Cas says condescendingly as if to say I don't. He's like that sometimes, must be a Campbell trait. "Maybe he'll tell you to come suck my cock, someday."

I couldn't get a rise out of him, but that gets him a rise out of me. "What?"

He laughs. "Don't worry. I know well I can't have you. You're just for him—he's made that clear."

"Fuck off, Cas." Not that Cas isn't a good-looking guy, under all that sickly pale skin, (honestly, I think a little sun would do him a world of good) but I'm not into him like that. In fact, I don't know how the hell it happened, but I've only got eyes for the one Sam Campbell, who other than some fuck hot sex, is completely unavailable to me in all other ways. Yeah, yeah, I remember I'm married to him, but I wish we could talk; when I'm not hammered that is.

"What's got you in a pissy mood today? You're the one coming up here in that; I'm only teasing back."

"You know what? This was a mistake—I'll just go."

"You will not. I demand you stay. Talk to me—tell brother Cas why your dick is in a twist."

I huff, but I tell him about dinner last night.

"You two are ridiculous. Am I going to be the one who has to play matchmaker for my brother and his husband?" He laments to himself. "He said you looked like a Greek God in that gown by the way."

"You've already talked to him?"

"Early this morning—he was here. You should have heard him talk on and on about last night. He had a really good time; couldn't stop saying nice things about you. Thought you were cute when you were all drunked up."

"An idiot more like. He didn't say any such things to me this morning. It fucking sucks. We don't talk Cas."

"Yeah. He just fucks the daylights out of you. Can't you be happy with what you have? You already have so much more than I do."

Maybe it's my foul mood, but I'm getting sick of Cas' negativity about his 'condition.' Sometimes I wonder if he doesn't just need some fresh air. "Let's open a window in here, Cas. Seriously. You need some freaking sun, maybe that will brighten your dark disposition." I hop off the bed and set about trying to figure out how to remove a board or two.

"No! Don't! The spores. They'll attach themselves to my lungs—I told you. I won't be able to breathe."

"You know, I've been thinking about spores and it sounds like a lot of hogwash to me. I think you should get a second opinion."

"What do you know? You're not a doctor."

Sometimes I wonder about his 'doctor,' but I leave it not wanting to fight with Cas. Cas asks me for a story and I tell him one about before, when I lived in Lawrence.

But this new knowledge, that Sam sent up his cast off lovers for Cas makes me wonder something I can't help myself asking. "Why do you think he hasn't told me about you, yet? I mean, he'll send lovers—strangers—to 'meet' you, but not his husband?"

"Maybe he's afraid I'll steal you away with all my charm and wit."

"Stop, Cas. I'm serious."

"You haven't met Grandfather, yet."

"That's why? He's really got a thing about that, hasn't he?"

"Grandfather is important to him—he raised Sam." I notice he doesn't include himself or Jules in that.

"But I've met Jules and Perry."

"At the benefit, casually. Truth is, he didn't even want that, but I made him take you. I was tired of him whining to me about how unhappy you are. It assuaged him thinking your meeting with Jules and Perry wouldn't be 'formal' though it's a little potatoe, potawtoe." He fucking winks at me.

"Do you think he'll 'introduce' us then? After I meet Grandfather Campbell?"

"How am I supposed to know? I'm not a Sam instruction manual, I can't explain every one of his actions."

He's just being difficult. "Fuck you, Cas."

"Don’t be offended. He doesn't usually let people up to see me, except the staff, my doctor and sometimes Jules. With the lovers, I'd say he's prone to feeling sorry for me sometimes. He knew his 'lovers' would be gone the next day. With you, you're here to stay—you're important to him. He could be waiting for 'the right time,' or maybe for me to die so you don't have to meet me at all."

"Except I already have," I say. I can't stand his death talk.

"Well, all I'm trying to say, is don't think about it too hard—we're not always going to know why Sam does the things he does. Accept that."


I spend the rest of my day planning my garden and make some calls to order the shit I need and alert the appropriate staff. My supplies will arrive at the weekend. I give Charlie a call. "Anymore kinky sex? Oscar de la Renta? You, hammered? Would have loved to see that."

Not that Charlie and I never drank together, but I'd never get passed the 'tipsy' point knowing I'd have my brother to answer to if I'd made a fool out of myself drinking too much. I don't tell her about the garden yet. It's the first secret I've ever kept from Charlie, but I know she's been concerned about me and didn't want me doing it. I'm afraid she'll tell my brother who will tell Sam.

Sam comes home early; a rarity.

I'd got used to wearing nothing, but the black panties all day and forget until I see the look on Sam's face. He said he wanted to play a game and I can see from the look on his face it's game on.

"Was Daddy's little girl well behaved today?"

Daddy's girl? Holy fuck. Why does that turn me on? I have no desire to be a woman (no offense) but him calling me that and oh God, he called himself my daddy—didn't Charlie say something about that? 'Daddy kink?' I have no idea what to say in return. I put my book down and say the first thing at the tip of my brain. "I wasn't very good today, Daddy."


I'm in the large living room; I prefer to read outside, but since I'm mostly naked, I can't go outside, since my nuts literally will freeze off. He moves closer to me. "I pranced around all day, just like this." I show him the little black number I've got on. "Everyone saw me Daddy. Everyone saw your little girl."

"You know what we do with naughty little girls in this house. They get spankings on their bare bottoms."

He says that with such dominance, I shiver. "Yes, Daddy."

He sits on the couch and pulls me to his lap like an unruly child. "A red bottom ought to teach you not to act like a tramp."

He sets to work on my ass; I think it actually missed his heavy hand… somehow. It hurts, but it's not quite like a punishment spanking. I want more, I like the burn it leaves on my bare skin, which he doesn't have to remove the panties to access, since they leave more than enough ass available even though they're not thong. The way he's spanking me makes my cock want to burst. After he turns my ass the 'right' shade of red, he starts playing with the slit in my underwear, which leaves my cleft available, he spreads my legs wider and runs his finger inside the crack of my ass.

"I don't think that was enough to teach you manners. I think I'm going to have to fuck your tight, wet, pussy, Baby."

Please fucking do.

But my desire for him to do just that doesn't stop the chagrin from flooding to my cheeks.

"Say it. Tell me you want my cock in your pussy."

It's hard to say out loud. We're in the middle of the house where anyone could see and hear us. "Please, Sam."

He spanks my ass hard—a real spanking. I swallow. "Please… Daddy, Fuck… Fuck my pussy."

"Good, girl."

I don't know where the lube comes from, but he's got some and spreads it between my ass cheeks through the conveniently split panties—someone was thinking when they made these. He slips a finger inside my slick hole.

"You like Daddy fucking your pussy with his finger Baby Girl?" Does he have to say that so loud? But I'm already passed the point of denial; I fucking like it. Besides, I know how Sam works: Play along or you don't get my cock… and I really, really want his cock, more than I care about a little embarrassment.

"Yes, Daddy. Please. More."

He adds a finger and I'm slowly coming undone. Fuck. My cock strains in its silky black confines; I'm rutting against his lap, so my cock can get a little friction—he spanks me. "What a naughty girl—look how eager you are. Maybe Daddy's cock hasn't been enough for you, hmm? Maybe Daddy should pass you around to the staff while he's at work; that ought to teach you. What do you think?"

Does he mean that? Or is this part of the game? I have no fucking clue.

"No Daddy. Please, I can be a good girl. I only want your fat cock, filling me up, teaching me to be a good girl."

I must have said the magic words. Sam turns feral.

In a few quick motions, I'm thrust over the couch and his cock is quickly buried in my ass—but I like the reaction; I got him to unravel. Why fucking stop there?

"Oh God. Yeah. Fuck my pussy, Daddy. That's it. Needs your cock and only your cock to show it who it belongs to." I shout it loud and hope the whole damn house hears. Fuck'em. Doesn't make it any less embarrassing, I probably won't be able to look any of the staff in the eyes ever again, but all I care about it making Sam happy.

"Fuck!" He shouts.

Time to seal the deal—he started this game, but I'm finishing it. "C'mon Daddy, please, make your baby girl cum!"

And that's it for both of us folks. Sam cums hard in my ass with a guttral moan and I wet my panties for the second time today. We collapse on the floor. He climbs over top of me and squeezes me to him like he's afraid I'll vanish. We spend a few moments returning to Earth…

"Dean… that was… God I… You please me very much."

My husband, always the romantic.

"I could barely concentrate at work imagining what it would be like to come home and do that to you—and you seemed to like it."

"Lord help me, I did. But you keep saying you don't want a girl and yet…"

"Haven't you figured it out yet, Dean?"

"Sure I have I… no, no I haven't."

"Humiliation, Dean. Humiliation is a kink. That's what I like and it would appear you like it too."


"You find it all embarrassing, do you not? You clearly aren't a girl, which is what makes it all the more humiliating."

And a huge fucking turn on. Okay, I get it. It makes a lot of sense. I don't think I would have understood as I do if I hadn't tried it first though. It would have taken a lot of convincing to get me into a dress willingly, let alone what we just did.

"Sam? Can I ask you something and you promise you won't get mad?"

"You can ask, but I can't promise I won't get mad."

I sigh. "Never mind."

"You can't do that, it will eat me alive—ask."

Fine. "Did you… I mean… That is… how many… Do you have other lovers? Besides me I mean. I know it's not really any of my business, I know you don't have the same obligations to me that I do you it's just... Forget it. Forget I asked." As I rambled, I watched his eyes go from their regular darkness to stormy-dark. He's fucking mad, now.

He throws me off of him and gets up readjusting his clothes. "You're right. It isn't any of your fucking business. Go get ready for dinner."

So in other words, yes he does. My heart breaks a little bit—I don't know why it should. I wipe at the stupid lone and try to make look like anything else. "Um, I can get dressed?"

He nods.

After dinner, I sneak away to the solace of my dead garden. Yes, I'm moping—yet again, try and stop me this time. Charlie had me dead to rights, like always, I've fallen for my husband—though I have no idea why—and now I know that when he goes to work he fucks like a wild bunny. Least according to his history.

I've got no right to ask it, but I don't want him to fuck anyone else, but me. I know well strictly monogamous marriages are a thing of the past, but there are still plenty of people who practice, such an old idea. Not that I wouldn't mind bringing someone in from time to time, or even—dare I say it—what we did when Charlie was here. That had turned out to be, well, not as bad as I thought it would be.

But my point; I don't mind bringing others into our relationship when we're both happy participants of said acts, but imagining him with someone else, especially another guy, without me, makes me sick to my stomach.

I sit down by the mucky pond and start throwing rocks in it; my ass slides around in silk and the hotness Sam left with his hand. Yeah, I put on fucking panties. This is going to sound totally sappy, it is totally sappy, but now they remind me of him; make me feel like he's with me.

Fuck. Now I can't even be in my damn garden without thinking about him.

I trudge my way back to the house and to our room. "Hello, Dean," he says as I walk by.

"Oh. Hi Sam."

I start removing my shirt but remember about the panties—crap, I don't want him to see—I'll get changed in the washroom.

"Nice walk?"


"It's still cold; I hope you bundled up appropriately."

"I did, I swear. See? My hands aren't even cold." I grab pajama pants and start walking towards the washroom.

"I don't know. I think I'd better check. Come here."

I huff and make my way over to him. He reaches out to grab my hand, but pulls me on the bed with him; he starts to kiss me, I shrug away.

"What's wrong with you?" He says, his eyes narrowing.

"Nothing. I just, I have a headache." I so did not just say that—except I did. And we all know what that means. The look on his face is almost worth it and the momentary shock he's experiencing, gives me the opportunity to escape to the bathroom, but my heart is beating wildly. I essentially told my husband 'no.' He can't be pleased. I pull off my jeans and stuff the panties into one of the pockets, put my pajamas on and brush my teeth.

Sam's no longer reading, but he's not asleep, his bedside light is still on—wonderful. I climb into bed and think I'm going to sleep, but I'm wrong. "Are you pouting?"


"Are. You—"

"I heard you, I just… I don't pout."

He sits up. "You are. You're pouting because I wouldn't answer your question early."

"Why would I be? You're right. It's none of my fucking business. I'm sorry. Now could we please go to sleep?"

He's not finished talking yet though. He turns on his side and pillows his head on one hand, he uses his other hand to walk up my bare abdomen. Then his lips replace his fingers and are getting dangerously close to the top of my pajama pants. I let him, but when his fingers reach for the waistband, that's where I draw the line—my cock fucking hates me right now. "Lay off Sam, I told you—"

"Are you going to tell me you have a headache again? Because I don't believe you."

Then I'm fucked. I know one is never supposed to refuse their partner—well, if you're the partner in my position, it's part of my job description I guess you could say: Dean Winchester, resident fuck toy. But, everyone gets a sick day now and again, right?

I expect him just to continue on with his ministrations; I won't stop him again, but I'd really rather… not. I'm surprised when he doesn't.

He flops on his back; I can tell he's pissed. Great. Now I won't be able to sleep anyway—I should have just… "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what's wrong with me." And great, now there are tears. Since when did I turn into such a fucking cry baby?

I grab his hand back and put it on my pajama pants. "Here. I'm sorry," I say again. He takes his hand away.

"I'm not going to make you have sex with me, Dean."

"You're not making me. Really. I want to, I just—"

"Have a headache?"

Okay, yeah that did sound stupid. We both lay quiet, 'till he snakes his hand across to find mine. He can do that. I like that. He rubs his thumb over the knuckles. "Would you rather I didn't fuck anyone else, but you?"

I start to panic inside. Why did I fucking open my big mouth? "No, Sam. I wasn't asking that I was just—"

"I didn't say you were asking. I was asking. Answer the question." His voice is hard. How am I supposed to answer him when he uses that voice?

I focus on his thumb tracing over my skin. It reminds me of when he massages my feet after wearing heels. And I realize, I can't. I can't do it; I'm more afraid of answering the question than I am of not answering. The tears fall harder.

I expect him to crush my hand; to kick me out of bed; to do any number of things he's already said he could do if he felt like it—like tie me to a tree. So when he tugs at my wrist, I fucking jump. In the whole fight or flight thing, I've always been fight, but with Sam all my instincts have been rewired and I want to flee.

His grip is stronger though and he pulls me to him and holds me to his large, warm chest. "What did I ever do to make you so scared of me?"

He's not asking me, thank God. You think I didn't want to answer his first question? Not even threat of death will make me answer that one.

He cards his hands through my hair as I cry and it's the first time he's let me know he's doing it. He sighs like he wishes he didn't have to tell me what he's about to, but he's braving himself to do it anyway. "I have slept with others, since we've been married, Dean."

I suspected it, but hearing it hurts so much fucking more than I thought it would. I can't help the outright sobs that escape me. I shouldn't be crying. I know how it works—he's not doing anything he's not supposed to be—it's my behavior that's unacceptable. I'll be lucky he doesn't send me home after this.

"It was the first two weeks," he continues. "The first time, was no different than it had been before we were married, but the second time," he laughs. "I stopped before either of us finished and chased him out with my stapler. I keep trying; I don’t even have to hit on anyone, Dean. They come to me, all I have to do is stick my cock in them, but I just can't do it no matter how hard I try. I thought there was something wrong with me… but it seems… I only want you."

It's not heartening to hear how many people want my husband. He may be okay with everyone looking at me, but I'm not okay with everyone looking at him. But I can't care about that for now—he just said, wait, did I hear what I think I heard?

"You do?"

"Yes, Darling. Just you."

"Since the bastard you chased with a stapler?"

He laughs. "Yes."

I pull away, my tear soaked face smiling wide; I wipe at the tears.

"Has your headache gone away now?"

"I seem to have made a miraculous recovery."

"It's just as I thought," he says as he swiftly yanks at my leg, making me slam onto my back and prowls over top of me. He kisses my neck and down my chest, he looks up at me this time when the fingers of both his hands are gripping my pajama pants. I nod. He slips them down enough to expose my half-hard cock.

"You know, it's a shame," he says as he noses at my cock and licks down the shaft, my cock bolts to life as my breath hitches. "I missed out on getting to see you in those."

His eyes flick the jeans I left over the chair on my side of the bed; the emerald green panties are poking out. I blush. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow."

"You will. Do you have any idea how many people I used to fuck? You've got your work cut out for you, Mr. Campbell."

I smile. "Allow me to get started then."


My gardening supplies arrive a lot earlier than I expect: The same day we are expecting Sam's Grandfather for dinner. One of the serving staff tells me they were delivered to the head gardener's shed, a man called Ben. I'm excited as hell, so I head out there right away.

I knock, but the door's open, so I walk in. "Uh, Ben? It's Dean Campbell, I'm here for my…" I see a man, but it's not who I expect; he's young with dark hair, a strong looking fellow.

"Oh, hiya Mr. Campbell. Pleasure to meet you. I've got your supplies right here—Ben's my father, I work with him. My name is Michael Dickon."

I shake his hand and notice a familiar looking robin perched on a wooden box near him. "Hey, I've…" I trail off mid-sentence, 'cause it would have been fucking weird for me to say what I was going to, which was that I'd seen that bird before.

"I know. He's been watching you," Michael says.

"Watching me?" There are two things creepy about that. A bird is fucking watching me and dude talks to birds.

"Yeah. He's had his eye on you. He's decided to make friends with thee."

"I'm going to be honest dude, you're creeping me out a bit." And Lord help me, I'm wondering if the little red bellied bastard told his 'human-friend' about my garden.

He laughs. "Don't be. I've had a way with animals since I was a small boy. Everyone thinks it's strange at first, but we've all got our eccentricities, don’t we Mr. Campbell?"

Fuck, right. I'm the pervert and I'm on his case about talking to animals? Guess everyone from here to kingdom come knows about my new proclivities. "Point taken."

I notice he's not afraid to talk to me like the rest of the staff. "I could help you bring this stuff up to wherever it is you're off to. There's a lot of it."

That's when I see the fox hop down from the loft above. "That's Jinx. C'mere, I'll bet I can get him to let you pet him."

Wow, this dude's like fucking Snow White. I want to see if it's true, so I follow him over to the fox, who studies me and looks at Michael. "It's okay Jinxy—he's not gonna hurt you."

The fox looks back up at me and I take that as an invitation then I'm petting him, I'm petting a fucking fox.

"The animals tell me all their secrets, Mr. Campbell."

"But… They wouldn't tell you my secret? Would they?"

"And what secret is that Mr. Campbell?"

I don't know why, but I feel compelled to tell him; like I can trust him—I mean, dude talks to animals; if they trust him… And I'll bet he knows everything there is to know about gardening—I've read books, but it's a pretty big garden to take on for a first time; not to mention I know almost nothing. I could really use his help.

"I've stolen a garden. Maybe it's dead anyway."

"I'll know."

"Promise you won't tell?" I feel like a little kid asking him not to snitch on me.

"Not a soul."

Suddenly I've become a co-conspirator with a complete stranger. "It's the one that was shut up by Samuel's father," I explain as we walk.

"Ahh… the one that belonged to the Mistress of this place."

"You know about that?"

"Thought everyone did. She fell off the swing when she was pregnant with the youngest Campbell. The baby was born too soon."

"Castiel. You know about him?"

"Everyone knows about him; hardly anyone's seen him."

Except me on both counts. I didn't know about him, but I've seen him.

"I have. I've met Castiel." Something about this guy makes me want to spill my guts—maybe I just want a friend who shares my secrets. "And if you could keep that between you and I as well…"

He laughs. "Of course Mr. Campbell."

"Dean. Call me Dean."

I show him the way in; the fox and the robin made the trek with us; I can't help wondering what Cas would think of this guy. If he'd just come out of that damn room—I mean, if he is going to die, which I doubt more everyday, he might as well go out in style. Yeah, know?

Michael inspects the garden and shaves a bit of bark off one of the branches. "See that?" He points at the green he's uncovered on the branch. "That's wick. This garden's still alive as you or me. Roses," he says looking around. "They'll be so many rose in here come spring, you'll be sick of'em."


I'm used to having to hide under Cas's bed by now, when various members of the staff come into to serve him; I'm of course privy to bits of information. The more I hear, the more I think Cas has been brainwashed into thinking he's sickly ill.

"So you ready to meet Grandfather?"

"No. Speaking of which, I should go get ready. Do you think Sam's going to make me wear another dress?"

"Oh Dean, so young, so naïve…"

"We're the same age, dick."

"Still, you should take more care when speaking to me; I don't appreciate being called 'dick.'"

He's in a pissy mood today—he normally doesn’t care about shit like that; I think it has something to do with his grandfather coming by.

"And at least you get see him, he probably won't want to come visit me."

I don't mean to say it, but after hearing shit like that day after day, I can't help myself. "You could if you'd just come out of your room—then he'd have to see you."

"What do you know about it? Mr. I cry every time I have to wear a dress. Grow up."

That's it. "That's rich from you—you who never even opens a fucking window."

"Doesn't mean I wouldn't."

"I dare you."

"Fine. Tomorrow."


"Hey! Where are you going? I demand you stay! Come back, else I'll have them drag you back in."

"Yeah, I'd like to see that. Then at least someone will fucking know that I know you exist. Then maybe they'll say I can't come in here anymore; wouldn't that be a shame?" Pompous dick.

"Get out my sight!"

"I'm trying to!"

But when I'm half-way stormed out he shouts: "Dean, wait!"


"Come back tomorrow?"

I sigh. "Yeah."


Sam chose something black for me. It's actually the one I've liked best so far—do not tell Sam I said that. I think because it's so plain, but I'm still self-conscious; it's kinda short, but the rest of it is fairly conservative.

It has black cap sleeves and a neckline that runs along my clavicle. The rest of the dress is completely fitted, but it ends at mid thigh—which meant shaving. Sam decided it was time I learn on my own. I said I'm happy to learn on my own, but could he please save that for a night it wasn't his freaking Grandfather coming over? Like I want Samuel Campbell Senior to see my legs all sliced up.

"You have shaved your face before?" Sam asked.

"Well, yeah."

"Shaving legs is far easier."

He almost walked out on me after that; which meant I was bound for another switching, because there was no way I was going to bring a sharp object anywhere near my legs on the night his grandfather was coming to visit us. I know I'm expected to make a good impression and I won't fuck it up by doing a shoddy shave job.

He seemed pissed, but he helped me. And when he saw the final product, it was enough to cool him. It was the first time I stood to admire myself in the mirror. I looked… good. The panties he let me wear have the most coverage yet. They're black and they are see-through, but they cover my entire backside, cock, with a waistband that sits just under my belly button. The shoes are simple black pumps.

Now we're waiting in the front lobby to greet him and I'm a nervous freaking wreck. Continuously smoothing my dress down, fiddling with the necklace Sam put on me—the diamond one from our wedding—and trying to breathe properly.

"Do you need a spanking?"

"What? No!"

"Then calm down. My grandfather will like you."

"You don't know that."

"Fine. Let me put it to you another way—calm down now, or I will spank you, right in front of my grandfather. Wouldn't that be a lasting first impression?"

He means it. He fucking means it. Oh God. Now I'm worried about earning a spanking while his grandfather's here, but it does work and I straighten myself out; a little.

None of my anxiety is relieved when he walks in—the man looks like steel. If Sam is thunder he's a fucking lightening storm, except instead of bringing light to a room with all his electricity, he sucks all the light from the room—like a power outage. His eyes fall to me; judging me; sizing me up—I feel like I'm going to pass out.

He takes my hand, but not to shake it, to kiss it on my knuckles. "Pleased to meet you, Dean."

"Pleased to meet you too, sir." Sir is the only thing you fucking call this man. Unless your name is also Sam Campbell,

"Welcome Grandfather. We've been looking forward to having you."

Speak for your-fucking-self, Sam. I smile like I agree.

Sam did tell me that this house wasn't technically his—not 'till his grandfather passes on, but his grandfather wants nothing to do with it, except that he hopes his grandson would keep in the family. It goes without saying that his grandfather can't get over the house's jaded past and it's no wonder, the house feels dead, like there's a spell that's been cast over it.

Samuel lives on his yacht now and spends most of his time adrift; a lost soul out at sea. No one's told me what happened to Gramma C, except the little bit that she liked to hit the sauce. I don't fucking ask, but I assume she's no longer alive.

We sit and like everyone else, Samuel doesn't make any deal out of me being in a dress. Does Sam have something on the whole world? I've expected at least one negative comment by now, but there haven't been any. Maybe this world is ready for men in dresses. Either way, I do my best to display what Sam calls "proper dress etiquette." I shudder to think at the punishment Sam would come up with if I embarrass him in front of his grandfather. I have no doubt he would lift my skirt right here and tell me to bend over.

We're well into our entrée and I haven't said more than two words. No one seems to notice; I don't seem that important, at least not to Sam's grandfather. He isn't all that talkative anyway, so I don't take too much offence, but I do wonder why it was such a matter of national importance to have me meet him? He doesn't act contrary to me, simply indifferent.

I spend my time watching him instead and I do end up relaxing a little more, but only a very little bit more. Sam is a reflection of him, both possessing unyielding severity, because they've forgotten what it means to just be, easy. If you look closely, it is apparent they care for one another, but you have to know them, or in the least one and in watching them I realize I am beginning to know Sam.

They inquire about one another like they're conducting business, but I think it's because they both care to know—neither seeming the type to ask merely to appease. If they didn't care, I'm certain both would feel just fine to sit and eat in silence. There are moments of silence, but it's not awkward, for them. I imagine they did this often when Sam was younger; sit eating in silence, both enjoying the lack of sound and the feeling of each of their large presences filling the room.

The only true difference I sense is the tiredness in the Senior version. Sam is like a sharpened blade and Samuel is a blade that's gone dull in some places, but can still be used to slice.

I decide I'd much rather be like an unobtrusive mouse. Besides, in more olden-times, weren't the married off spouses meant to be seen and not heard? I try to embody that. It's clear the respect Sam has for his grandfather—if I say the wrong thing Sam'll really kill me.

But Sam Senior finally decides he wants to talk to me. Fuck. And apparently Sam tells him fucking everything.

"Dean. Sam tells me your sister is going to have a baby?" That's what he wants to know?

"Um, yes, sir."

His eyes narrow. What did I do? "He also tells me you wanted to leave the house on your own. Is this how you were raised? I was under the impression you had come from a standard home. Surely your brother didn't allow you to go anywhere without a chaperone?"

Jesus Christ. I think I'm going to have a heart attack. And what do I fucking say? Because sometimes, Adam did. I used to hate that he always sent someone with me, and loved when he'd trust me with some freedoms; now I wish he'd been more strict—how fucked up is that? Because now I'm going to have to try and explain all of this to Grampa C.

"My b-brother permitted some freedoms, yes, but only when I was much older. I could g-go to work and to Charlie's, that's a friend, on m-my own."

"He let you work? Junior. Why was I not made aware of this? I thought they were standard, this sounds very progressionist to me."

"Because I didn't know, until after we were married."

Okay. I didn't know that either—nor did Sam tell me when I mentioned it.

"You didn’t think to ask?"

"No." Sam doesn't offer an excuse, but I know there's a reason. Whatever it is, he doesn't want to tell his grandfather.

"Well, it's too late now. I just hope Dean here, understands what we expect in our household."

"He does, Grandfather. I've made it amply clear."

Though by the sounds of it, while I thought Sam was being overly harsh, two warnings was him being extremely lenient.

From there it's all downhill as Grandfather Campbell decides to take a firm interest in Sam's recalcitrant husband. I don't eat right, talk right, or sit right. He decides we should go over the rules of the Campbell household, just to make sure I understand, so apparently when I'm punished for fucking up (because according to him that's an inevitability) I'll know why. Let's not forget that I'm wearing a dress this entire time, and while it's the least of my humiliations, it doesn't help and I do wonder why that is okay, but any deviation from Campbell protocol is not?

I want to cry. I want to flee the table. I want to tell Campbell Senior to fuck off, but I don't do any of those things. I just take it. Every bit. I know the drill. Despite my 'offensive' upbringing, Adam was fairly strict and I've endured many lectures. That doesn't bother me; what's making me so upset is not knowing what Sam's thinking, but guessing that he's probably extremely disappointed to learn that his new husband was a low class Standard. And I did want his grandfather to like me, but only for Sam's sake because of how highly he thinks of his grandfather. But I don't have Samuel's good opinion and I'm terrified Sam's going to reject me. I spent all this time wanting to go home, wanting to leave and now I'd do anything to stay.

When we say goodbye I'm fucking stunned. His parting words are the nicest thing he's said to me all night: "I look forward to your improvements, Dean. My grandson is a fine man, he'll steer you in the right direction."

Sam shuts the door and I stand there feeling like a broken doll. "I thought you said he'd like me," I say in a small voice.

"He does like you, Darling."

What? Seriously. What the fuck?

I think he can read my expression because I don't need to say anything for him to tell me: "He would never take an interest in someone he doesn't like."

"Then I wish he fucking hated me, because that was awful, Sam!" Shit. Did I just fucking swear in a dress? Yeah. Yeah I did. And I probably should not have said that. I'm afraid to look at Sam's eyes—they're probably like thunderstorms.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

I'm looking at my black pumps and it's very quiet in Sam's direction, which is not a good sign. I can feel the rage pouring off him. He grabs my arm.

I trip and have to catch my balance a whole bunch of times as he drags me to our room, he still hasn't said a word. When we get there he stands me in front of the mirror. "Can you see what you're wearing, Dean?"

"Y-es, Sam. I'm sorry—I said that, I know I messed up."

"Grandfather is right—you're unruly. It's why he brought up what he did tonight, to illustrate to me how lax I've been in running my home. I should have punished you when you asked me the second time, but I let it go because…"


He never finishes his sentence, but starts a new one. "What did I say would happen if you used inappropriate language when wearing a dress?"

"That you'd wash my mouth out." Fuck. This night can't get any worse.

"But you didn't just swear Dean. What you said about Grandfather was equally inappropriate—at any time."

"I know. I know." I think I'm going to hyperventilate, because I've really fucked up. "Sam, please don't send me back. I'm sorry, I can be better, I swear it."

Sam stares at me dumbfounded, but that quickly turns to fury. "Why do you always think I'm going to send you back? You're mine. Do you understand? I own you. I'm not sending you back, ever."

I don't know what compels me, maybe it's the build up of the different emotions I've felt all night, but I throw myself at him and encircle my arms around his torso. It takes him a few moments, probably to figure out what the fuck is going on—but he finally envelopes me with his large arms and puts his head on my crown. I fucking cry—sob actually and I don't care. The whole thing was a frightening mess. I don't care how he punishes me for tonight, so long as he keeps me.

"I-I just wanted him to like me. I tired so hard, for you. I swear I did. I'm s-sorry. S-sorry if I disappointed you."

He begins carding a hand through my hair. "I know you did Darling." He scoops me up, under my thick legs and removes my black pumps, one at a time; he carries me to the bathroom. "You didn't disappoint me."

"But I said—"

"I know what you said and I disapprove of that, but you were good the whole night. It's not easy to take one of his lectures and you did that so well. He does like you though—for him to bother with you at all is good. You're going to have to get a thicker skin if you want to be a Campbell." He sits me on the bathroom counter.

"You're not mad that I worked? You didn't really say anything before, but tonight I got the impression that…" I can't say anymore. I'm trying to stop crying; get thicker skin, but it's harder than it fucking seems.

He sighs. "I wasn't pleased when I first learned of it, but it was my fault for not asking. Grandfather was right to chastise me. He let me handle all of the marriage negotiations myself, with only a few bits of input; that was all on me."

He's wetting a bar of soap and I try not to groan, I really, really don't want to eat fucking soap.

"Would it have changed anything? If you had known before we were married, I mean?"

"Do you mean would I have decided not to marry you?"

I nod.

"No. It wouldn't have changed anything."

Yeah, I know I'd say I'd take whatever punishment he gave me, but now I'm wussing out.

"Open and lift your tongue." It's highly unpleasant when he begins rubbing the foamy soap under my tongue, on top of my tongue and along the sides. I'm gagging the entire time and it makes my eyes water more. It's a really fucking bitter taste and I just want it out of my mouth. He repeats the process two more freaking times; then leaves the bar of soap in my mouth and tells me to bite down.

He pulls me off the counter and turns me to face the mirror—I can see myself, the white soapy bubbles around my lips and seeing the bar in my mouth somehow makes the tastes worse. "Hands on the counter Dean. Two minutes."

Fu—dge… I can't even think swear words right now. He flips up my dress and pulls down my panties and begins spanking me; hard. I have to cry out around the soap and it freaking sucks. "I hope I've made myself clear, Dean. I don't want to hear naughty language when you're in a dress and supposed to be acting proper—it doesn't look nice. Nor was it nice for you to speak about Grandfather as you did."

I nod as the fire in my ass builds and my tongue starts to hurt from the soap. It's the longest two minutes of my life. When he takes out the soap and tells me to rinse, I can't get enough water in my mouth fast enough. "Yuck!"

The bastard laughs at me. I can't care—I don't get to hear him laugh often. I probably do look ridiculous. When I'm finally done, there's still a little soap taste lingering, but the worst of it is out. He helps me wash my face.

I'm still wearing the little black dress. "You know, I saw you admiring yourself in that dress earlier—I think you like that one."

"I do not."

"You do. And I think it's my favorite too."

"Did it, you know…"

"Drive me crazy all night? Fuck Dean. All fucking night."

He grabs my hand and puts it on his cock that's bulging beneath his black slacks. "That's all for you, Baby."

I'm feeling awfully brave after everything that's happened tonight; like I've passed some sort of test; earned a rite of passage in the Campbell house after that monumental lecture from Sam Senior.

I grab his jacket by the lapels, but not in a dominating fashion—no, I want him to dominate me. "I think you're going to have to fuck my pussy, Daddy," I say with blinking eyes.

His irises glint like the devil's in him, his voice is low and sultry—dangerous. "Yeah. Why's that?"

"Because I'm yours and well, there's no other reason."

Chapter Text

I wake up sore; then I remember last night. I lost track of how many orgasms I had, it was amazing, but my poor fucking ass. And that's not the only thing that's sore, I think my dick is paralyzed; I don't even have morning wood. I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I need a sex break. The man is unreal—I don't know where he gets the stamina, I'm a fair bit younger than he is and I had a hard time keeping up.

I turn over, business as usual, but almost jump straight through the roof—Sam's next to me. What's he still doing here?

I immediately decide against waking him. What if he wants to have sex? I couldn't refuse him. What would I do? Fake another headache? No way. I'm going to creep out of bed like a different kind of coward, shower and get the fuck downstairs before he wakes up. Good plan.

Slow and careful as I fucking can, I sit up and start to slide off the bed.

"I'm awake Dean. Get back here."

Shit. "Uhh, 'morning Sam," I say halting all movement. "Wouldn't you like some nice breakfast in bed? 'Cause that's where I was going."

"Now, Dean."

Ugh. I slip back under the covers and he stirs. I'm on my back hoping maybe he'll stay on his side of the bed. Yeah. Right.

I know. Maybe if I interest him in a morning blowjob, he'll forget all about sex. I'd normally wait for him to make a move, but this time I do. I go from completely frozen to crawling down his legs.

"More sex, Dean? How do you have anything left after last night? I was under the impression I'd wrung you out. But if you insist."

He flips me over so he's over top of me. Fuck. Only I could get myself into this situation. "Way, way wait! I thought that's what you wanted; I don't insist. I don't."

He nips at my neck—he's fucking smiling. God this man's beautiful when he smiles. Now I'm staring; adoring more like. "You're confusing me, Dean," he says as he continues to feast on my neck. "You make like you're going to suck my cock, but then your words say something entirely different. So which is it? You do, or you don't want to fuck?"

I know there's only one answer to that question. I know how traditionalist Sam's family is; I know my role. It's time to start fucking manning up. "I do. Yeah, let's fuck."

He pulls off my neck and looks at me with pushed together eyebrows. "What's wrong with you this morning?"

"Nothing. I'm really excited, for all the sex."

"Is this a conversation we need to have over my knee?"

"No. I—"

"You have five seconds to explain yourself."

Or he'll tan my ass, yeah, yeah. Fuck, fine. "It's not that I don't want to have sex, but my ass is bruised, I think, and my dick—I don't think it has a pulse anymore, you fucking broke it."

I watch him carefully as his face morphs from bewilderment, to a loud, booming laugh I've never heard before. Suddenly his lips are on mine and he's kissing the life out of me. "Roll over," he says when he's done taking my breath away.

Huh? It's my turn to be confused, but I turn over right away. Kissing is a good sign, but Sam seems to be able to flip his moods at the drop of a dime. I wait, ridged and sigh relief when I smell the familiar ointment. I haven't been able to place the scent. He massages it into my sore ass cheeks, even up into the crack; even that doesn't wake up my sleeping cock, but I do moan. He spends a long time, even making sure it seeps into every crevice, by the time he starts on my back, I'm almost half-way back to sleep. "W-what's in that stuff, Sammy?"

Shit. We both cringe at the same time and we both chose to ignore the stupid nickname I seem to have given him. "Gardenia."

What the hell is a Gardenia? Yeah, seems my reading has barely touched the surface; I know dick all about flowers. "They were my mother's favorite."

That's the second thing he's told me about his mother.

"There. Better?"

"S'good. Going back to sleep."

"No you don't—we eat breakfast in this house by eight, you know that. Up."

I think about saying I could skip breakfast, but my tummy growls. I should get a move on anyway; I've got big plans for the day. Something's unusual about this morning though. Sam let's me shower first and is still there when I come out of the shower.

"Um, see you at breakfast?" I say not really sure if I'm asking a question, or stating a fact.

He passes by me on the way to our in suite bathroom, "I always see you at breakfast." He looks at me like I'm the weird one.

Okay. Yeah, I know that but, fuck, I don't know. It just seems weird this morning, don't you think?

I plan on doing some actual garden work today, just clean up type shit, but it looks like I don't own any clothes appropriate for that kind of work. I mean, any one of these pairs of jeans have got to cost at least three hundred—most of the t-shirts are Hugo Boss. I think Sam will kill me if I ruin anything in this closet. I might have to buy crap clothes, which sounds ridiculous, but this is my life now. If I'd of been allowed to bring anything, I know exactly the pair of holey blue jeans, t-shirt and button up flannel I'd of brought.

But all of that got donated to good will. Sam was very clear that I bring nothing, so I brought nothing, literally arriving in my wedding dress. Speaking of dresses, there are a helluva lot more dresses in this closet since the last time I looked and the last time I looked was not that long ago, just yesterday morning. I hadn't needed to pull the little black dress out of the closet; it was already waiting for me on the bed.

I can't help but look at them. There are some seriously fancy gowns in all different colors, but also some casual cotton dresses. I don't even want to know what those are for. When I see the new wall of shoes, ones that will go with dresses, I see a pair that horrifies me. The spike on them is at least five inches. I wonder if I'd get in trouble for hiding them?

I decide on Jeans, a t-shirt and a button up; Something like I would have worn at home, but I'm probably wearing almost a grand in clothes.

I'm on my second cup of coffee when Sam joins me. He's not in his work suit and I become suspicious. He's still dressed finely, much finer than I am with black slacks and a long sleeved white button-up shirt, but no blazer.

"Is it casual Friday at work?" Shit. Why do I make stupid jokes?

"It isn't Friday, Dean."

"Never mind."

We are served breakfast as per usual, but he's staring at me funny. "I'm not going into work today," he finally announces.


More silence. And once again he looks pissed. What'd I do now?

I start to eat a little faster and move my thoughts to 'I wonder if Michael will have an extra pair of grubs? Would he lend me tools to take the boards off Cas's windows?'

My thoughts drift enough, we finally reach the end of the meal and I can't wait to get out of there. I don't know what kind of weirdness is going on, but I want to leave.

"So, where will you be today?" I think to check. I belatedly realize if he's home roaming around that could fuck up my plans.

"I'll be in my home office, should you need me."

His home office? I didn't know he had one of those and why would he stay home from work, just to work?


I decide to go taunt Cas about the window thing and make sure he really meant it. We didn’t exactly leave things on a high note during my last visit. After I make sure the coast is clear, I run in and do my usual flop, belly first on his bed. But the 'strange' is catching. He looks at me funny, like I shouldn't be here.

"You still mad about last night, Cas?"

"What? No I… never mind" His eyes widen. "Hide. Now."

I don't question him, I just roll off the bed to my usual hiding spot and just in fucking time. It's Sam.

"This was a horrible idea," he says.

What? What was a horrible idea?

"Calm down, brother. What happened?"

"I did what he said and he didn't seem to care. He barely said a word about it."

"By he I'm assuming you mean Dean, but what on Earth are you talking about?"

"He asked if I work everyday. I said yes. He asked if I ever take a day off, I said no. So I took it to mean he wanted me to take a day off. When I told him I had he said, 'okay' like it didn't even matter."

"Wait? What? No, I got it—"

"I mean, why does someone ask questions that don't mean anything? Shouldn't it have meant something? Or is he just full of nonsense, because that's what I'm starting to think."

"Sam. Sam?"


"You told him you had the day off and you just went about your separate ways?"

"Yes, and he barely said a thing about it. I've been trying to tell you."

"Do you really have no idea why he asked?"

"Other than he's the most nonsensical being alive? No."

Cas sighs heavily. "He wanted you to hang out with him."

"How would you know?"

"You clearly don't watch enough T.V. I on the other hand, do." He sighs heavily. "You have to communicate with him. You should have asked him to do something with you."

Fucker. Bet he just wants out of the whole window thing. I did want to hang out with Sam, but today I want to do my shit.

"Asked him? I already took a day off work, he should ask me."

"I doubt he'd ask you to pass the salt," Cas mumbles, but I hear him. What is he doing? Right, I forgot, Cas has a constant death wish.


"I said, I doubt he'd ask you to pass the salt! From what you've told me, it sounds like you terrify the pants off of him!"

I can just see Sam's face burning with rage, I know because I see that face the most. "Calm down, you'll make yourself sicker. I shouldn't have bothered you with this."

Or not. Huh. Maybe I should feign illness.

"I won't calm down. Are you really this ignorant? "
There's silence then. Sam says nothing and Cas is probably currently coming to the realization that yes, Sam is this ignorant with anything outside of sex and work. "Wait an hour or two, find him and ask him if he'd like to do something."

"Absolutely not."


"I don't know how to do that."

"Oh my God! Are you… too shy?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You are, you're too shy." Cas laughs his ass off. I'm fucking stunned, and think Cas has lost his marbles. "You fuck him sideways, but you can't ask him to just hang out?" It's not like he can say no. He's your husband."

"What would we do, anyway?"

"Have more sex? I don't know."

My ass clenches, but my dick is starting to wake up. Maybe tonight, but fuck, I'm hiding if he's looking for that.

"It was stupid in the first place. I never should have taken the day off."

"How was last night?" Cas asks, switching away from the dead-end topic.

"It was perfect Cas—Dean didn't think so," Sam says and by his tone, he's still disappointed in me for my little freak out over his Grandfather. "But Grandfather is very pleased."

Now that I'm hearing this candid, I know he's not just saying shit to placate me, although, come to think of it, Sam wouldn't say something just to placate me; nor has he, ever. Jesus Christ, that really was his grandfather's version of 'like.'

"I wish he would be pleased enough to come see me," Cas says.

Believe me Cas, you can have my place anytime.

"Did he even ask about me?"

The air completely changes with that question, this is an uncomfortable topic for both, of course Cas can't help himself bringing it up; he can be prone to pouting. But what is there for Sam to say? Grandfather Campbell doesn't want to see Cas and Sam can't even pretend that's no big deal since Sam clearly worships the man.

"He's got a lot going on."

"Oh don't even bother making excuses. He had time enough for you and Dean, he could have made time for me. He doesn't want to."

"Then why do you put me in that position, asking questions like that? What am I supposed to say? He didn't ask about you, he doesn't ask about you, he never asks about you."

The silence after that is chilling. Fuck. Poor Cas.

Cas shifts the conversation quickly after that, probably sensing that he's tempting his brother's rage, and ill or not, I don't think anyone is exempt from Sam's anger if you push hard enough. They talk about lighter things, but the dark air hasn't blown away.

When he's gone, I pop out of my hidey-hole. "Cas, I'm sorry."

He sighs. "Don't be. Sam's right. Why to I torture myself? In fact, I find it funny that while I sit here pining for my grandfather's affections, you have exactly that without trying, yet you don't want them," his smile is crooked and eyes alight—I think Cas is also a sadist, he's clearly enjoying my pain apparent.

"If you'd been lectured like that, I think you'd stop pining pretty quickly."

He laughs. "I guess you heard the other part too?"

"Was kind of hard not to. So Sam takes the day off based on my suggestion and expected me to read his mind."

"Pretty much."

I don't like the look in his eye. "What? You're looking at me like you want me to do something."

"He took a day off for you, do you even know what that means?"

"Clearly not."

"My brother hasn't taken a day off since he started at the company, unless there was extenuating circumstances and to marry you. He doesn't take days off just because."

"Okay. I get it, but what do you want me to do about it? We're supposed to open your windows today—I'm not letting you out of that and I've got other shit I want to do. Besides, what would we even do? And don't say 'fucking' again. Your brother broke my ass and possibly my dick."


"You started it."

"What other 'shit' do you have to do?"

I still don't feel comfortable telling Cas about the garden. "Maybe I have important plans and they're none of your business."
"Riiiight… Well whatever they are cancel them. And 'we' can't open my windows. We need a member of staff to do it. Sam will see them open, he'll know I couldn't have done it and want to know who had. I can't say you."

"Get Michael to do it."


"The gardener's son. You know… he's kind of cute, Cas."

"Really? Does he give good head?"

"How would I know anything about that?"

He laughs. "Yeah, my brother would chain you up and kill the gardener slowly."

I roll my eyes. "So Michael? You'll ask for him?"

"Since you want us to meet so badly, I will. Leave the whole thing to me—I can get stuff done around here when I really want. Come back around three in the afternoon and get your 'spot' for the unveiling. Until then, you're going to get your cute, sore ass down to my brother's office, and drag him out. Or else."

"Or else, what?"

"Or else, I'll suggest to Sam that maybe a week at Grandfather's to learn 'the Campbell way' will do you good."

"Fuck you Cas. You sadistic fucking son of a Bitch."

"Oh my. Such language. Maybe I'll just do it anyway."

Does he want me to beg? What's pride good for anyway? "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Don't do that. What do you want me to do?"

"Better. I want you to plan a date—make it good. A proper date. It's time for you to grow some balls Winchester; at least with my brother—I've seen them plenty," he smirks, though for the record, Cas has never actually seen my balls. Maybe just their massive outline in the panties I wore up here the other day. "I don't care what you do, but if it doesn't make my brother happy he took the day off, it's Grandfather Campbell Bootcamp for you."

"Asshole! You'll be lucky if I ever come back," I say preparing to storm out.

"If you don't make it so good, my brother isn't singing your praises for it; I wouldn’t suggest coming back to see me." The Bastard is smiling.

Did I mention he's a fucking asshole? I do storm out and realize I'm probably fucked.


It takes me two hours, but I come up with a plan and arrange a few things. Now I just need those proverbial balls Cas mentioned. And I still think he's an asshole for making me do this.

I had to get directions to Sam's office, but here I am, nerves pooling in my fucking gut. His office is at the back of a large library, with the tallest, wooden door I've ever seen. I knock.

"Ingrid? I told you not to bother me, for any reason. You're fired."

Fuck. I almost turn straight around—if he's willing to fire a staff member for something so small, what will he do to me for interrupting work to do something frivolous? But I remember Cas's promise and decide I'm more afraid of that happening than I am of whatever Sam will do to me. I swallow. "I-it's Dean, sir." Sir? Shit. I'm already fucking this up. "I mean, Sammy, fuck," I add the fuck very quietly, Sammy's worse than sir. "I mean, Sam."

"Dean? Come in."

Deep breath Winchester.

I step into the large office. There are books everywhere; stacked on the tables and the shelves. His desk is cluttered. It's not how I pictured the most fastidious person alive's office; there can only be one explanation: He doesn't use this as an office often and I'd be surprised if he even uses this room at all. Except maybe to hide; from me.

He's sitting in a soft, wide backed chair, in front of a lit fireplace, his face is buried in one hand, and because of his position, he can't see me. "What do you want?" He says without looking at me.

"Um, I thought, since you're home today, maybe… that maybe we could take a walk together? If you have an hour that is?"

"A walk? I…" He trails off when he looks up and sees what I'm wearing.

I'm wearing a fancy white dress coat with black buttons, over top of a black knit dress (which he can't see) whose thick over sized collar is poking out the top. The dress coat has a black crinoline lining, making it puff out 'princess' style. I found a pair flat, black, knee-high boots and I completed the look with a red fucking beret.

I brought a small picnic basket and probably look like some kind of strange version of Red Riding Hood going to Gramma's House, only, you know—no fucking red cape.

"Jesus, Dean…" He's speechless. "Fuck." He adjusts his pants. "I thought you said you didn't want to have sex?" He's up and approaching me like prey.

"N-n-no. I mean, y-yes. I um… If you want."

"Want? Oh no, it's become need since you walked into my office wearing that. Fuck, Dean. I don't think I can keep my hands of you, sorry, Baby."

"Does that mean you'll take a break?" I try to change the subject, but there's no changing the subject. He's already kissing hot breath down my neck and pulling the basket out of my hands to put it aside.

"A break?"

"A break from working."

"Oh right. Work." He looks around. Yeah. I'm right. He wasn't working. "Yes. A break sounds good, especially if I get to break your cock again. Isn't that what you said I did?"

He's kissing me and his arms reach down under my ass, pulling me up off the floor, my legs brace around him, okay, yeah, my dick's already hard.

He uses my ass to push whatever's on his desk backward and make a seat for me and is already pushing up the crinoline of the coat and my skirt to see what I've got on underneath. I know I've got him when he sees the emerald green panties, the ones he'd 'missed' out on. I had an inkling things would go this way and sort of resigned myself to sex and I wasn't wearing all this get up with boxer briefs underneath.

"I'm sorry Darling. This is entirely your fault. I have to fuck you now—it will hurt, because I can't go easy, but I will make it so, so good."

I nod. Because, fuck. I don't know how he revived my dick, but he has. He's a fucking Dickgician. You know? Like dick and magician put together? Yeah. You get it.

"Hmmmm…" I'm already moaning like a whore. "Please, Daddy?" In for a penny, in for a pound, right? Sam's going to leave this 'date' (if we ever get to that part) so fucking happy, he'll talk about it for weeks.

"You want me to fuck you now, Baby?"

I bite my lip and nod.

"That's my boy, greedy for Daddy's cock."

Fuck yeah I am.

"Sadly, I’m going to have to take these off, I want to leave your pretty dress and coat on." He slips the silk green down my legs, which yes, I took the time to shave myself thank-you very much, and my heavy cock bounces out ready to party. When I'm panty-less, he runs a large hand down my bare calve, "have mercy, were you trying to kill me? Look how smooth… I am very pleased Dean."

There's my clinical sounding husband. I have to try not to laugh, it's kind of cute.

His hand traces over my groin, toying with my cock from a distance, tugging on the curly hairs surrounding it. He grabs my thighs from underneath and pushes them up toward my head. "Lay back and hold these for me, Baby."

He gives me my legs, and I pull them over my head—thank God I'm flexible—and all the crinoline smooshes into my torso.

"That's it—your hole is nice and exposed for me, as it should be. Stay like that, Dean."

His thumb toys with my pucker then presses in and is quickly replaced by his tongue—oh my fucking God. I'm no stranger to having my ass eaten out, but fuck, it's like Sam fucking invented the art. The way he's shoving his tongue inside and licking up to my taint. He circles and nips and oh Jesus, fuck I'm begging him, I'm already begging him. "Please Sammy, your cock, in me…"

"Oh?" He says conversationally as he presses a sloppy, wet finger inside. "I thought you didn't want me to? Thought your ass was too sore?"

Now? Now he decides to fucking play with me? Ass. "No. That must have been my stupid, stupid, prudish twin saying that. I want you to fuu—" I remember just in time not to use my fucking dirty mouth in a dress, though I find it a bit hypocritical that we're doing the most dirty fucking things in this dress. "Want you to pound me, Sam."

"Good boy—you aren't supposed to use naughty words in such a nice dress, are you?"

"No, sir."

"Good. But I think I need you to tell me again—what do you want?"

He wants me to beg? All right, I'll beg. "Please. Your cock, in me. I need it Daddy."

"Good, fucking boy." He slaps my ass cheek hard.

I hold myself open for him while he gets the lube and the whole while takes his time, slowly opening me for him. I am still a bit sore, but not a stitch of me cares. I'm too needy by this point, my dick is leaking onto my nice, cashmere knit dress.

I'm in another world, by the time I hear the jangle of his belt and the zip of his zipper. I'm mumbling nonsense and am willing to do anything if he'll just stick his huge wonderful cock in me—the one that's mine now and no one else's.

He fulfills his promise not to go easy on me—I feel the tip of his cock at my entrance then he's slamming into me and oh God I wouldn't have it any other way. I bite my lip to keep myself from chanting 'fuck, fuck, fuck' like I want to. And let out a, "I love your big, huge cock, Daddy," as I cum all over my stomach and the bottom of my dress and Sam fills me.

He pulls out and tells me to stay as he acquires something to clean me up. When he comes back he says, "I think I'm going to have a painting done with you posing like that—I could stare at your ass, spread and asking my cock to fuck it all day. It's more beautiful than a sun rise."

Don't ever let anyone say Sam Campbell's not a poet, 'cause that's some fucking Shakespeare right there folks.

When I'm 'clean,' (though it's hard to feel clean when you've been to thoroughly debauched) and I don't think the cum is ever coming out of the bottom of this dress (which is thankfully not noticeable under my dress coat), he helps me put my panties back on. "So you said something about a walk?"

I think I'm too fucking boneless for a walk now, but I nod.

He grabs a jacket off his coat rack, a long black fancy coat and I move to retrieve my little red riding hood basket of goods. "Oh no, Sweetheart. I'll carry that for you."

I know he's not asking and I know it's not because he doesn't think I'm capable, it's him wanting to do something sweet. I finally read one of his cues right, and allow him to take it. "Thanks, Sam."


I had this grand idea that we'd walk the perimeter. It's a gorgeous day. The thought of not having anything to talk about and thus ruining my chances at making this a 'good time,' was enough to have me googling 'questions to ask on a first date.' Yeah, I fucking did that. It made me feel a bit better knowing he was unsure what he'd talk to me about, or even how to ask me on a 'date.'

Though technically this is not our first date, I sort of count the time he took me out for dinner as our first, I've still not really asked him the kind of things you do on a first date. When I first read over Google's suggestions, I thought they were really lame, but on second glance figured they were things I should know about my husband.

I take a deep breath and ask the first question. "Um, what's your favorite color?"

"Why?" He snaps, suspicious.

"I don't know. Because… Well, what if I wanted to buy you something?"

"That's absurd. You don't need to buy me anything—whatever I want I can buy myself."

Sigh. Disaster. "Never mind."

"Green," he says after a moment of silence.


"And any other color of panties you happen to be wearing."


I fucking blush and decide to try another question. "Do you have a favorite kind of music?"

"Music? Dean, what are you doing?"

He's hopeless. And if this goes South, I'm fucked.

"I'm trying to get to know you, but if you'd rather we just walk in silence, that's ok." Fuck, I am so fucking this up—stupid Google. It's definitely Campbell Boot camp for me.

We do walk in silence for a bit, the perimeter of his home is a lovely walk; you can appreciate just how big the house is from this far away. It would have been a good day for messing around in my garden—stupid Cas making me embarrass myself like this.



"Where did you go?"

"Go? I'm right here."

"That's the third time I called your name."

"Oh, sorry."

"I said, I'd much prefer to know about you than talk about me."

"You would? What do you want to know?"

"What did you do for your brother's company?"

I often refer to it as my father's company, even my brother does, though technically it is Adam's company. My father always said, he'd like to find a way around the legalities and be able to leave what he built, equally, to all three of his kids, but he hadn't expected to die so soon and even if he hadn't, it was a long shot. The first-born is always left the majority of assets, unless the first-born ends up getting married off, (which seldom happens). These laws are meant prevent court battles over inheritance. Second born gets the next largest sum and any children after that basically get what's left over. Whatever I was meant to inherit, I'm sure Adam used as my dowry. I wasn't part of the marriage negotiations and I never cared to ask.

"I was his secretary—not full time, or anything," I'm careful to add, trying to devalue my position with the company further, so he'd know that while it was a big deal to me, it was in actuality insignificant. "It was the best position for me to be in and learn from him just in case. He wanted it to be family that would fill in—in the event something happened to him since his son is still young; my sister was already married by that time and her husband didn't want her to work. But he had to be careful giving me too important a job, for obvious reasons." Since I was young when my parents died; and I'm third born, I became my brother's ward. He's quite a bit older than me and remained my guardian until I married Sam. I would have had to marry in to keep my job, or be promoted, but that was never going to happen. My brother made it clear he was going to restore the family name and to do so he would have to marry both my sister and I off. His goal was to obtain as many family connections as possible. It is often easier to obtain better connections by marrying your family off.

I know he plans on marrying in only with his eldest. Any children after that will be married off.

"I can't believe he allowed you to have a job, before he knew whether you would marry in or be married off. The idea is absurd," he says like it's the scandal of this century.

I decide not to tell him he had known. Sam'll flip and maybe tell him off. Though it would be awesome to be a fly on the wall during that conversation.

"What did you do when you weren't working?"

"I had school. Even when I finished high school, my brother insisted I take courses at the local college—he was trying to keep me out of trouble." I blush when I tell him that. It makes me sound like a troublemaker and while my brother would disagree, I don't think I was that bad.

"He mentioned you had been going to college. What were you taking?"



"Yes. I do… did pencil drawings, and watercolor. I occasionally liked to dabble in abstract painting."

He frowns. "Did? Have you quit?"

"Well I… that is, you requested that I didn't bring anything." One of the many things I'd fought with my brother about. I thought if we asked, maybe I could bring a few of my drawings, like for a wedding gift. And I didn't see what the deal was in me bringing a sketchbook and some pencils. My brother had already indulged me in trying to get Sam to renege on the whole dress thing, he refused to give me anymore indulgences. My sister kept a couple of my pieces, but the rest became trash. I'd actually drawn since childhood. I had a special sketchbook Father gave me on my ninth birthday. I only drew a few in there a year to conserve space and hope I could continue to add to the book, at least 'till my eightieth birthday.

It's gone now. Everything I ever owned is gone. I only have this life now.

"If you want things to draw, you have but to ask. I told you—send the staff for whatever you wish."

Meh. Maybe. I have my own reasons for not getting new art stuff. I was quite upset when I had to get rid of my favorite sketchbook. I don't know if I'm ready to draw again.

"Okay." I can always decide later.

We get to the spot I planned on, it's the willow tree I cut that damn switch from, but it's also quite a nice place to have a mini picnic. "Here," I gesture to the grassy area in the sun.

"It's awfully cold for a picnic."

"I know, this is just small." I spread the small blanket and pull out the small bottle of wine, cheese and pie I asked the Chef to prepare. He did it despite the strong impression I got (like the last time I'd entered the kitchen) that I wasn't supposed to be in there. I know Sam had made a comment once, but surely just to get a little food between meals is okay?

The chef 'suggested' to go through Murdock next time. I've lived here over a month and I've never met the women, but apparently she runs the house staff. I don't exactly spend my time inside and Sam's never bothered to introduce me to anyone.

I serve him, pouring him wine and making him a plate of pie and cheese. He's smiling about something, while he sits leaned up against the tree. He looks so handsome in that black coat.


"I'm remembering you wasted."

"Yeah, laugh it up."

He frowns. "I'm not laughing at you." He stares at me a long time after that; he wants to say things, I can tell, but he's not going to say them. I think the man has forgotten how to have a normal conversation—he must have at one time. The boy in the picture was so happy. Happy people usually know how to carry on a decent conversation, at least in my experience.

"Come here," he demands. Have I done something? I crawl across the blanket, careful not to spill my wine. He pulls me so I'm sitting between his legs, his arms around me, my back against his chest. We don't do anything, but drink wine for a while until he says, "do you have anymore asinine questions you wish to ask me?"

I laugh, because I guess they were pretty stupid. But there is one I really did wanna ask. I was going to save it for my fifth question. There are fourteen, and as you go down the list, they get deeper, more intimate. "What kinds of things really make you laugh? Like, really laugh? Like the super happy kind of laughing?"

"I don't really laugh. Especially not like that."

"Yes, you do. You laughed this morning."

"I did nothing of the sort."

"Yes. I remember." Because it's the most gorgeous laugh I've ever heard—even better than my sister's and I thought no one would ever beat hers.

"I never laugh," he insists.

"You did. I told… I told you—you broke my dick."

That sets him off again, though not quite as big as this morning, but it's a real enough laugh I turn around to face him and say: "See?"

He stares at me again and I swear to Christ if he keeps doing that… well there's not much I can do, but I wish he'd stop. It's weird.

"Well there you have it then," He finally says.

"Have what?"

"Your answer. You. You make me really laugh, Dean."


By three o'clock, I'm back in jeans and under Cas's bed, that's just what I'll have to wear to the garden and ruin and hope Sam never sees what I've done to them. Michael knows I'm here, but the other two staff members don't.

I can be a little more reckless about where I'm hidden since the two dudes with Michael aren't concerned with what's under Cas's bed and I can peak out past the bed skirts. The first thing does fucking shocks me. "Bring me to my chair."

Cas has a chair? He's never fucking told me about any chair. I'd got the impression he never left his bed, ever.

Michael jumps at Cas's orders and one of the other guys too, Michael grabs his upper torso, the other man grabs his legs; they put him in the chair, which is not what I expect when I hear 'chair.' Instead of metal, it's made of wicker, like an old timey wheelchair with big 'ol wheels.

"Okay. Proceed."

The three work fast and in a clambering of wooden demolition, the sunlight bursts in and as it filters through it's that dusty kind of sunlight that seems to move. "Ahhh!" Cas screams.

"Sir?" Says one of the dudes.

"The spores. It's the spores, I can feel them sticking to my lungs."

"What should we do?" Says the other dude.

"Just go, I'll take care of him," Michael says. The two dudes look like they don't want anything to do with whatever we've got going on. They're happy to leave. I jump out. Cas is screaming like a banshee.

"Stop it, Cas," I say. Cas is covering his eyes and face and basically freaking the fuck out.

"Dean! The spores, I can see them. Dean!"

He starts thrashing around, screaming, not letting us get a word in, 'till he's falling out of the chair and rolling around on the ground. Basically having a temper tantrum fit for a two year old. "Help me get him on the bed Michael." We somehow manage to get a kicking Cas on to the bed, where he continues to roll around and beat the bed with his fists.

"Master, Campbell. Calm down," Michael tries. So much for trying to hook the two of them up; somehow I don't think he's going to find this attractive.

"Move aside, Michael. Somebody's got to make him stop." I stand on the large upholstered bench at the end of his bed so I'm standing over him.

"Stop it, Cas, stop!" I yell at the top of my lungs. "Jesus Fuck, Cas. I hate you! You're pathetic. The most pathetic man there ever was."

"I'm not as pathetic as you are! Just because I'm always ill!"

"No one ill could scream like that!"

"I'm going to die."

"What do you know about dying?" I ask.

"My mother died!"

"Both my parents died."

"I've got a lump on my back!"

That's it. I've had enough of this lump bullshit. I climb on the bed and lift his brown housecoat and pajama top. I look over his back and press my fingers in. Yeah, I know I'm not a doctor and that I know nothing about spines, but it looks like every other spine to me. "There's nothing but your bones sticking out, probably because you're so skinny."

"What?" That gets his attention. He stops his hysterical shrieking.

"Look, I'm no doctor Cas, but I think you should get a second opinion, maybe see a chiropractor. I don't think you're ill like they say."

"You think? Maybe… maybe I'm not ill?"

"I don't see how, just weak."

"If I'm not ill, maybe I could go outside, maybe we could find the key to my mother's garden."

Michael and I exchange a look. I sigh. "Look, Cas. I-I didn't tell you, because I was scared I couldn't trust you, but I've already found the key to you mother's garden. And I've been inside. But it's, dead. Michael's agreed to help me give it a serious facelift."

"Really? You've been inside? Tell me about it."

Still the ever-demanding ass. At least he doesn't seem to care I've kept it from him. "There's not much to tell yet—we were going to start today, but you made me date my husband, remember?"

"I remember. How did that go?"

I'm not sure how to tell him. Some parts were good and other parts were awkward.

"Never mind," he says. "With a smile like that, things could only have gone well. Good show, Dean."

Am I really smiling? "But, you haven't heard from him yet."

"I don't have to."

I scratch my head. Cas is fucking strange, but whatever. It looks like I'm out of Campbell Boot camp. "Anyway, I suppose you've already met Michael?"

"Not formally. Introduce," Cas demands. Wait 'till we confirm he is better; I can't wait to knock him one.

"Michael, Cas. Cas Michael."

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Campbell," Michael says extending his hand.

"You're too tall," Cas says.

"Cas," I hiss. Michael should have told him he screams too fucking loud.

"Right, sorry. I tend to say what's on my mind. Call me Castiel, or Cas. It's nice to meet you Michael."

They finally shake hands. "Well, it's decided then. If you've found my mother's garden, and if I'm not ill then I shall have to pay a visit."

Oh boy.


The days pass the same. The 'date' not having a drastic effect on Sam and I. Of course, I couldn't help but wonder why. I thought it was a good date. I kicked fucking ass. Cas confirmed. Sam fucking loved it.

"Think he talked about you before? Now, it's Dean this and Dean that."

"Yeah," I huff. "So what? He doesn't talk to me."

"You're such a girl? Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Well. I worked hard to make it good—it was supposed to… fuck I don't know what it was supposed to do, but it was supposed to do something."

"Yeah. Nice touch with the Google questions."

"Shut-up. Why do I tell you anything?"

"In better news, I saw a new doctor."

"It's about time."

"He has prescribed for me fresh air and sunshine, along with an new exercise regime. He thinks I could be up walking by spring."

"That's great Cas! What did Sam say?"

"We're not telling Sam. I want to surprise him. I demanded Michael be my assistant. He's going to take me to the garden, we'll meet you there each day when Sam's at work, I've instructed everyone not to follow. No one will know."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yes. The staff is afraid of me. It's perfect."


Things seemed to be going well. I'm looking forward to Cas's debut to the outside world, Michael and I have begun pulling weeds and cleaning shit up; it feels good to do something productive. But the whole thing with Sam is still niggling at me.

I know Cas says I'm looking into things too much, but well here, you tell me.

We've barely had sex.

Yeah, pretty much sums it up, doesn't it? I haven't told Cas, because he already knows far too much about his brother and his brother's husband's sex life. But it's been worrying me and basically eating my gut. He's still polite at meals, but something is off. Different.

See? You agree with me, right? I know something's fucking wrong. Either way, I stop talking to Cas about it, because yeah, I don't want to sound as pathetic as I feel. I mean it fucking sucks. I wanted to fall for my husband; Cas gave me fucking hope when he said he might love me too, but all signs point to no and there's nothing worse than falling for someone who doesn't fall for you back.

I have to do something, so I try what's worked before.

It's a white cotton spring dress I found in the closet. I know it isn't spring yet, but I wanted to show off my muscular arms and this dress is spaghetti strap. Sam seems to like that; the highly masculine mixed with the feminine. I made sure to shave my legs and wear this killer pair of panties. They're thong, also white. I'm trying to be his indecent little virgin. I don't wear shoes and leave my feet bare. I'm totally going to kill him. He'll throw me over the table and fuck me open.

I skip into the dining room, proud of myself for my level of genius.

Right away, I can see he's not pleased; I freeze on the spot, not even sitting down. "What are you doing?" He demands.

Everything about him's already making me nervous and I feel his rage building, pushing against the walls of this room. "I, um, breakfast?"

"No. That. What you're wearing."

"I, well, I-I thought you liked… I wore it for you," I say all stuttered and fucking unsure.

The look in his eyes is like I've never seen and it's not the 'eat me alive' one I expected, but maybe like he's going to kill me.

And technically, I guess he could. I've always understood how our society works, but I've only experienced one side of it. I was my brother's ward and I owed him a particular level of respect, but his 'rights' regarding me were fairly limited in comparison to what the spouse receives. I've been slowly realizing my vulnerability. I need to calm him down; somehow.

"That's the problem Dean," he says pushing away from the table; advancing on me. I take a step back. "I didn't tell you to. You take a lot of liberties I've noticed. You wear dresses when I tell you to wear dresses; you do not make those decisions—you do not make any decisions.

He's still slowly advancing on me, his rage building, I'm still stepping backward and smack into the wall; trapped. "You don't get to do as you please, I am in control, I run this household." He slaps me across the face, hard. "You will learn your place, Dean. It isn't by my side like you seem to think, you are not my equal. I shouldn't have to feel guilty sleeping with whomever I please. I don't answer to you."

What? Seriously, what the fuck? Where is all this coming from? "I know, Sam. I didn't ask you not to sleep with others—I-I-I don't like it, but that's my problem. I'm sorry, I'll take the dress off, I just wanted to make you happy."

He slaps me across the same cheek, hard enough unwanted tears spring up. That's all I fucking need. If there's anything I know annoys Sam is me crying. "Shut up. A good spouse is seen and not heard. I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses. You are under the false impression we have a relationship. Probably think we'll have a relationship like your delinquent parents. Do you think I'm going to confess my undying love for you? Is that what you want?"

He's shaking me now, by the straps of my dress. I'm shaking my head, unsure if I should answer that with words, since he told me not to talk. I beg with my eyes for him to just forgive me. I can be good—I'll just go change, start this morning over.

But my silent begging makes him more violent.

He slaps me a third time, then he's dragging me by my dress straps and when he throws me toward the table, the left side breaks, ripping; the front of the dress on that side peels down exposing my chest. "Turn around, palms on the table."

I do as told without fucking question.

Behind me, I hear the jangle of his belt being removed. Fuck. He's going to fucking whip my ass. Adam always used his belt to punish me, let's just say it's not my favorite. "Lift your skirt, pull down your panties. You can have fifty with my belt to remind you who runs this home."

That's not so bad. I can take one hundred of Adam's best. That's not what's making me cry. I don't want him to hate me. I want him to be pleased with me. I do want him to love me. That being off the table is what's tearing me up inside.

I do exactly as he asks, showing him I can be good, I am well behaved, especially for him. "Keep your ass up in the air, if it moves, we can start again."

I quickly learn fifty of Sam's best is not the same as fifty of Adam's best. By ten from Sam, I'm already having a hard time keeping still. By thirty, I'm screaming. But I keep my ass out even if each crack of his belt brings me up on my toes. At fifty, I'm spent and I hope it's enough—enough he'll forgive me.

He returns my panties for me as I bury my face into my arms; I don't want him to see me crying, and he pulls my white skirt over my throbbing bottom. I try to sniffle quietly. "Sit," he orders. I'm still fucking quiet as I do—seen and not heard, remember?

And he goes through with breakfast, without another word. This is the worst part for me. I don't know if I should look at him. I feel like a colossal idiot—especially as I am; my dress all fucking ripped and revealing my chest, warm ass throbbing, cheek also warm and stinging. Something about getting hit across the face brings me shame and with everything on top, that feeling is heightened.

I'm so fucking stupid. He's right. I did think all of that. And with everything Cas had been feeding me, I was actually beginning to think he loved me back. That's what makes sitting here the hardest. Of course I don't want to fucking eat, but I'm eating. I won't piss him off after that; he might decide I need fifty more, and my ass just can't fucking take that. I can't stop the fucking tears and I just want to get the fuck out of here.

He doesn't look at me, probably too disgusted. At the end of the awful meal, I don't know whether I should ask to be excused, or wait for him to excuse me. As I'm trying to figure it out, he gets up, suddenly and I fucking flinch. He pays no attention to me as he stalks past me. But I don't feel relief when he's gone; I just feel empty. Because I fucking love him and he'll never love me.


"C-Cas?" I know I shouldn’t be here, letting him see me like this, but here I am.


I take a timid step into view. When he sees me in my sad, ripped dress, red, tear-tracked face and a cheek that's fucking bruised, he goes white. "Dean? What the hell happened?"

"I-I, well… I…" I can't fucking talk.

"Come. Come to brother Cas." He opens his arms for me, I scramble up onto the bed, careful of my striped ass and cry on his chest.

I tell him everything and then I just feel sorry for myself out loud. "He doesn't love me Cas. I've tried so fucking hard. Why, doesn't he love me?"

"That's the thing—he does love you Dean, I swear it, but he doesn't want to. If he loses you like he lost mother and father… His heart can't take another hit like that. Telling you he won't love you; keeping you at a distance; that's all he has to protect himself. Not to mention, love makes people fucking stupid. I'm going to kill him, I'm going to fucking kill him."

"It was only a whipping Cas—"

"That's not why I'll kill him—he's made you think all this nonsense when none of it's even true."

"I'd better go clean myself up Cas. Let's turn this day around, make it your first day in the garden. I'll get Michael, we'll take your chair."

"That's the spirit. This will blow over Dean; I know my brother and if he doesn't stop acting like a colossal jackass, I'll box his ears."

That makes me smile.

I walk to our bedroom feeling slightly lighter, but my stomach sinks when I get closer and see the army of staff carrying things out of our room.

They're carrying away my dresses.

I'd spent all this time hating them, hating wearing them, but the pit in my stomach grows as I watch them walk away. Somehow, they'd become special—I was special in them, to Sam. I watch a lady walk with a stack that has the one I wore to the benefit, another lady has the pink one I wore out to dinner the night I got wasted, even the little black dress I wore when Sam's Grandfather came for dinner gives me another pang as I watch it leave.

Then, when I see some bitch making off with my fucking wedding dress, I lose it. "What do you think you're doing? Give me that. It's mine." It does occur to me I'm swearing, a lot, still wearing a dress, but in the moment I don't give a shit.

"Master Campbell's orders sir, sorry."

"Fuck you. You're not fucking taking it." I reach out to grab it, but she tugs back.

"Sir, let go."

"No. You let go." I pull again.

"Sir, please…"

"No!" With a sharp tug that sends her flying toward me, she finally lets go, but I hear a rip sound. She does too and looks at me stunned. "You stupid… Go! Go!"

She gets up and runs away from me like the wind is chasing her. I look to see the damage, as the rest of the staff takes off with all of the dresses and shoes that were in my closet. It's torn down the skirt—it doesn't look fixable, but then again, I know shit-all about sewing. I gather it to me.

The room is empty now and I know the closet is at least half empty too—unless he's taken everything away, which brings me to another startling realization: I own nothing. He can just give me things and take them all away anytime he pleases. Everything, right down to my clothes are loaned.

But not this dress. It's mine and I'll be damned if I'll let anyone take it.


"Close your eyes Cas."

"This is stupid. I don't want to close my eyes."

"Just do it." I look at him meaningfully with a look that says, 'can't you fucking indulge me after this morning?'

He closes his eyes.

We maneuver his chair inside—it's a weird chair, different from the one in his room. It's also made of wicker, but this one's got a steering device in front; it's still got a handles to push from the back.

"You're either going to learn how to walk quickly, or we're getting you a new chair. This thing's fucking annoying."

"Can I open my eyes now?"

"Oh, uh, yes."

Michael and I watch Cas as he takes a look at his mother's garden for the first time. "This place is a dump."


"Well it is."

"We're going to fix it up, good as new, Castiel." Michael's still not quite comfortable in front of Cas; understandably. Especially after his screaming fit, but thankfully I don't think it ruined the Cas and Michael ship. Michael's been watching Cas closely and insisted he be the one push his chair.

"I hope so. My mother wouldn't let any old yahoo touch her garden—you two had better not fuck it up."

I know that's Cas for; he loves this place. If only my husband was so easy to figure out. "How do you know what your mother would have liked?"

He scowls. "Well I do know a yahoo when I see one."

We spend as long as we think is safe, in other words, we stay and work in the garden for an amount of time we think Cas won't be too missed. His staff knows he's gone outside, and are under some kind of penalty of death to keep quiet about that, but we've still got to get back before Sam gets home.

Cas mostly shouts orders at us from the blanket we've laid him on and we ignore his orders and begin weeding as per out previously discussed plan. I'm mostly following Michael's lead—he knows what he's doing, Cas and I do not.

Pleased with our work we all feel accomplished when we trek back in. I of course have to take off out of sight, before we reach the house, but before I do Cas tells me, "I'm glad you're here Dean. I never would have done this without you."

"Who are you and what have you done with my sour, vexatious brother-in-law?"

"That was a one off—don't get too used to it." He winks and Michael wheels him off.


At dinner, a member of staff informs me, that 'Master Campbell' will not be home for dinner; I eat alone on my still sore ass. I get ready for bed as I always do; Sam's still not here; I stare at the bruise on my cheek, as I brush my teeth. I don't know if I should wait for him. But by the time I reach our bed, I know the answer: Sam's gone.

It's fucking stupid and you're going to think I'm a major pussy; but I pull out my wedding dress (from under the bed where I hid it), the only dress I have left and cuddle up to it. I close my eyes.


It's the third day and Sam's still gone. Cas is already tired of me asking him where I think he's gone and if he's coming back. His answers are always: 'I don’t know and of course he's coming back.'

We continue our work in the garden; Cas is doing just fine with the large dosages of fresh air—I think I already see more color to his cheeks.

And I'm still a loser sleeping with a ripped wedding dress.

At first I was feeling that gut wrenching feeling you feel when you find out the person you love, doesn't love you back, but that feeling turns quickly to despair that's combined with 'I just want him near me.'

My eyes are closed, but I'm not asleep. I've had trouble sleeping every night he's been gone hoping at any minute he'd slip into bed beside me. I'm not stupid. I know him coming home won't solve anything, but none of that matters. I just want to show him I know how things work, my brother raised me right; maybe we can at least go back to the way things were, before I began daydreaming.

I feel the bed depress beside me and I think I'm imagining it—I don't move, I barely breathe; my heart flutters a little. I know it's him, a hand moves slowly toward my head and through my hair, it continues a while; I try to smooth my breath like a sleeping person's.

"I know you're awake Dean."

Okay. The jig is up—I open my eyes. I try to sit up, but he just pulls me to him. Part of me thinks maybe I should pull away, find out where he's been, tell him off for leaving even though I'm not supposed to and even if he'll punish me for it, but I'm too damn grateful to have him here and relieved to be encased by him; I cling tight. Yes I'm already crying.

"Don't cry, Darling. Please."

"Where were you?""

"It's none of your—" He sighs. "I had to get away to think."

I nod into his chest and inhale his scent. I don't know what happened three mornings ago, but the Sam I've got now isn't the one that threw an angry fit. He's my Sam.

"What on Earth are you laying on?" He says reaching toward my dress.

"My wedding dress."

"Your wedding dress?"

"They tried to take it—they took them all Sam."

"Oh, right," he says probably remembering he was the one that ordered them to. "But you rescued this one?"

I nod.

He'll probably say it's none of my business and it isn't, but I ask anyway; wanting to keep him talking long as possible, when he's talking, I know he's here. "What did you need to think about?"

He doesn't answer for a long time, still stroking my hair and still letting me wet the his shirt with tears. "You."

"Me?" Oh God, he's breaking it off with me. I hold tighter. Of course severing the marriage contract is not an option, but couples have found ways of separating even if they're technically still married.

"The whole time I lectured you, you had this look on your face. I thought about that look for three days. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't live with you looking like that."

I pull away crying harder. "Please Sam. You've always made it clear where I stand with you; it's all I've thought about for three days. I know I'm not your equal, I know you don't love me. But don't… don't…"

"If you say get rid of you, I will slap you again."

"Well… you're not?"

"No Dean. I'm not."

"Then I don't have a clue what you're saying."

"I'm saying, I… all of your dresses will be back tomorrow. And I'm never taking them away again."


Sam and I never discuss what happened any further; neither of us have forgotten and that's understood.

As promised, all my dresses are back by noon the next day, but my wedding dress is gone. I almost go looking for that bitch maid, thinking she had something to do with it, 'till I see a note:

These are yours, Dean. Wear them wherever, whenever. You were right, when I see you in a dress it makes me happy. Your wedding dress is being repaired, it will be returned to you as soon as possible. Sammy.

I think this is Sam's form of a love letter and Jesus fuck, he signed it Sammy. I stare at that word for a long time then I stash the note in my jewelry box with all the jewelry he's given me.

And he gave me the dresses; the dresses are mine. I really feel like they are this time.

So what do I do? This is huge for Sam. He's made himself vulnerable.


I mean that's gotta mean something, right? And if it does, I've got to do something in return; a gesture of equal magnitude, or he'll think I didn't receive his.

I've got an idea, but do I dare after last time?

I can't help it, I'm invigorated by this new development. I think I should try however fucking scared I may be to do so.

I look over my re-stocked closet of dresses, but this time, they're mine. I decide on some 'Woman of the House, Except I'm not a Woman of the house, I'm Sam's Man of the House in a Dress' attire.

It's a cream patterned dress that buttons all the way up the skirt and torso, with short sleeves that cuff at mid-bicep and a wide belt to cinch the waist. If you slap an apron on me, I'd be June Cleaver. I chose black pumps.

Sam gets it right away and that alone is enough to make my freaking day. "Allow me to get your chair for you Mr. Campbell," he says.

"Thank-you, honey," I say sitting 'proper' in my dress, as he pulls out my chair and pushes it in for me. He's staring at me again when he sits down and even after all that's happened I dare to think he's adoring me. His eyes betray nothing to the untrained, you have to get to know him.

As we eat there's definitely a shy, quiet flirtatious energy passing back and forth. There still isn't much talking and I know Cas is right: That will have to be my part. Sam's forgotten how.

So when the meal is finished, I push my chair back and spread my legs in a very inappropriate manner, so he can see the white, cotton panties. He likes them very much.

"Get over here and sit on Daddy's cock, Baby."

Chapter Text

I didn't realize how much I missed Sex with Sam, until we began fucking again. And we've certainly made up for lost time and some. The luxury of being able to fuck anywhere in your home you please is awesome. Sam seems to get off on knowing the staff can hear us; see us; knowing that each time he rams his sweet, sweet cock in me, while I'm begging for more that someone, or rather lots of someones can witness.

I've never been shy when it comes to sex, by far. And if I hadn't been terrified of what my brother would do to me if I were caught, as he calls it, 'whoring myself' around' I may have been prone to some exhibitionism. But Sam is far, far to the extreme when it comes to public sex. He doesn't give a shit who's around and it doesn't seem to affect his reputation in any way.

At first I thought it a bizarre contradiction. I was raised in a mostly standard home, went to a school that was mostly Standard and therefore have little knowledge of Traditional, despite the fact that at least forty percent of the population are still Traditional. There is, at least some crossover between the two; unlike Progressionist, which is almost a system of beliefs on its own. I decided if Sam and I are ever going to get along, I'm going to have to study up. I really get it now, that he doesn't want to spend time 'teaching' me. He wants an obedient spouse who can represent him and also his family name. That means following tradition. When I began reading books, from the Campbell family library, I was surprised at what I found.

Traditionalist culture and sex is nothing like I assumed. I presumed (though I don't know why after spending even a day with Sam) that they would be all kinds of stuffy—skirts no higher than the ankle stuffy. But it's the exact opposite. While there is definitely stricter protocol for the married off spouse, a.k.a; me, there are no limitations for the Head of House.

Like none.

In fact, Sam flaunting his proclivities; me in a dress, having sex with me where he pleases, getting the staff involved when he says so; exhibits his absolute power and control—that he most definitely is Lord of his home. It's why his Grandfather didn't even blink at me wearing a dress. While men wearing dresses is not something common in our culture, that Sam Campbell would show his sexual proclivities to the world like that bolstered his power in the community and in his Grandfather's eyes. No wonder Grandfather liked me (though I still think that's a fucked up version of like) I remember wearing that dress proudly, I'd liked that dress—Grandfather Campbell was impressed. Despite all his other complaints, he took that as a sign that I would make a good Traditionalist; standing by the side of my husband, supporting him in any and every way.

By law, Sam doesn't even have to ask me for sex or otherwise. That much I knew—there is some cross over between Traditionalist and Standard in that regard. When he allowed me to refuse sex that morning he did that for me.

Sam did not enter this relationship promising monogamy. He can and is expected to take as many partners as he pleases. Monogamy is a Progressionist ideal. I know my brother has other lovers, even if we don't discuss them often—the small bit of Progressionist in him coming out—privacy over sexual acts. But knowing he would be marrying me off and that I had been largely influenced by our parents, he wanted to make sure I knew that was how things worked and so he made sure to tell me enough.

Progressionists consider taking other lovers something called 'cheating,' my mother had told me when I was little. For a Traditionalist, or Standard, that word doesn't even exist. In order for 'cheating' to happen, you've got to commit to being monogamous in the first place—something a Traditionalist or Standard would never do. Especially not a Traditionalist. Sexual promiscuity is a large part of Traditionalist culture, which I also knew, but now I'm realizing just how huge it was for Sam to care at all how his other lovers would affect me.

It also illustrates that even without much talking, Sam knows me, at least a little. He's taken the time to understand me. He hid those lovers; which he certainly did not have to do, because he somehow knew it would hurt me. He didn't want to hurt me.

Christ almighty—reading these things (some I already knew and some I didn't) makes me realize: Sam does care about me. Like, a lot.

This buoys me. I read like I've never read before. When I read the section on discipline the other day makes complete sense to me. Me wearing a dress (not to mention all the times I'd worn panties for him) was originally something he controlled. I know he liked it when I showed up as I did for that date; and therein laid the problem: He should have been furious with me, but he wasn't. He liked it too fucking much.

He didn't like it any less the second time, which only made him angrier. At himself. He shouldn't be allowing such rioting and the punishment was for the exact reason he said: To remind me that he runs this home. It's also a great way to create some distance between us, I suspect; which was likely what he had been doing the days prior to that build up; then boom! Explosion.

Fuck. I've been so blind.

He's given me a huge fucking freedom too, I realize. By allowing me control over when and where I wear a dresses, it's the equivalent to him telling me I also now hold power over where and when we have sex. No, it's not quite making me his equal, but it's close.

I'm utterly dumbfounded. I've read him wrong. Cas has been trying to tell me. And I know what's wrong with that sentence, it should be Sam 'telling' me, but he has been, with his actions if not his words.

I know his lack of 'words' has much to do with all the shit that's happened to his family, much of which, I still have yet to find out. I sigh heavily, but I feel better. I wish I'd done this sooner. It would have saved me some heartache. I can't say if I'm ever going to not feel gut-wrenching sorrow when Sam takes other lovers; I'll try, but fuck it hurts whether I want it to or not.

Looking at the time, I need to pack up my books and get outside. I'm supposed to meet Cas and Michael in the garden. We've spent many days in there now, as the weather perks up in preparation for spring. Michael and I have been using the greenhouse to seed some of what we've planned to grow in the garden. And speaking of growing, seeds are not the only thing growing…

Michael is in charge of bringing Cas out to the garden, since I can't be seen doing it and I notice it's begun taking longer and longer for them to meet me. They always have some sort of lame excuse of course, but I know better. I can see it when they look at each other. Michael is fucking smitten. So is Cas, but he hides it far better than Michael and if I didn't know Cas and a Campbell for that matter, I'd probably miss it too. As it turns out, I'm getting a quick degree in Campbell reading: Cas is totally gone.

I keep my mouth shut for now even if I want to tease the pants off of Cas. But they're too fucking cute. They remind me a bit of Buttercup and Wesley the way Cas is always ordering Michael to do shit for him and Michael, essentially, always answers with some version of 'as you wish.'

They're on time today; both smiling. "You two got canaries stuffed up your asses or something?" I ask.

"Canaries up our asses? Dean. Do you always have to be so fucking crude? That doesn't even make sense."

"What I was trying to say is that you both look like the cat that got the canary. Something I should know?"

"Nothing you should know. But you should be a helluva lot more respectful your brother-in-law. I'm sure Sam would be very interested to know you walk around in… those."

'Those' refers to my once three-hundred dollar pair of jeans than are now filled with holes and the grey long sleeved shirt that I have to hand wash out here, so Sam or the staff don't find it, hence it never gets all that clean, but at least it doesn't stink. I've also taken to wearing this kick-ass cowboy hat, even though it's completely unnecessary, since the sun isn't hot yet. It has warmed up some, enough that when we're really working I get sweaty enough I don't need a jacket.

I don't pay any mind to Cas's veiled 'threat,' I know he doesn't mean it and is protecting whatever the 'nothing' is.

"C'mon slow pokes. Let's get started. Time's a wasting."

"Whatever you say, Cowboy Dean," says Cas.


I feel so good by dinner, my appetite's the biggest it's ever been. Sam looks surprised at how much I'm eating. "Sorry, hungry," I say when I feel his eyes on me.

"You are quite peculiar, you know that Dean?" I'm the peculiar one? Pot: Kettle. I won't tell him that.

I smile at him, big and wide. "I try. Does it bother you?"

He takes a sip of wine. "No."


I continue reading until he announces, "we're going out tomorrow night."

Out? Just the thought fills me with nervous excitement. I haven't really been out since the wedding, just the two times. I want to go out, but having everyone see Dean Campbell is still not something I'm comfortable with. I've gotten used to wearing the odd dress and panties and even being fucked wide open around here, sure. But that's different somehow. It's like the staff have become family—family members that I've figured out are afraid to talk to me unless Sam says so. Really. I can ask them for whatever I want and they may answer, but other than that, there is no interaction. You want peculiar Sam? That's fucking peculiar. I decide to look that one up tomorrow: Traditionalist and house staff protocol, if anyone decided to write about it.

"Someone will be by the house at two o'clock to get you ready."

The hell they will.

I may as well have said it, because Sam reads my thoughts on my face. "Don't give me that look. I can't always get you ready; shave your legs for you."

Holy fuck. I think he's teasing me. "I didn't… That is, I don't expect you to get me ready. I can get myself ready; I've already shaved my own legs plenty, Sam."

"Hmmm… That sounds to me like you're complaining. Are you complaining, Dean?" Yeah, I'm complaining, while trying to make it look like I'm not complaining. He gets annoyed when I complain, like annoyed enough he'll definitely spank me. I don't know that being spanked in front of every one as chastisement will ever stop being humiliating. I avoid it at all costs.

"No, sir."

"Good. Two o'clock. Don't forget."


I'm not looking forward to being treated like a little doll, 'cause I know that's exactly what's about to happen.

The little blonde girl looks like a geeky version of the little mermaid, with her big eyes, behind large glasses. Becky's her name. "So you're him. You're Sam's."

She makes me sound like a pet. Doesn't make it any less true. "That's right."

"I'm going to make you so handsome! I'm so excited it gets to be me!" Great. She screams everything she says.

"I don't really need much," I say sticking out my hips. Yes I'm trying to flirt and show her how hot I already am. Then maybe, she can just turn herself around and let me take it from here.

"Nice try mister. Sam was very clear with what he wanted."

Crap. I'm in for it. What humiliations does he have in store for me? I don't miss that she calls him Sam. Almost no one calls him Sam, except Cas and I. Oh God. If she's one of Sam's lovers, I'll kill him. At least pick someone who looks like they have half a brain and not some ditzy blonde.

Not that all blondes are ditzy, just her. My mother was blonde and she was one of the smartest people I knew.

"Okay, Dean. Strip and bend over—preferably over that counter."

"Okay. What the actual fuck?"

"Well how else am I going to wax that tushie of yours?"

"How about not? You stay away from my… tushie!"

"Oh, Dean," she says shaking her head and taking out the supplies, laying them out on said counter. "Quit acting like a shy horse."

"Why do I have to take off all my clothes for that?"

"Because that's how Sam said to do it. Besides, I've got to wax some other parts of you too."

Jesus Christ. She looks like she's going to enjoy it too—sadistic fucking bitch. "Like hell you are, lady! Stay away from me."

"That's fine Dean. But then I'll have to call Sam; interrupt him at work. Do you really want that?"

No. "How about at least fucking warm me up to it, instead of starting with my ass?"

"That's not how Sam said to… fine. Take your shirt off."

I don't think she likes me much. I take my shirt off for her and she gets me to lay on the massage looking table she'd set up in the bedroom. She sprinkles a light dusting of baby powder before she spreads pink goo over my poor, unsuspecting hairs.

"Jesus. Fucking. Christ!" I scream when she rips the first strip off, making it feel like my skin is going fucking with it. "What the hell, woman?"

She's laughing. "Never been waxed before?"

"No!" And I never plan on this again. I don't care what I gotta do; I'll beg Sam if I have to.

She painfully removes all the fucking hair on my chest, thank the Lord my back is hairless. But then she wants at my ass again. I want to kick her in her stupid face, but her threat of going to get Sam is still there saving me probably from the ass kicking of my life. Especially if this is one of his lovers.

I assume the position and though I've never done this before, I highly doubt this is how they do it in a professional establishment. I have to think of anything else, when I feel her spread one cheek of my ass away from the other and apply that awful crap that was clearly invented by the devil.

"Relax," she says when I clench my cheeks as she's about to remove the skin from my fucking ass. I do, but I'm cursing her and fucking Sam. It's every bit as painful when she rips the strip off my ass crack as it was on my chest and I yell all kinds of threats and obscenities at her with every strip; no one's more grateful than I am when it's done. It feels fucking weird without the hair there—huh, something you don't think you'll notice, but yeah, I can tell I'm bare back there and I kind of want to see.

"Okay Doll. Your ass is bareless—let's get you back on my table so we can manscape that groin area."

"That's where I draw the line! You are not going near my fucking dick!"

"Oh yes I am. I'll call Sam, remember?"

Have you gathered I'm fucking stupid sometimes? "Call him then. I'm not getting on that table."

"C'mon Dean. I don't want you to get into trouble over this. Just be a good boy and get up here. I promise I'll be careful."

"Why do you fucking care if I get into trouble or not? You haven't seemed to care about how much that waxing shit hurts. You're a fucking sadist."

"You've said so a few times now—I haven't denied it." She wiggles her eyebrows at me. "But I know how my Benny feels when he's displeased me; you don't want that do you? To displease Sam?"

Wait. Her Benny? If she's married and it sounds like 'her Benny' was married off to her, she's probably not Sam's lover. Not that it's unheard of, but it would be more likely for Sam to take lovers that are unmarried. Two people in dominant sort of positions don't usually mesh very well.

And I know she's right. I don't want to disappoint Sam again; it's all I've done since we've been married. I resign myself to more torture. I lay on her table and she asks me put my legs in the 'frog' position; the soles of my feet together, knees butterflied out as she begins dusting baby powder on my groin. For the record, my dick is softer than it's ever been.

"I'm Sam's cousin," she tells me. "Our mothers were sisters—twins."


She misreads the shock on my face because she adds, "yes, I'm a Campbell, Dean."

She's a Campbell? If her mother was Sam's mother's twin then his mother was the Campbell. Something I still didn’t know; 'till now.

"You don't really look like a Campbell—no offense." Nor does she act like one, I don't add.

"No. I don't. I look like my father. He belonged to my mother before she died."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Thank-you—it's been awhile though. Not only were my mother and her sister born together, they died months apart. My side lost much of the Campbell influence, but we are still quite Traditionalist. Just a little more fun," she winks at me.

Okay. I'm an ass. Becky's kinda nice. "I don't really need the money, but I like fixing people up and making them pretty. Marrying in enabled me to open my own spa."

Huh. I'm much more relaxed as she 'manscapes' my groin. This part is much more relaxing somehow than the first bit. Probably because I'm used to it and so many parts of my skin hurts; it feels like the same shit to me.

"I've really been looking forward to meeting you Dean. But Sam's been quite possessive. It's sweet. I've never seen Sam care about anyone like this."

I guess it's Sam's version of possessive. I wonder if she'd still think so if I told her what he let's the staff do to me sometimes. But I suppose all of that is orchestrated by Sam and thus Sam approved.

"I'm sorry I swore at you and called you so many names."

"No you're not," she smiles. "But I really wasn't offended. It was amusing."

Once I'm all waxed (she didn't remove all the hair from around my cock, just trimmed it, but she did take away everything along my inner thighs) she begins on my legs. The most painful yet. I take back everything I said a moment ago—I can still feel pain. Apparently it's because my leg hair is so coarse. Yeah, because I'm a fucking dude, lady.

Thankfully she finds me calling her 'devil woman' amusing because I say that and some other things a lot.

"It won't be as bad next time," she assures me. "The hair will grow back thinner; weaker."

Next time? No. There's no next time.

I do live through the experience and she begins smoothing aloe gel into all of my red skin.

"Are we done yet?"

"Not nearly. I've still got to thread your eyebrows, shave your face, do your hair, give you a mani and pedi, and apply make-up."

I'm definitely concerned about all of those things, but I'm most concerned with, "make-up? I do not want to look like some chick."

She laughs. "Don't worry silly. I'm not going to make you look like a girl. Lots of male actors wear make-up, just to even out their complexion. That's as far as I'll go. Promise. You might be in a lot of pictures tonight—Sam wants you to look perfect. And not to worry, no nail polish, unless you want, just the standard nail clean up I give to all men who come to my salon."

"Fine. And definitely no nail polish, thanks." I grumble. At least she let's me put a fucking robe on while she finishes the rest of me.

"Okay, are you ready for this?"

"Ready for what?"

"Your dress. Sam hired someone to make this for you just for tonight."

"What is tonight anyway?" At first I thought this was just another one of Sam's humiliation sex games, but I don't think so anymore. Tonight is important.

"Uh-uh. Can't tell you. C'mon. Let's get you dressed. Sam's going to be home soon—I want to be able to give him a completed work."

"All right." The dress is… It's stunning. It's a black, backless halter, made entirely of velvet. The back doesn't go nearly as low as the scandalous pink dress did, just to the small of my waist—there's no fear of anyone seeing my ass crack, just the bubble of my ass in the skintight velvet. There are, what I sadly can now recognize as, Swarovski crystals and dear Lord ther are actual diamonds, speckled up the front of the dress and in the back, but stop just before the flowing skirt that has a slit to show off one of my muscled thighs.

The shoes are completely over kill, rhinestone peep toes that are already beginning to hurt my feet. Sam better be planning on massaging these tooties at some point tonight.

Even my jaw drops with how good I look—I can't fucking believe it.

"So?" She prods. "Do you like it?"

She looks so fucking hopeful and I know she worked hard, plus I was not an easy nor willing client. "You know? I do. You're really good at this."

"Thanks!" She squeals.

That's when Sam walks into the bedroom. I've never seen his eyes so wide, and I think I can actually hear his cock getting hard. "Fuck. Forget tonight. We're staying home," he says grabbing my wrist and pushing me back so he can admire me.

"Oh no you don’t Samuel Campbell—I worked hard on this masterpiece. Besides, he's super excited to go out with you."

I am? When did I fucking say that?

"Are you Baby?"

"Yeah," I say a bit googley eyed. I like him staring at me like that. What? I'm not saying no. Not that stupid.

"How was it?" He asks me smirking.

"She hurt me Sammy," I complain curling into him.

"He was an Angel," Becky adds trying to help me out though I have no idea why.

Sam's not stupid. "Right. Should I look out the window for flying pigs? How many expletives did he use?"

"None while I was wearing this!" I'm quick to defend.

"I wasn't asking you."

"He was a good boy Sam—that's all I'm gonna say. Should we get you ready?"

Did I mention? I fucking love Becky.


Sam can't keep his hands off me. Or his mouth. He's breathing hot breath down my neck as he kisses and nips at me, in the back of the limo on the way to wherever the hell it is we're going. "Sam… Sammy… Sam!."

"I'll get to your cock in a minute Darling."

That's not why I'm 'Samming' him. "You're going to ruin my flawless complexion—aren't there going to be pictures at this thing?" What? I'm a whore for pictures.

He pulls his mouth off my neck to look at me. "Oh my God, you're serious. Did Becky turn you into a girl today too?"

"No," I huff. "You take that back—it just seems like such a shame to waste all her work."

"Right," he says wryly, but he peels himself off me—my cock fucking hates me right now. And holy shit, is he… pouting? Becky didn't spend as long on Sam, probably because she didn't need to remove all his fucking hair, but man does he look good. He's already a panty dripper, but in that charcoal Hugo Boss with the wide open tux jacket and flat collar? To fucking die for.

"Are you pouting?" I dare to ask him.

"I wanted to find out want kind of panties you're wearing."

"How do you know I'm wearing any panties?" I arch a brow.

"You'd fucking better be."

I laugh, but I'm having too much fun to care about consequences. I decide to tease him more. "Maybe, but I guess you won't know 'till the end of the night. I've got to look good for my admirers."

"They're all going to admire you tonight. I'll be lucky if I get any dances."

Okay. He looks too pathetic; I can't even tease him. "Sam. You get all the dances if you want, what makes you think you won't? Unless. Has someone abducted my controlling, domineering husband? Who are you?"

"No," he smiles. "I've decided I'm going to play a game tonight."


"Since we're almost there, I'll tell you—this night is for you, Dean."


"This is your big introduction to the Campbell family and the Campbell everything. No one came to the wedding. They'll all say it was for this reason, or that reason, but really, it was my fault—at my 'request.'"

Yeah, because Sam conducts everything like a business transaction. Now that I know something about him, I can just see the conversation about it, that was no conversation at all, but Sam, the next head of the family, telling them how it was going to go down. And everyone has to obey Sam.

"We always do an event like this anyway, after marriage, a sort of coming out as the newest Campbell. I just made it a little bigger."

"You didn't have to do that Sam. I was actually glad the wedding was small," Shit. I shouldn't have said that—small weddings are Progressionist.


If he'll let it go at that, I'm not saying anything more about it.

"But back to my game. I want to see just how many admirers you have; see if I even get the chance to dance with you. You may be doing a lot of dancing tonight."

"Then you're going to be doing a lot of foot rubbing tonight. My feet are already sore. These shoes are ridiculous." As ridiculous as his game I wager. He'll probably be sitting beside me. Just ask as soon as we get there… or whatever. His game is stupid.

"So? Do I get a hint?"

Oh. Back to the panties. I hope he's still playing with me—otherwise, my answer's going to get me in a lot of trouble. "No. You can wait and wonder all night as I'm dancing with my many, many admirers."

"So it's like that, is it Darling? I think you should join in on my game. How about, for every gentleman caller you get and thus yet another man dancing with my husband where I'll have to wonder, you'll earn one lick with my wooden paddle."

"What? That's not a game. That's an opportunity for you to spank me. A lot."

He smirks a smirk that says: I win.

Fine. If he wants to play dirty, I will too. "I have a different game. One where you get to see the panties if…" Okay, yeah I have nothing. I'm not as good at this as he is. "If you kiss me."

"I don't know. I think I like the game where I spank you better."

"You will if you want to anyway."

He smiles. "Okay, I'll kiss you then you have to give me a hint."

"I said I would show you."

"If you show me, I'll fuck you. It's as simple as that and I don't want to ruin your photo debut…"

"Har har har, Mmph—" Sam plants his lips on mine, stealing my breath like always. Fuck this party, I'm with him, let's go home where he can sink his cock into me and I won't have to look good for anyone.

"I think that kiss is worth two hints," I say when he pulls away. "The first, they go good with these." I show him the painful shoes. "So you'll want to leave them on when you fuck me. Second, you won't have to take them off."

"If we weren't already here Dean, I would be calling off the event."


Before he lets me get out of the car there's something he has to give me. It's in a large velvet box. "Necklaces don't go well with halter dresses, so I got you something else." He opens the box and reveals a crown. A fucking crown. It's a circlet of pointed ovals filled in with diamonds. He places in on my head. "I was going to tell you—you are my prince, but after the way you've been acting, I think princess is more appropriate."


"Do you want to see?"

I kinda do; I nod since I'm speechless. He uses the box the crown came from; it's got a mirror on it. I don't know what I expect to see, which is good—better to have no expectations. I mean, it's not like I can say 'no' and I especially can't turn away a gift, he'd think me ungrateful. When I look in the mirror, I'm stunned. That's me?

Just like I was told on the very first outing I'd worn a dress to, somehow the femininity of the crown enhances my masculinity. I look regal. "Wow, Sam. I don't know what to say."

"It looks just as I thought it would, Darling."

"Thanks, Sammy."

Our driver helps me out of the car and I see the wisdom, yet again, of allowing someone to help you up when wearing heels and a dress. It's got nothing to do with being unable; and everything to do with looking graceful.

Sam takes my arm and we head inside.

It's a much larger venue than the benefit we'd gone too. There's seating cubicles that jut out from the walls as well as all across the floor. Live musicians are playing soft music. As we come down the stairs together, everyone is looking at us. Everyone wants a piece of us.

"Mr. Campbell, can we get a picture?"

"And one for the STAR?"

"Traditionalist Daily."

Oh my freaking God. It takes us an hour just to get to our seats as Sam and I pose for pictures that are apparently going to be printed in various forms of media as well as appear on the internet. My first thought should be: "Me, in the news, in a dress?" But it's not. It's that I'm glad I didn't let Sam fuck up my make-up.

When we do make it to the table, of course Jules and Perry are there, whom I thought I would have seen by now at the house, but the real surprise is Adam.

He's… here.

Chapter Text

"Adam?" After all those pictures, I feel the real twinge of embarrassment when my brother sees me in a dress for the second time. I don't know why. It quickly passes as I remember he'll be pleased with me for once—I'm the subordinate husband I'm meant to be.

"Dean. Hi. It's good to see you."

I look to Sam, who smiles, kisses my cheek (carefully so as not to ruin my make-up) and leaves my brother and I alone. "It's good to see you too, Adam." I don't know if it really is though. I have mixed feelings about it. I love my brother; I know he loves me; normally I'd be stoked to see him and in the first few weeks I was almost begging to come home, but now that I've got things going here, kinda, my own life… well I guess I just wish I'd had more time to build that before I see him. Show him I've accomplished something. Do him proud. I do remember that he was the one to say something like that; turns out he's right, he usually is.

"Here. Sit down, have a drink with me," he says pulling out a chair for me; taking charge like he does. And like I do, I obey him.

He fills me in on everyone. Tiffany stayed home with the kids (I'm not sorry about that, except that I don't get to see the kids) and Kevin didn't want Erin flying, so they couldn't come either, but they all send their love.

When he asks me what I've been up to, I know he's checking on me and I know the right answer to keep him off my back, but his continual lack of faith in me is particularly irritating tonight. "If you think I'm not living up to Standard, ask Sam."

"Calm yourself. You've always got to be so defensive. I hope you're not like this with Samuel." He emphasizes Sam's full name, like he thinks it's improper I'm calling him something so casual, but Sam told me I could call him Sam. In fact, he doesn't seem to mind me calling him Sammy—practically said I could there too. I'm Sam's now, not Adam's. I'm the Mr. Campbell and I've got some strength. I still owe Adam a certain level of respect, but what my husband says trumps what he says. I decide to ignore his veiled suggestion.


"Look, I'd rather not lecture you tonight."

I just nod. How many times have I heard that? He sighs. "Anyway, Sam asked me something, if I'd kept any of your sketchbooks."

My heart beats into my throat for a second. Did he? "I'm sorry. I didn't Dean. I was so afraid… if somehow the Campbell's had found out—"

"Oh. That's okay," I lie and cut him off. I can't hear about it anymore. I said goodbye to that sketchbook, I don't want to think about it.

"But I do have something for you." He's got a flat black bag and he pulls something out wrapped in brown paper with brown string around it. "It was actually mine. Father gave this to me; he drew it. I won't pull it out here, but you can look at it when you get home and not to worry; Sam said you could have it." He closes the bag back up.

My heart's going again; I can't fucking believe it, one of Father's drawings. "But Adam—it's yours, I don't think I could—"

"I felt awful for getting rid of your book. I didn't know getting our name back on the map would mean forsaking… something like that. Please let me make it up to you."

"Okay. Thanks, Adam."

After that 'Bro-mellowdrama' more people arrive and everyone wants to say hello to me. There aren't a lot of Campbells. Just Becky, her husband, her younger sister and her sister's husband and Sam's uncle by marriage. We're just missing Cas. He'd say he'd never be caught dead at an event like this, make fun of it, complain the whole time, but deep down, he'd love it.

Grandfather Campbell arrives last and I feel like ice is prickling my whole body. That man is like a fucking avalanche. And speaking of avalanches, where's Sam?

"Hello, Dean," Samuel says.

"Hello, sir. Pleasure to see you again," I say and fucking hope Sam didn't tell him how I actually felt.

"It's Grandfather Campbell, Dean. You're officially a Campbell now, it's proper for you to call me something more familiar."

Like I'm ever fucking calling him that. "Th-th-thank-you, sir." Fuck.

He frowns at me. "A Campbell should always carry themselves with poise. It won't do to have you stuttering. We'll have to get rid of that."

Maybe I could stop stuttering if your poised family wasn't terrifying. No wait; that's just you and your grandson. So far the other Campbell's haven't been so bad. I mean, yeah they've all got some air about them, but that's nothing new. It's these two that have their own secret club.

But that's all 'Grandfather Campbell's' interested in saying to me and he moves off to say hello to Jules and Perry—ask me if I'm fucking disappointed.

I don't know where Sam was, but he's back now and looking in his element. He loves the public scene and he's good at it. People seem to flock to him and be able to chat seamlessly with him. So why do we suck so much?

He sits beside me, pushes his chair back, spreads his legs and nods to his crotch, much like he does at home—I know well what that means. I'm to shocked to keep my mouth shut. "Now?"

"No. Next Spring—of course now. I've been tortured long enough. I think you've been 'perfect' in enough pictures. Get to work."

I guess there's no such thing as a night of rest when it comes to Sam's cock. Even on my night. But there's a problem; two actually. Adam is sitting to my right and Grandfather Campbell is to Sam's left—they're going to get the full show. Distracted as they are with conversation, they probably haven't caught on to our conversation, but if I continue to stall the inevitable, Sam will become vocally more irate. I've already had a lecture from Grandfather Campbell and half a one from my brother, I don't need one from Sam.

For the record, Sam's lectures usually include spanking. Wouldn't that be a great way to make my debut? Ass up, over his knee.

"Why are you hesitating? Oh, silly me. Sorry darling."

If you think he's realized my dilemma, you haven't been reading very closely.

He reaches out to take my crown and sets it on the table. "There. Better."

Right. Like that's my problem. Note to self: Always make sure Sam has been relieved in the limo.

I hike my dress up, so I can crawl under the table and between his legs; ready to perform said duties—maneuvering in a dress and heels isn't easy. I have new respect for women.

Sam decides to be 'helpful' and as I'm crawling to my knees on the hard floor, he unzips his pants and pulls out his cock.

It's fucking hard. Harder than I've ever seen it, if that's even possible. No wonder he wants, needs, relief now. That must fucking hurt.

It's a thing of beauty; Sam's cock and I can't believe I get to suck it. Suddenly I'm Pavlov's fucking dog, I'm salivating at the potential; my dick responds in kind already leaking.

The whole time, I can't help, but be aware of my brother and Grandfather Campbell. As arousing as it is for Sam to order me to suck his cock in front of everyone; and it is, big time, it's not any less humiliating. I mean, I'm about to swallow my husband's cock, down my throat in front of everyone. And not anyone, but my brother and Grandfather Campbell.

I can already hear both lectures I'll get on how awful I am at cock sucking.

Grandfather C is as I expect; looking at his grandson with pride. He's probably every bit as deviant as Sam 'in bed.' Pervert.

For some reason, I don't even care what Jules and Perry are thinking—or Becky and crew for that matter.

The person most on my radar is Adam. His reaction surprises me. I expect a nod of respect? Encouragement? Pride? But it's none of those.

As I swallow down Sam's cock and begin sliding my tongue over Sam's shaft as he enjoys and expects; Adam gets queezy. Adam; the poster child for Traditionalism (since despite being Standard himself, he's a huge supporter of Traditionalism—I've never fucking figured that one out, but I think I'm getting a clue) looks like he wants to fucking puke. What's a matter dear brother? Traditionalist culture not what you envisioned?

It's my fucking turn to be smug. I know I'm good at this and you know what? I'm becoming far more desensitized. There's still the element of humiliation for me; there always will be; Sam will make sure of that; but anyone who wants to watch, can—I no longer care in this moment. I especially hope Adam will. He wants me to be a Traditionalist? I'll be a Traditionalist.

I use everything I know Sam likes. I want him to enjoy it; I want him to be loud. "That's a good girl, Princess—suck Daddy's cock, just like that."

I'm sure everyone heard that—I feel the tinge of humiliation at the addition of being called a 'girl' and a 'princess.' But I can't argue; I am in a dress.

I respond by sucking harder and wrap my very non-womanly hand around the base of his cock. I pump and suck and swirl my tongue under the head. "Jesus Dean. Fuck."

He throws his head back, I'm sure everyone can hear him. "Mmmhhmm… yeah…"

The whole time, Adam tries to keep face, but this is bothering him.

But me? I'm enjoying making Sam come apart like this.


I want him to fuck me. I look up at him. And fuck. We do have one thing; Sam and I. We can fucking read each other's minds during sex more and more. "You wanna sit on Daddy's cock right here, in front of all these people, don't you Baby?"

I nod, smiling around his cock, but not daring to take my mouth off 'till I'm told.

"You greedy, little, whore. Get up here."

Now keep in mind. We fuck a lot—the need to prepare me quite so thoroughly gets smaller and smaller, but kids, don't try this at home.

Like we're Cirque de fucking Soleil, he yanks me up, lifts my dress higher and sits me on his cock, slowly. It burns going in, but I was prepared and barring down to accept it easily.

As he gives me a moment to adjust, I look at him with wide eyes—how did he know he'd just be able to slip his cock in?

"Your hint baby, girl—I know every pair of panties in that drawer; I picked them myself."

I smile. He didn't just send some servant; he picked them all for me himself.

"You ready, Dean?"

"Yeah, Daddy."

Holding onto his neck, I ride him hard, slamming my ass down, using these stupid heels for leverage (least they're good for something), my dress riding up so high, everyone can see my muscled round ass, and his hands grabbing onto each cheek, squeezing hard.

I'm flying. High on whatever it is Sam fills me with.

He's well ahead of me; with three sharp thrusts, he's cumming in my ass. My brother can't even pretend to look anymore. I only notice that out of my periphery; I'm too wrapped up in Sam.

I haven't cum; I'm still fucking horny. "Please Sammy," I say in his ear. "Let's go home." I want more of that; several times over; and anything else that comes to mind.

"But the night's just barely begun, sweetheart." He reaches into his pocket for something. "And I have a new game. I think you'll like it; but I'm going to love it." His fingers feel for my hole, which his deflating cock is falling from, while I feel sets of curious eyes on us. His Grandfather, thankfully, has moved onto other (more interesting) things, but my brother tries to make small talk with whoever is on his right.

Sam slips his cock out while simultaneously replacing it with something. It feels slightly uncomfortable and my body just wants to push it out. "You didn't think you'd be dancing with all those sexy men without a little of me with you, did you?"

I try not to groan—this is going to be torture. My cock is seriously aching right now. "Please, Sammy."

"Later. If you're a good boy, Princess." He starts sliding my dress back down and is very blasé when he uses a white, cloth napkin to wipe his dick after I've climbed off of him. I have to adjust myself in my seat, to accommodate for the new weight in my ass; most of the eyes I felt on us have turned away, but I see a few people looking in our direction; wry smiles on their faces. Oh my God. They're wishing they were us.

I feel pretty accomplished for a moment or two, until a man, who looks like a young James Dean in an Armani, leans over into my husband's ear and smiles like maybe he wants to be the next person to suck his cock. Sam's eyes look interested in whatever he's saying; he gets up, without a word to me (and why should he? I only gave him the orgasm of his life) and they're gone. And now I just feel like an idiot in a dress.

I glare after them.

"What's with you?" I look up; it's Perry. Looks like most of our table has gone off to mingle, including my brother.

"So, we going to get some food around here? I'm starved," I say changing the subject. I don't want to tell him 'what's with me,' because what's with me shouldn't be with me. So what if he fucks that freakishly hot guy in some back room of this snazzy place? He's going home with me, right?

Sure. Keep telling yourself that Winchester.

"Oh no you don't. I won't let you sulk. This is your party," he says getting up and moving closer to me, bringing his wine with him. I think this party is more for Sam though. It may be a me 'coming out in to society' party, but Sam is the real star of the evening.

He gestures with his glass to mine; I pick mine up and we clink glasses. "Cheers." We both take a sip.

"I'm going to tell you something, because I like you Dean. I like you very much."

Huh? Is he hitting on me? Is this some kind of fucked up kinky Campbell thing I'm not yet aware of? Just the thought of sex makes me shift uncomfortably; I remember I've still got Sam's cum in my ass. I've got something to mark me as his while he's gone from me; he's got nothing to mark him as mine.

"You don't even know me. How do you know you like me?"

"I've tried to think about that and come up with nothing. There's just… something about you. It's not just me. Everyone in the room feels the same way; I can tell. You should have seen their eyes with that little treat you and Sam gave them. They were all wondering how they'd got lucky enough to watch you ride his cock."

I don't think there's enough foundation in the world to hide the deep red color I'm sure my cheeks are turning. I drink more wine. Not that wine will help make my cheeks less red, but it will make me care less.

"Jules and Sam talk. I wouldn't exactly call them close; it's not really their place to be quite so close as I'm sure you know."

Well, sorta. Note to self: Read more on family and the family heir: Relations of.

"But he tells her stuff he doesn't feel comfortable telling Grandfather Campbell."

"Yeah?" I don't know what else to fucking say and I really want to know what stuff he tells her.

"Sam's having trouble in the sex department."

Not from my experience.

He laughs reading right through me. "Not with you, obviously. He can't seem to… perform for others. He's quite worried about it. Secretly's seen a doctor and everything."

I have to drink more wine, 'cause what the hell else do you do when someone tells you that?

"He's not going to fuck that guy. He might try, but he won't be able to. He might keep fighting for a long time until he realizes: He doesn't need anyone else, he's got you."

I should be over the moon hearing that and part of me is. Part of me's smug. And part of me's still hurt. I can't even help it; I know how Sam feels; because while he feels like there's something wrong with him for not wanting other lovers, I feel there's something wrong with me for wanting him all to myself. In a twisted way we have the same problem.

"So don't waste your time being upset. Have fun tonight. Besides, it's really important for Sam to keep appearances. If it ever got out that he's becoming monogamous… Oh boy. The whole world would go mental." He drinks more wine.

If Perry calls fucking James Dean look-a-likes monogamous, he needs a new definition of monogamous, but I've still got to ask, "doesn't it bother Jules that he's 'turning monogamous?'"

He smiles, biting and devious. "Most Campbell's are closet monogamists Dean. Don't get me wrong, they have their kinks; they're definitely sexual exhibitionists, but not even Grandfather Campbell was impervious. Love has the power to turn a person to monogamy. "

"Then what the hell's Sam's problem? I thought he worshipped the man; wants to be just like him?"

"Love destroyed Sam's father and while Grandfather Campbell was too strong to let love destroy him, it did leave its scar on his heart. But you should know, there's nothing in Traditionalist Culture that says you can't fall in love Dean. Monogamy and love are exclusive. You can't be monogamist and fuck others, but you can love someone and fuck others. Jules and I do it all the time. Jules isn't into monogamy, but she does love me. Many Traditionalists love their spouses, Dean. "

Okay Perry. That's more hints than I wanted to know about your sex life, but now I want to know, what happened between Sam's grandparents? From what I gathered, I figured she was just a drunk, most likely driven to drink under Grandfather Campbell's tyrannical rule. I also assumed she'd died of said drinking, since she's never around, or talked about. But now I'm thinking that's not it and I know just who I'm going to harass for information.

"He taught Sam that love makes you weak, but since you, Sam's learning he's powerless to defend against love." Perry winks.

Yeah. Not in the mood to hear anymore about Sam's 'love' for me. I change the subject. "Seriously though, are we going to get food? How does this thing work?"

"Yeah, we'll eat soon."

After that, I'm accosted by person after person wanting to meet the new Mr. Campbell. At least I get to stay at the table, I don't want to walk around the room ('my' night or not) after the porn scene Sam and I performed for the crowd.

The Campbells and my brother return to our table one by one just before dinner's about to be served.

"Hi Adam," I say, my confidence inspired by fucking Sam in front of him. I've only had the one glass of wine—the waiter was by to refill my glass, but with all the chatting I haven't got the chance to drink it. I had the thought of ordering a beer, but I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that's not 'proper' dress etiquette. Beer just wouldn't look good with a dress like this.

"Hi, Dean." He's uncomfortable. I smile.

"So, was I any good? How did I look sitting on my husband's—"

"Enough, Dean."

"What's wrong? I'm a good Traditionalist husband. Just like you wanted. Our name will be in lights. Why, we might even be in league with the Campbell's someday."

He's got nothing to say to that. My whole body tingles when I feel Sam sit down beside me. All 'cool' leaves me and I shut-up too. I'm afraid to even look at him and see what I find. I might cry. I don't want to fucking cry in front of my brother—especially when I've finally got something to Lord over him.

"You hungry Darling?"

Now I have to look at him. Game face, Winchester. "Starved," I say looking up. But my upset is all over my face, much as I'm trying to hide it and he can fucking tell. Sometimes I wish we could go back to the days he didn't know me at all, for times like this when I'd rather hide from him.

"He wasn't anywhere near as good as you," he leans to whisper in my ear.

Oh? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Fuck. What's wrong with me? I subtly wipe the lone tear that'd started making its way down my cheek. "Oh that? Yeah. I don't care, Sam."

I guess he considered that a sweet nothing, because he pulls away looking angry that I didn't reciprocate. I reach for my wine glass. He stops me. "I think you've had enough of that."

"I've had one glass." I do take my hand away though.

He moves it out of my reach. "That's plenty," he says with a mean smirk, daring me to challenge him. Oh, I get it. He's just punishing me for my insolence.

I don't care though. It's not like I'm a huge alcohol person. I like drinking, but I don't have to. I reach for my water instead. This night's turning out to be a real riot.

But dinner is finally served and I have good reason not to talk to anyone. Seeing as I'm in the middle of Sam and my brother, probably the only two people in this room that don't want to talk to me, I can get away with it; turns out to be a stroke of luck.

I do note that dinner is beef, what I told Sam I like.

After dinner, apparently we have to be introduced by Grandfather Campbell, but of course his introduction is centered around Sam and what a lovely choice he made; I'm just surprised as hell to hear him speaking well of me at all. I guess it makes sense; he can't exactly get up there and tell everyone what a huge disappointment he expects me to be to the Campbell name. How would that make Sam look? I'm still fucking anxious the whole time. I tap my fingers on the table so much, Sam has to grab my hand and hold it to stop me. That's not so bad. I have grown accustomed to his touch if nothing else; it is calming.

Then Sam and I are supposed to go up.

What? Seriously, what? I don't want to fucking go to up there.

"Go on, Dean. You'll be fine," Adam whispers to me, kindly. Did I imagine everything else this evening happening? Suddenly there's no animosity anywhere, except with me. I make my way to the top of these ridiculous rhinestone heels and hope I don't fall on my face as I make my way up to him. Sam helps me up the steps to the podium and I think he'll take over and say something now, but he's not going anywhere near the mike. He nods to it, kinda like he did his cock earlier—he wants me to say something. Fuck. Now I've got to make some sort of a speech. I'm fucking terrible at speeches. How do I know? Because I've never given one.

So there I am in my stunning black velvet, with just enough thigh poking out to be provocative, tall shoes and a fucking crown, oh and in case you've forgotten (because there's no way I can) Sam's cum still up my ass and now I've got to say something Sam and Grandfather Campbell won't skewer me for.

Jesus Christ. Here goes. "Thank-you, everyone," I say when the clapping dies off. C'mon Dean. You just had sex in front of all these people. This can't be worse. But it is. I'm good at sex. I close my eyes for a moment and open them to refresh myself. I remember what it feels like to be poised—that I can do—and on impulse I grab Sam's hand for comfort. Fuck. Okay. I can do this. "I didn't think I was worthy of such an honor. As I'm sure it's no secret, my family began as Progressive and now I've married off to a home that is the epitome of Traditionalism." That should go over well, people always like to hear about just how Traditional, or how Standard their home is.

"But I've been working hard to overcome the deficiencies of… of my parents." I have to swallow. I hate saying that, but I know that's what everyone thinks of them. And it's all about the public face, right?

Sam can tell I'm having a hard time. He squeezes my hand. "I think I've already shown tonight how much I've embraced Traditionalist culture. I hope to make you all proud, but most of all my husband." I look at him meaningfully. He really is the only one here I care to impress. Grandfather Campbell can go fuck himself.

The crowd fucking loves my speech and goes wild. Though I'm starting to think I could have gone up there and talked about how much I like pie and they'd still have liked it. Sam is staring at me oddly. But ever the crowd pleaser he adds into the microphone, "Dean is eager to dance with you all, so make sure to come by after dessert for a second helping."


Then he whisks me off my feet, bridal style and I have to close my legs quickly to remain 'proper' in my dress and grab at my crown so it doesn't smash to the floor. "Sam," I hiss in his ear. He responds with his damn charming smile and a kiss to my lips making it really hard to stay mad at him, but I manage—all the while trying to hide it from him of course. They crowd is of course even more pleased as the amazing Campbell duo exits the stage, with Sam still carrying me.

When we're back, our table has dispersed again; it's just Sam and I.

"You're angry with me," he decides after staring at me a minute.

"A good Traditionalist spouse is never angry with his head of house," I recite from my readings. "A good Traditionalist spouse is quick to realize his anger is only his poor ability to control his emotions."

I'm really trying to abide that and take Perry's advice, but I'm having a hard time forgetting about Sam and young James Dean.

"You are. You call me Sammy when you're pleased and Sam when you'd rather I left your sight."


"Samuel is new. Perhaps it means you're really, really put out with me?"

He's picked a really bad time to start with this new line of teasing. And fuck. It's… cute. I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling. "If I'm not supposed to be mad at you, shouldn't you be scolding me, or something?"

"Aha! You are mad, then," he smirks. He doesn't seem to care I'm mad, just that he's able to figure me out.

"Are you drunk?"

"No I'm just…" He's staring at me all goofy eyed. How does he do that? He takes off with fuckface then stares at me like I'm fucking… I dunno.

"Just what?"

His eyes flick behind me. "It looks like you have your first dance partner."

He's right. A man is approaching the table. "Sammy."

"Hmmm. I've changed my mind, that Sammy didn't sound so good, I have to note inflection. Happy dancing sweetheart."


I think this is dance number six and without wine to numb my feet, this is just cruel. Also, I feel a little funny having to face these people after my and Sam's display. I was still hoping to get to hang out at the table all night and talking in front of a crowd is much different than one on one. But now I have to touch them, chat with them; try not to fucking blush.

And I don't see Sam anywhere, so of course I'm anxious. Where did he go? Who's he doing now?

"Your husband, he's a true Traditionalist—I admire him. We could all learn a thing or two from Sam Campbell," my dance partner says. I think his name is Stephen, or was it Steve? I forget.

"Oh? Yes."

"I think even the Traditionalists have become too Standard for their own good. Displays like what you and Sam did tonight have become fewer and fewer. I mean, how else would you explain the initial shock? Before you know it, Progressionist will gain popularity. Sorry, I don't mean to say such vulgar things," he says as if I have sensitive ears. "It's just, there was a time we were all Traditionalist; now there's barely fifty percent of the population. But I think we can all follow Sam. Whatever he does, it's the thing to do—I'd follow that man into war in any decade."

That gains my attention. Not the part about Progressionists, I'm used to all that talk. The part about Sam. Does Sam really have such devout followers? Then I remember what Perry said about Sam turning Monogamist—I wonder if Steve/Stephan would be such a follower then? He also could just be trying to impress me.

"That's very kind. I'll tell Sam you said as much."

And speak of the devil. "Well there's my little wife." He wraps his arms around me and begins feasting on my neck from behind.

"Mr. Campbell, would you like to cut in?"

"Oh no. Wouldn't dream of it. Carry on. I just came to say hello."

I think Sam just gained more knots on the heroism belt in this man's eyes. So we keep dancing and Sam continues to molest me. First he bites down my neck breathing in a way that tickles sensitive spots and fuck, my dick that's already hard begins to throb.

One arm is around my upper torso, near my clavicle, securing me tight to him, but still letting me dance in a strange sort of sway. His other hand works its way up the slit of my skirt and over the lacy panties covering my dick. On top of everything else happening tonight, there has been the low hum of arousal present at all times. And now, being touched in even the slightest makes my dick leak. I let out a strangled, "Sam," as he continues to lightly brush his hand over my cock; my hips push out seeking the friction of his hand, but he never lets me gain enough purchase.

"What a dirty boy letting Daddy touch you in front of…"

"Stephan," the man chokes out.

That's the name.

"Stephan. Do you like that baby boy? You want me to stroke you? Maybe we can show Stephan how you cum for Daddy."

"Yes, please…" I breathe; my head already thrown back into the crook of Sam's shoulder.

He pulls off. "You see Stephan, my husband's a filthy whore." He smacks my ass hard. It doesn't help matters and only makes my dick harder—if that's even possible.

"In fact, I think Dean would like it very much if you touched his cock, wouldn't you Dean?"

I just want someone to touch my fucking cock—Stephan's a good enough looking guy, reminds me a bit of that Daniel Radcliffe dude, but you know, all grown up and hot. "Please."

"You see? He doesn't mind at all." I don't think he would care if I did mind. He pulls my dress aside at the slit and pops my dick and balls out of the panties I'm sure Stephen can see. "Do you want to touch his cock, Stephen?"

Stephen's mesmerized. "I'd like that Mr. Campbell."

"Go ahead then, touch it. He won't cum unless I say, will you Dean?"

I inhale sharply. "No, sir."

Stephan is convinced. He reaches his hand out the short distance to my cock, fondling my balls and giving the shaft a good couple of strokes.

He's not doing much, but it's utter agony. With Sam holding me firmly in place with one arm tight around me and still holding my dress aside like he is; putting me on display for Stephan; it's dirty and hot. I'm writhing and trying to keep still at the same time when his hand glides over the sensitive head, so I don't cum and disappoint Sam. "You're such a dirty Bitch, aren't you, Baby?" He breathes in my ear. I can't even talk; I just nod. "I'm going to torture you all night then I'm going to fuck you so hard."

He pulls me away from Stephan's hand and fixes my panties and dress back into place.

"Good, boy. I am pleased Dean. Carry on."

What the fuck was that?

"Wow, Dean. Things are definitely going to change in my house after that. I want whatever it is you guys have."

He… he does?

"I don't even think I can wait 'till I get home; I'm taking my husband to the bathroom."

I can't even help myself. "The bathroom? How very Progressionist to want so much privacy," I scoff. "Why not just take him to that balcony up there, where more people will see you?"

"You know what? Good idea. I see why Sam married you Dean. You both have my blessing."

I wipe my hands off, happy to be rid of him early, maybe I can finally have a break; my feet are killing me. But as I head toward my seat, I see it; my jaw drops. Should I run?

Beside my chair is a line-up, a very long line up of men and women. "Sam? Are all those…"

Sam's sitting comfortably; a crooked smile on his face. "For you? Yes, Darling. They all want to dance with the new Mr. Campbell."


So I dance. And the whole time I have to decide what hurts more: My feet or my dick. Sam appears every third partner to shove his hand up my dress and make sure I'm sexually frustrated. But on one of the rounds I asked him if I could take a little break because of my feet (he so owes me a few foot rubs) to which he responded with a gleeful 'no,' but he did end up bringing me wine; thus ending my wine ban and by the fourth glass I was grateful.

There were some plus sides to all the dancing. For one I didn't have to talk to my brother, who I had been keeping one eye on through the night. He's a good shmoozer, like Sam and can hold his own on the floor with people he doesn't know.

And, while Sam continues his game of 'sexually aggravate Dean,' I've finally got my own game going. I'm trying to see how many people I can convince to follow suit with Sam and I and fuck at this party. That's right. It's my party; I can turn it into an orgy if I want to.

So far I've got Stephan and his husband planted up on the third level standing room balcony, they're still going at it and I sent them off seventeen dances ago. A lady (don't even remember her name) and her husband are by the plant. I told her she could get her husband to attend to her bush, in a bush—you wouldn't believe how much she like that idea. When I found out who was in some of the balcony seating, well of course that seemed like a good place to fuck, but of course I warned them to be careful—we don't want anyone falling out (though dying having sex is a damn good way to go if you ask me). The balcony railings in the seating area aren't nearly large as the one I sent Stephan off to.

I've gotten more daring in recent porn scenes I've directed and have encouraged people to try what Sam and I did with the ol' under the table blowjob, or cunnilingus. And hell, by this point there's so many sex acts going on I've lost track and I swear I even saw Adam go off with someone—of course he stole away to somewhere semi-private. And I think some couples aren't even my doing.

But the fucked up thing is that Sam, who sees everything hasn’t seemed to catch on that there's a lot of fucking going on around him. And that's what it takes for me to finally fucking figure it out. It didn't matter how many times Cas said it, or even how many other people said it; I didn't believe it.

Sam really has fallen for me. That whole 'love is blind' bullshit? It's fucking true. He can't see the all the porn happening around him, just me.

"Ahh, sorry, Dean. Mr. Campbell. I've got to uh… use the washroom," my current dance partner says.

Fuck his wife is more like it. I hadn't even made the suggestion. Sam's behind me; I feel him freeze. "What the fuck is going on?"

I'll take that as he's finally looked around. I flip around to face him; I must look guilty. "Did you do this?"

Go out in a blaze of glory, right? It's so worth whatever punishment he'll give me. "Yeah. You like?"

He looks around at all the sex happening. A slow smile spreads on his face then he lets out a laugh, the laugh I love. It's big, booming and real. He spins me around on my sore dance feet. "Did you do this for me, Baby?"

Do you believe in lying for a good cause? I hope so. "Yes." It's not to save my ass—there's no way this night isn't ending in spanking for me. When he's this aroused, he likes my ass red before he fucks it. I can't be the one to wipe that smile off his face.

"So, should we join in?" I'm hoping to God to be relieved of these blue balls pretty soon. To my dismay he shakes his head.

"This has been my only chance to dance with you all night," he says pulling me to him. Right. Because what he was doing with me earlier wasn't dancing. The music's still playing. "Here give me your foot."

I give him my foot and he slides the first death-spike off. "Oooh," I moan. I think that was second best to an orgasm.

"Other foot."

I moan louder when he removes the second and oh how good it feels when I place it on the ground. "Better?"


"Right." Quick as a whip, he's on his knees, pulls the slit of my dress to the side, as well as, my panties and swallows my cock. I've been on the edge all night; that's all it fucking takes and I'm cumming down his throat. I can't see or hear for at least ten seconds as I have what I think is going into my top ten; though with Sam all the orgasms are pretty top ten. It's hard to pick.

"You good?" He's back and assuming dance position.


Our foreheads dip together and we dance amongst a sea of sex.

Chapter Text

We're leaving. Sam is saying goodbyes to people who are thanking him for the spectacular evening—they should be fucking thanking me, least for some of it.

Adam approaches me. "I'm glad I caught you Dean."

Sam's got the bag Adam gave me slung over his shoulder—he wouldn't let me carry it. "Did you have a nice time, Adam?"

"Actually, I did. At first I… well watching you just, you know, like that… it was hard. I knew it was necessary, but Lord help me; I didn't like it."

I fucking knew it. I just can't believe he's admitting it.

"But as the night progressed, and I talked to more people; people told me how much it meant to them. They look up to Sam and watching the two of you made them feel good. And the speech you made; I know that must have been hard; I know how you really feel about our parents, but sometimes it's just… political."

That's exactly it. I think I finally realize that Adam gets that more than anyone—he's been 'political' his whole life, so our family could have a strong name and future. There wasn't a thing I could have said in a room full of Traditionalists that could make them understand that despite my parent's unpopular social conduct, I didn't think they were 'wrong.' I don't regret what I said. It was the right chess move under the circumstances and my audience. I know how I feel about my parents and I'm the only one that particular opinion matters to.

"I'm proud of you Dean. Really proud."

"Thank-you, Adam."

Adam is more of a father to me than a brother, it means a lot for him to say that. I was going to ask Sam to invite him for breakfast, but he mentioned he's on an early flight back home. So I thanked him again for the picture, we bro-hug and he's gone.

Sam and I don't even talk during the limo ride home because he's too busy fucking my brains out; like there wasn't enough sex at my party. He lifts me out of the limo, because I've got no shoes on, keeps his tongue locked with mine as he walks across the threshold and places me down; we shed jackets quickly. Sam's long since removed my crown and I'm pretty sure he's left it in the limo.

"Go, up Baby. I'll be along in a minute," he says slapping my ass once he's able to pry himself away from me

I should go directly to mine and Sam's room, but I don't. I can't fucking wait to tell Cas. I know he's been waiting on me for forever to realize that Sam loves me. I mean, he hasn't actually said it, but I know it. I've got to tell him.

I pad up to his room like always. I think I hear someone though, so I wait, but it's fucking dark and I'm too giddy and I knock over a fucking tiny elephant statue off the hallway décor table thingy. I freeze and listen. I don't know what I thought I heard, but there's no one now. And the fucking statue is broken. Shit. Its trunk fell off; at least it's a clean break.

I pick up the pieces hoping I can fix it before anyone knows it's broken, or better yet, notices it's gone. I'm not too worried, there's gotta be like a million statues in this place, right? This one's so small and meaningless. It fits in my fist.

I'm sure there's no one around now, so I do my usually run and jump onto Cas's bed stomach first, still in my dress, and kick my bare heels to my ass. "Hey Cas-ti-el."

That's when I register he looks freaked. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I ask.

His eyes widen. "Shit, someone's coming," he hisses while looking around like a spazz. I'm already rolling off to the other side of the bed, and under and have to bite my hand when I see I'm next to a naked Michael. Well almost naked, he's got a sock he's blocking his dick with—no need buddy, I've seen plenty of dicks before.

I smile at him with 'fuck yeah' eyes. I've been rooting for Cas and Michael the whole time. He smiles back his thanks at my approval. We both fucking sit up and pay attention when we hear Sam's voice.

"You were right Cas," he says right away. "I think Dean is finally warming up to me—tonight was…"

Tonight was what? I really wish he'd stop, stopping mid-sentence. "Is that a foot?" He says.

Fuck. Michael and I both check our feet, but I know it's not my foot he sees, because I'm on the side furthest from his view. Suddenly Michael's being pulled out from under the bed. I feel bad for the dude, but there's literally nothing I can do for either of them, so I stay under the bed and feel like an asshole. If I thought me saying anything would make a difference and not just piss Sam off more because if you'll remember I'm not supposed to be here in the first place, I'd jump on my white fucking horse and save the day, but I know it won't do a thing. 'Cept make the situation worse.

"What the bloody fuck is this, Castiel?"

"Oh that? Just something I'm fucking." Cas is trying to keep the same sarcastic tone in his voice he's known for, but it's not working. He's scared of Sam and I get it. Sam has all the power, he can take Michael away from him.

"Why are you fucking anything? You're ill remember?"

"I told you. I have a new doctor. I'm much better."

"And you expect me to believe he cleared you for fucking?"

"Not in so many words, but I'm sure that's what he meant."

"Absolutely not, Castiel Campbell. This is my house, you are my ward and I don't recall giving you permission."

"I'm not your ward. I'm Grandfather's ward."

"You know how it works. You obey me. I want to talk to this doctor before you engage in more… activities. First you have your windows opened without even speaking to me, now this?"

"I thought you said you thought I was looking healthier?"

"Not healthy enough to start fornicating."

"But getting my dick sucked is okay?"

Shit. None of this is good. Shut the fuck up while you're ahead Cas. There's several, terrible minutes of silence. "I want to speak to your new doctor. Until that time, I forbid this."

"And you," I hear the sound of slapping. He's slapped Michael across the face. "You can pack your things and leave this place."

"Don’t you dare, Sam. If you dare get rid of him, I shall never speak to you again."

More silence.

"Fine. Just stay out of my sight."

I hear footsteps and assume that's Michael running off. "You are an ill little boy. Just what were you thinking?"

"I'm not a little boy and I'm not sick."

"We'll see about that."

Sam storms out and I figure I'd better make my way back to our room pretty quick—it's probably not going to be a good rest of the night.

When the coast is clear, I pop out of my hideout. "Geez, Cas. I'm so fucking sorry."

He shakes his head. "He'll calm down—it was just shocking for him."

Cas always defends Sam, well, almost always.

"Can I do anything?"

He shakes his head again—I've never seen Cas look so, oh god, I have to use the word, forlorn. Cas is forlorn. "No. What did you come to tell me?"

Yeah. Like I can tell him after that. "I'll tell you tomorrow. It'll be okay, Cas."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not a fucking pussy. Just, go fuck him or something. Cheer that cheerless mother fucker up." He makes a point of staring directly in front and not at me.

I steal away, with the elephant still clutched in my hand. Sam is there when I arrive at our bedroom and now I can see some of what Cas did when Sam was reaming him out. It is scary. No wonder it broke Cas's tough demeanor. His eyes are blazing, with a smooth, eerie calm that's spread to the rest of his face.

"Where the fuck were you? I told you to come straight here."

"I-I did. I waited a bit then I came to find you, my cock couldn't wait for you that long," I say regaining my composure. I have to remember that I'm not supposed to know what just happened. All I'm supposed to know is he was tongue fucking my throat on the way in the door. "But now that you're here, can I put some special panties on for you, Daddy? You've already fucked me in these," I say looking down to my crotch, which is still covered by my dress.

"I was just about to go looking for you. You're supposed to be where I tell you to be."

"Yes, Sam. Where you tell me. I'm sorry."

"Here. Now."

I approach him hesitantly; I have no fucking idea what he's going to do. Sam's temperament is cloudy at best. "Bend over the bed."

I do, still holding the fucking elephant.

Slowly he lifts the skirt of my dress, exposing my ass and the lace panties I'm wearing. The ones that have no ass, just strips of lace down each ass cheek. He reaches between my ass cheeks. Oh. The plug. Right. I'd finally got used to it. "Push."

I help him baring down and he pulls on the plug; it's free and Sam's cum leaks down my ass. Sam slaps my ass, hard. I jump. "Are you scared, Baby?"


"A… a little."

"Good. A little fear is good." Whack.

I clutch the damn elephant.

"Why?" He spanks me again. Then moves away. I hear a drawer opening.

I feel it when it touches my ass, it's smooth and wooden; he circles over both cheeks. "It is prudent for the spouse to be, in the least, marginally afraid of one's Head of House," I recite.

"Don't tell me you're afraid just because some book told you to be. That's not your style."

"Sam, please."

He gives my ass a nice sharp whack with the paddle. It's hard to tell whether this is pain or pleasure. That fucking hurt, but it leaves a nice warm tingle that my cock likes. I suppose it will depend on how many times he whacks my ass.

"You are to obey me, Dean. I am already displeased. Answer the fucking question."

Okay, there's my answer. He is pissed at me. He punctuates his demand with another sharp whack that brings me to my toes and has me crying out. "You're u-u-unpredictable. I don't know what you're going to do, next. It's unnerving, okay?"

"Better. See? We can communicate."

I've never voiced our lack of communication skills. He must be 'speaking to Cas.'

He continues to spank me; I continue to jump to my tip-toes and clutch my elephant. "Do you understand why you are being punished?" He asks, and stops spanking me to slowly peel down, my panties.

"I disobeyed you, sir. I should have been here, waiting for you…" Right in between this thought and my next I get an idea. I'm going to try something; I'm being punished anyway. I remember a few things from one of the books I've been reading, something I thought Sam would like. "…I should have undressed," whack, "and kneeled beside the bed," whack, "waiting for you," whack, "and hoping you'd do me the pleasure, mmmhmm," whack, "of stuffing your cock in me." Whack.

Yeah. I fucking moaned. My plan is backfiring—I'm turning myself on.

He stops and rubs the wood paddle against my sore skin, again. "You dirty, little, slut. Keep talking like that, while I make sure you don't sit for a week. You will obey me, Dean."

In another life, I must have been the king of writing fucking porn, I think of the dirtiest, naughtiest and outright raunchiest sex stuff I can, most of it based on suggested 'etiquette' for the good Traditionalist spouse. And folks, I think I've just figured out how to manipulate my husband. He loves this shit. Fucking loves it. I can tell. Even if he's seriously beating the shit out of my ass, he's loving every line I feed him.

I'm even crying and sniffling as I deliver more lines. "…and once you've made me wait and beg you with nothing but my eyes, for an eternity, you'll finally give me the privilege of sucking your cock. And I'll suck it, while I'm in anguish, because I haven't cum in days. But I have to earn that right; I have to suck your cock as many times as it takes until you are pleased."

I don't know how many times he's spanked me, but my ass fucking hurts. I've lost my elephant. It's somewhere on the floor on my side of the bed. One of his whacks was so, hard I fucking threw it.

"Where on Earth did you learn all of that? Maybe you really were a fucking whore?"

"No, sir. Well, I mean, I'm your whore, S-Sammy," I say shaking a bit. "I've just got an overactive imagination."

He finally stops spanking me and unzips my dress; then flips me over on my back. I cry out when my ass hits the bed. "I like your imagination, very much. Was it this same imagination that made you decide to turn the party into a group orgy?" He's lifting the strap of the halter over my head and peeling the dress down my body.

"One in the same."

"I should strap your ass for that too."

"I thought you said you liked it?" Yeah. Really don't want him to do that. I probably won't be able to sit tomorrow as it is.

"I did. But you didn't have my permission."

"But I wanted it to be a surprise." I'm getting a little better at this lying thing.

My dress is off now and on the floor, he takes my panties the rest of the way off. "That's the only thing saving you," he smiles. "Look at this; Baby liked his spanking. I'm going to have to get a lot harsher with you, to make it a real punishment."

What? Stupid cock. I thought he was my friend—turns he's that really fun friend that gets you into a lot of trouble and bails on you the first sign of a better opportunity. "Don't worry, I'm not going to spank you anymore tonight. I'm tired."

Tired? That's not even creative. As if Sam could ever tire of spanking my ass. "But I'm also not going to relieve you. I'm going to take up some of your suggestions, they're really very good. Besides, it's not like you've not had plenty of orgasms tonight."

True. One at the party and two in the car. But can one have too many orgasms?

"Go brush your teeth. It's bedtime."

When I hop back into bed with him, he grabs me and pulls me close to him—he's never done that, least not without his cock deep inside me. My back is against his chest and he's clinging to me like a life raft. We fall asleep like that.


The elephant? I retrieved it and somehow managed to find its fucking trunk; I hid it in one of my drawers until I can figure out how to fix it. But right now, I don't care about that too much; I'm about to open the black bag Adam gave me.

It was on the bed next to me when I opened my eyes. Sam was gone and I didn't know if I should open it, so I waited. He comes out of the ensuite half dressed. "You haven't opened it yet?"

"I was waiting for you."

That gets me a funny look, but it's a soft look like he doesn't know why I would wait, but he likes that I did. He nods toward the bag. "Open."

I'm careful as I pull it out; I feel like I'm pulling a memory out of someone's head. It's… my mother. Adam gave me the picture our father drew of our mother. I can't imagine how valuable this must have been to him and he gifted it to me.

I can't… I can't breathe for a second and then I can again. I touch the drawing, which is encased behind glass, there's a signature and I know it says: John Winchester. I wipe tears from my eyes. "Look Sammy, that's my mama. She… she was beautiful, huh?" I can barely fucking talk. "My father drew it."

"He was quite talented and she was beautiful. You look just like her."

I smile at him through all my damn crying; he sits behind me and pulls me to his chest. "Thank-you for letting me have this, you have no idea how much it means."

"Now will you draw again?"

"Is that was this is? A ploy to get me to start sketching."

"Yes. I want to see what you can do. Perhaps a still of my cock?"

"Be careful what you wish for."


"Yeah. I think I can now."

"Good. Come with me."


"Sam? What's all this?"

It's a large room with a decent sized balcony that over looks the grounds and at the right time of day, I'll be able to see the sunrise. One wall is made of windows the size of doors.

"When you told me you were an artist, I had this arranged for you. I thought this room would be perfect for inspiration; it's got everything you need, but if you find anything's missing, just let one of the staff know. You can have anything you want."

Holy, fucking cow. It really does have everything, I realize, as I look around. An easel with a stool in front, pencils in every shade… "Paints?"

"You mentioned painting, but I wasn't sure how much you did. And if you've not done much painting and you want to learn more, I can always get someone to come by to teach you."

Wow. Fuck. This is incredible. I never had anything like this at home. "Sammy this is… Thank-you. I love it." I turn to him and smile fucking big.


So I'm not fucking dressed yet. Yeah. That's right. Sam paraded me through the house, to 'Dean's art room' as it's now called, naked; slightly bruised ass for all to see.

Now I'm standing before my closet, one entirely mine in which I can wear whatever I want and I feel I should put something on he'll like—something that will say; thank-you.

I see something that's thigh length (and my legs are still bare from being waxed so I don't have to worry about shaving—okay, a benefit to all that waxing hell) and dark navy blue. It's long sleeved with a double skirt; meaning, there's a skirt that reaches my thighs and one that falls in the middle of that skirt. A cloth belt in the same color of the dress with a large gold buckle cinches the waist and there are two columns of gold buttons down the torso; five in each.

It looks fucking good on me and suits me more than anything I've worn thus. I wear a pair of regular 'man' boots with it, and because it's sorta 'I'm-in-the-navy' looking, they work. It's actually a very masculine dress—reminds me of how a Scot might look in his tartan.

When I sit myself down at breakfast, I try to act like it's no big deal; like me in a dress is regular—it almost is, yet it's not.

"Dean," he acknowledges.

"Sammy," I smile. Sitting is not pleasant. But I suck it up and do it anyway.

"Wait. Stand up again."

I do and smooth the double skirt.

"Turn around."

I turn and show him the back then turn about again, so I face him.

"There's something about that dress; it's very you. I am pleased."

Gingerly, I take my seat again.

"There's no time, or I'd take you right here. You have plans for the day?"

"Not much, Daddy," I wink.

"Good. I want to see you in that when I return."

All right. Guess it's a dress out to the garden today. "Yeah, Daddy."

Soon as he leaves, I head up to see Cas. I expect a woe-be-gone Cas; an I don’t know what to do because my brother found out about my secret boyfriend, Cas. But instead, him and Michael are making out on the bed.

"When I'm in here, you can hear Sam coming from a mile away, but me you don't—am I that stealth?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I heard you. You. I could tell it was you and not my brother."

"Well I don't want to watch you make out with your boyfriend, thanks—but I am happy for you by the way." I think he's pretty fucking ballsy having Michael back up here so soon.

Cas pushes Michael off him. "Thanks, Dean."


"I don't know what you did, but Sam dragged Michael in here this morning and said if I want to fuck him, far be it from him to stop me."


"You're the only fucking thing that makes my brother both happy and miserable all at once," he says by way of explanation.

Huh. Would ya look at that? Looks like things are going pretty fucking great. We all make it out to the garden later that day. I work in my dress; of course I've put the appropriate jacket over top. Sam comes home. We fuck like bunnies. It's all… roses.


Like always, when I get it in me to do a sketch, it just comes to me and I have to do it. Staring at my father's drawing everyday (Sam let me put it on top of my dresser) I want to do one; I want to do Sam. Draw him I mean. Perverts.

But I want to surprise him, so I decide to work at night. There's enough moonlight coming in the room I'm able to work in the dark. Sam has hard lines, but when he sleeps his breathing's soft; it lends tranquility to his otherwise tormented frame.

That makes me think about him; what he's been through. What his mother dying must have done to him and to top it off, his father (as I understand it) just left. Then he's raised by the cold, unfeeling ice king—that's Grandfather Campbell in case you haven't been following along. I wonder if it's not too late for Sam. Can he smile freely again, like in the picture I found? Can he live again?

Three days after my 'coming out' party, another Sam storm hits. This time I'm the fucking weather man and I see it coming. He grows cold and distant. Of course I mean more cold and distant than usual. He is cold and distant by nature, but for a short while after the party, he's been practically sunny. We're still fucking, but it's a wild sort of fucking filled with savagery. I'm always marked in some way and I wouldn't mind it so much, I love Sam's marks on me, but I know there's more behind it than just possession; he's angry.

Knowing something is going on, I'm an extra attentive husband. I've been fucking reading books like crazy and I think I've figured out how to be 'properly submissive.'

I feel like I shouldn't put any dresses on. A strange sort of sixth sense is telling me not to—as in don't remind him of the ways I have power over him. I cover up more with loose joggers, t-shirts and zip-up hoodies and keep my eyes mostly to my plate only speaking when spoken to. If Sam's noticed the change in my behavior, he doesn't say—he's living in a world of his own anguish right now. If only he'd let me in, let me help him; I wait.

And just in case, I keep a pair of panties on each day. I'm used to them now anyway and keep hoping he'll shake out of this funk so I can show them to him. I want to wear another dress for him; I want to… hang out.

After a week, I've pretty much resigned myself to Sam's ill mood and merely 'get through' meals and sex. I focus on the garden and Cas and Michael.

Those two are ridiculously cute; and I should be making fun of Cas, singing about kissing in trees and shit like that, but I can't. We've fixed the swing and re-enforced its supports, we trade the rope for chain, so there's no chance of it ever breaking again. We sit Cas on it and Michael sits on it with him, but opposite to him, so they can face each other and make the fuck out.

The weather continues to change and get warmer as we've entered spring, but it's a cold start, the bite of winter's frost is still around once in a while. We're excited to watch all of our hard work poke through the soil.

"Do you think Michael would marry me?" Cas asks me in our now becoming rare moments alone in his room.

"What kinda question is that? Of course he would."

"No. But I mean, would he marry me, like is he the kind to be married off? A Campbell never marries in."

Of course they don't. "I don't know, but I know who you could ask."

"A lot of fucking help you are. Useless, sod."

I laugh. "I think Michael loves you and would do pretty much anything you asked him to."

"There. That's better. Say more things like that."

I decide to use my new talents in writing, to make up a ridiculous story for him of how I imagine their insane Traditionalist wedding to go and then pretend to mull over what kind of a dress I'll wear. It makes him laugh; I've never seen the sour grapes man, so honestly happy.

Dinner time comes; a time I've come to dread. It's now the time of day where I swallow down my meal anxiously while waiting for the ticking time bomb, otherwise known as Sam, to either go off, or diffuse. But he never does either and it makes me fucking nervous. I prepare myself for another round.

But when I walk into the dining room and see what I see, my stomach drops several leagues, my heart squeezes in my chest.

The same dude from the party is there. You remember the James Dean looking asshole? Yeah that guy and he's naked and he's got my husband's cock up his ass.

My first instinct is to grab him by his throat and literally throw him out the fucking window then sit on Sam's cock and fuck him 'till he knows he's not for anyone else, just me. But I quickly remember my place and instead I just want to get out of here, have to get out of here.

But my mind's all fucking jumbled and I can't seem to fucking remember where the exit is and I'm already crying silent tears.

"Oh good, Dean. You're just in time."

"I was just leaving actually—I've got something to do."

Sam's eyes darken. "No, you don't."

"Sam, please. Don't make me watch—I-I can't—"

His eyes go from dark to murderous, because I'm not obeying him, again and in front of someone. "Sit in that chair behind you. Do it now."

I sit, but I can't stop fucking crying; the crying now taking the form of shaky, diaphragm breathes.

"You see, Darcy," he says as he resumes fucking the man. Darcy must be his name. "My husband forgets his place sometimes. You wouldn't forget your place if you were my husband, would you?"

"N-O, Sir," he says between thrusts, clearly enjoying himself—enjoying my husband's cock. I'm going to rip him limb from limb. I continuously wipe tears away.

And I know Sam's doing the thing where he's pretending to talk to 'Darcy,' but his words are really meant for me. I know. I get it. I'm not his perfect Traditionalist husband, no matter how much I fucking try to be. But you know? I actually don't mind most of it. Even the whole dress thing has kind of grown on me, purely because it's a special thing I do for Sam.

But this… I know I have to fucking accept this, somehow, but do I have to fucking watch?

"Open your eyes Dean."

I open them.

"Good boy. Now take out your cock."

Not wanting to suffer the embarrassment of another chastisement, nor do I want to be compared to fucking Darcy again, I do; not even pulling my sweats or panties down really, just squeezing my cock and balls over the both waist bands. Ladies, you're probably not going to believe this, but I am half hard. I think someone would have to die before I lose the ability to get a hard on, even upset as I am.

"That's it, baby. Get nice and hard for Daddy."

Since there's no lube around, I crudely spit in my hand and start stroking, all the while watching Sam stuff his cock into Darcy who even I have to admit is hot a fuck. And I hate it, I hate it so much. Especially because he's so hot.

And Sam, he's not naked, but his shirt's open and hanging; tie loose around his neck; pants down. I can only see the front of him from where I'm sitting, but it's enough I can see his rippling abs and the occasional nipple as he thrusts.

Darcy is enjoying himself of course—it's like he's never been fucked before the way he's carrying on; moaning and reaching his arms trying to gain purchase on something as Sam pounds into him. He's not paying any attention to me; I'm meaningless to this douche bag.

My cock stroking is half hearted, as I watch the mother fucker's face as he enjoys Sam's ministrations.

I look to Sam again; his eyes haven't left me. And that's when I pick up on something I hadn't before, while I was too busy crying. I may not know my husband, like, at all, but I know my husband during sex.

With me, it's like he can't get deep enough inside. He's gripping Darcy hard, sure, but the feeling behind it is just raw lust. When he grips me; it's desperate like I might slip away; while at the same time telling me I'm not fucking going anywhere.

Sam's eyes never wander from me when we fuck; it's like he doesn't want to miss a moment and he's constantly watching my body language for things: Is Dean enjoying? Is Dean in pain? What kind of pain is he in; good, or bad? Is Dean getting closer to cumming?

And when Sam fucks me, it's like he's all over me, consuming me; literally trying to sew us together.

None of these things are present with Darcy. Darcy's just a hole to stick his dick into. It might look bad, really bad, if you don’t know Sam the way I know Sam, but we've fucked, a lot, and I know 'Sex Sam,' at least, 'Sex Sam with Dean,' and this just isn't it.

There's only one thing the same: He can't take his eyes off of me.

Game on fucker. I'm taking over this circus.

I know everything Sam likes. Everything that drives him crazy and one of those things, is me. Sam doesn't want me here; he fucking needs me here.

"Is this what you want Daddy?"

His thrusts change from their 'bored fuck' pace, to interested.

"Yeah, fuck, just like that."

"But Daddy? I-I think I'd better show you something." I pretend to be shy, but I don't act fucking shy as I push my hips out and sincerely fuck my hand, ever so slowly.

"Show me." His grip on Darcy tightens, but he's not even showing mild interest in Darcy.

I look at him all fucking slyly, and lift to pull down my joggers just enough, he can see I'm wearing blue panties, but these ones are special and he hasn't seen the best of them yet. The thrust into Darcy is almost accidental. "Fu-ck. Those are really naughty panties Dean."

"I'm really naughty Daddy. I need so many spankings to help me behave."

"Jesus… fuck… Come. Here."

I let my pants fall when I stand stepping out of them and walk seductively over to him all the while keeping hold of my cock. I stop when I reach where Darcy's head is. "Turn around, I want to see your ass, baby."

I do. The panties are thong and V at my waist, dipping down into my ass crack. I'm sure he can still see the slight redness left from last night. He moans, his thrusts into Darcy get more desperate. I turn back around so I can see him. "May I stick my cock in your whore's mouth Daddy?"

All he can do is nod and bite his lip. "Open up you fucking, bitch," I demand, slapping my cock against his cheeks then stuffing it inside when he obeys me. I start fucking.

Sam's watching everything and I can tell he's not as sure about this, as I pretend to enjoy Darcy's mouth. I don’t though, not really. I mean, does it feel fucking good? Hell yeah, but I'd rather fuck Sam's mouth any day. "You're not cumming down his throat—your cum is for me only."

"Of course, Daddy," I say with sly eyes. This is driving Sam mad in a different way. For once he wants me, but can't have me. I know what he wants to do; he wants to throw Darcy aside and fuck me 'till neither of us can see straight, but he can't do that. Then someone else would bear witness to proof that Sam only wants me.

As long as his dick is up Darcy, he can 'prove' to himself and to others that he can fuck someone besides me. At least in the technical sense.

But I know the truth now more than ever; without me, sex is empty for Sam. It's just fucking. And fucking is okay when you don't know what it's like with your special someone. But now Sam knows; and he doesn't just own me—I also own him.

"Oh Daddy… I…"

"What? What is it dearest?"

"It's not my place to say. I couldn't."

"Daddy wants you to baby—say whatever dirty little thoughts are in your mind."

"I want to see you cum, Daddy. Cum in his ass and…"


"Him too. I want you both to fucking cum. Now."

That sends Sam over the edge; it sends Darcy over the edge—they both cum on my command.

I glower at them both as they enjoy relieving their cocks. I'm hurt and angry and I do stupid shit when I'm hurt and angry. I take what Sam's trying to deny and shove it in his face.

I pull out of Darcy and snap my panties back in place. His eyes are locked with mine, already getting mad in preparation; he knows I'm going to say something to enrage him. "Go ahead, fuck countless guys all you want. You need me to help you fucking orgasm with them? Fine. I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want, it's my fucking 'duty' after all—but none of that hides the truth, that you need me."

Until this point in our marriage, I haven't really seen Sam angry. I thought I had, but I was wrong; never have I seen that look on his face. I'm more than a little scared—I think he might kill me.

But jealousy's taken over and I care little about what happens to me right now—I know it's wrong and I know he'll punish me; I still want to hurt him.

He finally pulls out of Darcy. "Get out," he says to Darcy. I move to leave as well thinking he'll want me out of his sight. "Oh. Not you—you stay right there."

Darcy gets up looking disgusted. "This is surprising Sam. I can't believe your husband thinks it's okay for him to speak to you like that—I never would." He looks to me. "You don’t deserve him."

"Oh believe me Darcy. I don’t allow him to speak to me that way, but sometimes he needs a reminder. He's going to be very sorry he did." Sam pulls the belt from the loops of his pants. "On second thought, stay. I'll show you exactly what I do when my husband misbehaves."

Chapter Text

Sam comes charging in the room and I scramble off the bed and into the corner. "Please Sam, no more, fuck—I'm sorry."

"Get back on the bed—face down."

Earlier, Sam had me undress as Darcy put his clothes back on and I ended up being the only naked one in the room. Sam took me over his knee and started in with his belt on my bare ass. I didn't want to cry out in front of that shmuck Darcy, but Sam was fairly relentless and I did end up crying out, even screaming a little. It seemed to last forever.

All the while Darcy was there, all fucking smug; I hope that guy gets hit by a car.

When he was finished, and I was sure I wouldn't be able to sit for at least a week, I had to get on my knees in front of Darcy and ask forgiveness for my poor behavior, and speaking out of turn. I hated that part more that the spanking. He sent me to our room. I've been waiting up here for hours in two kinds of agony. My ass hurts like you wouldn't believe and I immediately regret being so awful to Sam even if it was only in front of Darcy.

I get back on the bed without arguing, but I'm crying—I haven't stopped—I lay stomach down with my arms overhead.

And I sob into the sheets. I'm a fucking idiot; I can't keep my mouth shut. I can't say the right things; do the right things. Why? Why am I like this? He'll never forgive me.

That's when I smell the gardenias—he's smoothing fucking ointment on me, but, why?

"Sam?" I sniffle.

"Dean." He still sounds pissed.

"I'm so fucking sorry. I really am. I shouldn't have spoke to you like that. Will you… will you forgive me? Please?"

He pauses, I can practically hear him thinking then he resumes rubbing the ointment into my sore ass. "I'm sure I will eventually."

Eventually? But I can't fucking wait that long.

"Why are you," sniff, "doing that?"

"Don't tell me your brother never gave your ass a good scalping—because I'm sure you would do something to deserve one at some point growing up—he didn't tell you to put ointment on afterward?"

"He did." I'm answering both questions indignant he'd assume I was some kind of holy terror.

"This is no different."

Except it is. Adam was my brother, I was quite thankful that he didn't rub shit on my ass—too embarrassing. But Sam I don't mind at all.

"My mother told me this is what she would do to my father after his punishments. She wanted to make sure it was done properly, so the skin would heal. It was what Grandfather taught her."

Grandfather? Why would he do anything so, caring?

"Dean I," he sighs. "I like spanking you; sometimes you earn bloody good ones; I like having reasons punish you, I'm not going to lie. Taking my strap to your ass is enjoyable for me."

Um, yeah. I could have told him that.

"But I don't like having to do this. I was hard on you today, Dean, I know that."

Boy was he fucking ever. "You don't have to be hard on me," I say.

"Yes. I do."

"Right. Public face."

"Is that what you think? Of course you do—your brother. That's why he punished you." He's still rubbing. "Of course that's some reason, but there's something more: You need to obey me. You're supposed to obey me. Don't you respect me Dean?" His voice sounds tired.

"Of course I do."

"Then why would you misbehave so often? So recklessly? Why would you say a thing like that? Especially in front of someone? Don't you care about, well no, I suppose you don't. I thought maybe, but fuck it." He's quiet as he finishes.

It's easy to figure out what he left out of his sentence. Holy fuck. All this time I've been worrying that Sam doesn't care about me—he thinks I don't care about him. What I said, hurt him.

Which is what I was aiming for. Guess we were both hurt, but I realize now, he didn't intentionally try to hurt me. I did.

"Again, I'm, sorry." It's not enough. "I know what I did was out of line, but I was jealous."

"Jealous?" The concept seems foreign to him.

"Yeah, okay? Jealous. When I saw you with that douche I lost it. I want… I wish you would be just mine, Sam." I shouldn't be saying any of this stuff, but it feels good to get it off my chest.

He stops rubbing. Fuck. Maybe now he'll really kill me; if I end up in the hospital after this beating I'm probably going to receive, I hope Cas will find out, tell Charlie then she'll come visit me. 'Cause it sucks to be alone in the hospital.

I don't move though; he hasn’t told me to yet. I feel the bed dip beside me. I flinch as his hand reaches my hair. He laughs. Laughs. It's his good laugh—the one I don't hear often. "I already am yours Dean, so much it's... it's stupid. There isn't any need for jealousy."

Wait. What? I move to get up. "No. Stay like that," he says. I stay. I'm not fucking moving if he tells me not to after that punishment. I relax my head into the blankets; my heartbeat in my ass.

"You're quite a possessive little thing, aren't you?" Sam says.

I'm not fucking little, but yes to the first part. "Well. You're my husband and that Darcy guy is a fucking assclown."

"Dean," he warns. He's still running fingers through my hair. I like it.


"You're not really. And the first time we had a conversation like this, I thought you were just being a disobedient brat who needed to have his way, but I'm beginning to see differently. Dean, I can't be monogamous."

That makes me fucking cry. I dunno why. Tears just spring to my eyes and I'm sobbing.

"Dean. Calm yourself. I can't be monogamous; I've grown too big a public figure. It wouldn't kill Traditionalist culture, but it would be a major hit, and I very much believe in our ways. Our ways bring order. Our ways make things simple. Anything else would be chaos."

"I know you can't," I say through tears. "I'm not asking you to. I don't want to cry about it. I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually."

"You're right about something, even if you shouldn't have said it," he says suddenly. "I do need you. I couldn't fuck Darcy at the party, so I brought him here, where you were. I needed you to help me fuck him. For a while there you did beautifully."

"But, why not just tell me that?"

"Tell you?" He asks slowly.

Oh, right. He doesn't have to 'tell me' things. He doesn't have to run anything by me. "I'm sorry. Fuck. I suck at this. Adam was right; you're right: I'm terrible at this Traditionalism stuff."

He sighs heavily. "I suppose we both 'suck' together then. I'm not doing so well at it either these days."

I'm still crying.

"Don't cry anymore, sweetheart. We'll figure something out."

I nod into the sheets.

"I'm afraid I still need to punish you further. You must learn to obey me Dean. That's non-negotiable. You may not speak to me like that and in front of a guest no matter how much you don't like the guest particular."

Oh God. What's he going to do? My ass cheeks clench a little—they're pretty sore, the ointment helped a bit, but more punishment?

"You're to remain in our quarters until further notice."


"Yes. I take it you are familiar with the term?"

All too well. I hate being grounded. "Can't you just spank me again?"

He laughs. Again. "If I wanted to peel the skin from your ass, but I won't do that Dean. I could, of course and be within my rights as your husband, but Campbells take pride in taking care of their spouses, we rule with a firm hand, but don't relish in breaking someone's spirit. We don't need to."

A little spanking isn't going to break my spirit. That's a bit dramatic, even for Sam. But I am feeling a bit better—we've talked. Actually fucking talked. He's not as icy as he usually is. I've no idea what's brought this on (what he was doing all those hours between then and now), but I'm not surprised; my husband is unpredictable.

"Besides, you're like a wild horse Dean. I don't think I could break you if I tried."

There are still tears streaming down my face, but now I'm smiling; he can't see though.

"I'm going to run a bath for you, I want you to soak for a bit; I'll have your dinner brought up."


He leans down slowly, carefully and kisses the back of my head.


If I have to spend another day in this room, I'm going to go fucking mental. It's been an entire week since Sam sentenced me to hell. He thinks being kind is bringing me books and eating dinner with me. I'll tell him what's 'kind.' Letting me the fuck out of here. But, uh, I won't actually tell him.

I'm no Sam expert, but I have an inkling that if I ask when my punishment will be over, that will result in him lengthening my sentence.

I roll over and groan looking at gorgeous sun that's taunting me. Today would be a great day in the garden. At least if I knew when I'd be getting out of here, I could have a countdown.

I've done everything I can think of to sweeten Sam. While I haven't worn a dress everyday, I have most days and the strange fucking thing? On one of the days I wore a pair of sweats, I missed the freedom of having my legs unencumbered and the airy, flowy feeling of a long skirt.

Especially on the first two days with my ass being on fire, it was far more enjoyable to wear a dress. But now, I can't even say for certain if I'm wearing the dress I've got on currently, for Sam or for me. And my ass is more than fine now—Sam rubbed ointment on it every night—so I can't pretend that’s the reason I'm wearing them anymore.

The skirt is a long, breezy thing, with the waist just under my chest—about where breasts would be on a woman. The top is sleeveless, with thick straps and the whole dress is a cream, blue and pink floral pattern. I'm laying in a very non-dress like manner, with my legs up the wall so the skirt falls around my torso revealing my panties. I'm not worried Sam or anyone will come in. Sam's at work and the serving staff have already come in and done their thing.

I think about the little elephant and how I might go about fixing it for the thousandth time. I've come up with a few ideas, but none of them are good because I think even if I glue the trunk back on, if you look close enough, you'll be able to see. I mean, maybe it's an insignificant thing no one will pick up to look at, but my luck it will be Grandfather Campbell's favorite fucking statue, or something. I'm going to have to come clean to Cas and ask him what I should do about it. For some reason, I don't feel comfortable with telling him either.

But really, I only think about that silly elephant so much, to distract me from the more important thing I keep thinking about; the whole thing with dickhead Darcy. I think things have smoothed over, aside from the being grounded part, the interactions with Sam this week have been positive. We talk more. There's still lots of sex, but I'm not as afraid to say stuff to him and he seems to feel more comfortable saying stuff to me. Don't take that to mean I'll just say whatever I'm thinking, I'm not there yet, but at least I can get though most conversations without fucking stuttering and tears.

Thinking things over, I realize my folly in speaking to him in such a manner, in front of a guest like Darcy; that I won't fucking do again, but I can't say I wouldn't feel the exact same way if I ever saw that again.

When he told me: 'I already am yours Dean, so much it's... it's stupid.' that helped more than I can fucking tell you. It did ease my level of jealousy; it didn't erase it. I know there's going to be a next time; I don't have a fucking clue how I'm going to keep from tearing those 'lovers' limb from limb.

I nearly jump out of my skin when the fucking wall behind one of the tapestries opens, I'm quick to action and take a defensive stance (though I'm sure no one will afraid of a man in a dress, at least 'till I knock their nose sideways). But I'm the one who almost falls over when I see who it is.

"Cas? But—"

He smirks knowing he fucking got me, cause holy shit, he's walking! He's holding onto the wall a bit for support, but he's walking none-the-less. "It was my idea. I got Michael to help me everyday since we began in the garden before we'd meet you."

"That's why you always take forever. I thought you were fornicating."

"Oh, we did that too."

"Yeah, I could have lived my whole life without knowing that. Couldn't you have just let me live in sweet, sweet, ignorance?"

"Now why would I want to do that?" He smiles.

"This is fucking great Cas. I'm glad, it was a good surprise, wait 'till Sam sees you. But how did you come out of the wall like that?"

"Our home is old, like really old. It's got all sorts of 'secret' passages. Took me ages to find the one that led to your room, which is why it took me so long. I've always known where the door was in my room, but never tried them. Obviously."

"Secret passages. How fucking cool is that?"

"It's pretty cool. C'mon. I came to spring you. Follow me."

"But won't Sam find out I've left our room?"

"Nah. No one will see us. I've found a tunnel that leads straight outside and will lead to the section of the property shrouded in trees, we can head over to the gardens that way, Michael's waiting. Later, I'll show you how to get to my room from yours."

It's pretty risky, but the idea of leaving the room is too attractive to pass up. "Okay, just let me grab some shoes and a coat." I don't bother changing, if we decide to do some work I'll change into the set I leave out there, I'm sure Michael will grab them for me. I pick flat boots and a warm coat.

The tunnels through the house, are old, wide and just a little creepy. We walk as quick as Cas can laughing, giddy, like little kids. Michael is waiting for us at the other end with a cane for Cas and a blanket over his arm. "Hello, Handsome," Michael says to Cas, then the two of them break out into giggly laughter.

"Uh, inside joke?"

They look at each other again. "Yeah," they say at the same time.

"Fucking God. If this is what I have to put up with the rest of the day, I'm gonna ralph."

"He seems touchy today," Cas says to Michael.

"Leave him be, Castiel. It's been rough for Dean from what I hear."

"Oh all right."

Okay, now I've seen fucking everything. Cas didn't even argue. He leans in for a kiss. "Let's go."

We head off through the trees and don't run into anyone; it's like the perfect crime. I change into my 'garden clothes' after Michael gets them and brings them to the garden for me and make sure to wear my cowboy hat, so I don't get too much sun hitting my face. We mostly work on yet more weeding. Cas still doesn't do a lot; he helps where he can; Michael laid out a blanket for him to take breaks on.

"I can see why it wasn't hard for you to play like you still couldn't walk," I tease him as I watch him lounge expertly.

"I should go into bloody acting. The roles I've had to play lately."

Michael and I both laugh. "Speaking of, when are you going to tell your brother?" I ask.

"I've got a few ideas on that, but it's not the right time. He still won't 'tell you about me.' I'm clearly 'getting well,' but he's hesitant to believe it yet. He's still afraid I'll die tomorrow. It's not good."

"I don't understand," I say.

"I think I get it," Michael says to my surprise. "The servants, they have to be involved with Castiel, but he's rather keep as many people away from Castiel as possible. Less people, less chance of germs, infection. Hell, even stimulus—you see how excited he can get," he adds affectionately. Cas scowls at him.

"It's all so stupid and besides, surely on some level he must recognize Cas is getting better."
Michael nods. "I reckon he does, but it seems too good to be true. Especially for Sam. This family has been hit with heartache after heartache. Why, by this point, I'll bet Sam doesn't believe anything good can just walk into his life."

Those words make me freeze. Sam doesn't believe he can have anything good, keep anything good. His heart's been metaphorically stabbed more than once.

Cas throws a clump of dirt at him. "The wise Michael has spoken."

"Hey, you. You've rested long enough, get over here and help me," Michael says.

Cas gets up slow. "You just want another kiss."


Cas indulges him in a kiss as my mind is literally being fucked. I ask suddenly, "Cas, what happened to Grandmother Campbell?"

Unfortunately, it ruins the light mood. I've come up with all kinds of crazy scenarios in my head of course and I've lost sight of why it's important to know, so now it's purely a curious need. Cas gets a heavy look in his eyes. "When my mother died, on top of there being a new Campbell baby that could die at any moment, or so they believed, Grandmother began drinking. Her grief led her to severe alcoholism."

"Grandfather Campbell allowed this?"

"From what I've been told, he didn't allow it per se. He of course tried to stop her, but even without the alcohol, her grief led her into heavy depression. Grandfather loves her more than anything else, it slowly began ruining him too. He finally just let her drink, since it seemed to ease the pain a little. But eventually, the all of it drove her mad and he made the decision to admit her into Riverview Psychiatric Recovery Center. In the beginning, he went to see her everyday, but eventually she refused to see him. Of course he could have kept making her, but he I guess he didn't see much point in it after awhile--she was lost to him. She's still there today, a shell of her former self—technically alive, but she might as well be dead. As I'm told, it crushed him. Left him the man you know today: Cold, cruel, unyielding."

That is some serious levels of fucked up. Most fucked up: I can't imagine Grandfather Campbell loving anything. "Wow, I'm sorry Cas."

"Well it's all in the past—at least the worst of it. Yes it's very sad, but we should all move on. Try telling my brother that though. He can't let any of it go and Grandfather Campbell, well, I can't speak for him since I've never even talked to him, but I'd wager he hasn't either. It's like they have a little club about it: How to protect one's heart from heartache. Easy. Just push as many people as you can away, don't get close, and for God's sake, don't fall in love and if you're unlucky enough to, try to kill love. I'm sure the only reason Sam talks to me at all is because he was young and began caring for me far before he could learn to shield his heart, 'cause as much as he might try, you can't really kill love. This is all speculation of course, but it's what I think to be true."

"Then that's why Grandfather Campbell doesn't see you Cas. They all thought you were going to die. He didn't want to lose another Campbell."

"Maybe at first. But I've lived all this time, surely he knows I'm not going to die now. No. I'm certain he blames me for his precious daughter's death and holds me responsible for his wife going mad."

I'm not so sure, but there's no convincing him. "You thought you were going to die too, right up until I convinced you otherwise. I'm not surprised he still thinks so. We've got to show them you can walk; that you're not going to die."

"Right. I suppose you want a medal for that. Well I'll be the one to decide when we'll tell anybody anything. The time isn't right. Leave it alone Dean."

Cas can be a dick sometimes, but I suppose it's all from growing up as recluse in a family that's some serious levels of fucked up. But I know something now and I think I can help. "Okay. Get to work you lazy sod else I'll convince Michael not kiss you for at least thirty minutes."

"Pishaw! He wouldn't do that."

"I would. I think you can do far more than you let on Castiel. You're made of steel yet you pretend you're made of marshmallows. Your acting skills aren't good enough to fool me."

"All right, all right. No sympathy for a sick person," he mutters and gets to work, leaning against his hoe every now and again. I watch them both stop from time to time just to smile at each other. Yeah love can bring pain, but look at them. It can be worth it—Sam needs to know it can be worth it.


Before Cas leaves me, he shows me how I can get to his rooms from mine through the special tunnels, so that if Sam insists on keeping me confined any longer, I can at least 'escape' to visit him. Of course. He considers himself the real most important Campbell and long as I get to see him, 'what more could I want?'

I have a whole new outlook on the Campbell family after today and suddenly I want to get my picture of Sam finished fast. I work the rest of the time on it. I'd already penciled in the shape, I just have to shade. My father said, 'you must always sign your work,' and so I do once I'm finished. But on the back I write: To Sammy, love Dean.

I'm both nervous and excited to see him. I can't wait to give him my picture, but there's always a bit of nervous tension in my stomach with the thought of Sam. I still find him intimidating, but not quite so much as before. I'll admit, I've been terrified that he'd beat me senseless and I guess I still don't know that he wouldn't, but he was fucking mad the other day, with Darcy, and though he punished me good, he wouldn't go further than a point. 'Campbell's don't beat their spouses,' he'd said. I'm starting to believe they wouldn't. So my fear in that regard is dwindling, but I still don't know everything that will set my husband off. I want to please him, not make him angry. I still need to tread carefully.

Sam comes in bearing food and sets in on the bedside table. "How is my Rapunzel today?"


"Yes. My beautiful maiden locked away in a tower."

"Rapunzel had long hair."

"That can be easily arranged. Maybe I'll make you grow out yours."

"You could of course, but I think one long-haired maiden in the family is enough," I say bravely and laugh as I reach out to run a hand through his locks of dark hair. "Maybe I should call you Rapunzel."

He snatches my wrist and pulls me to him quick as a whip, so I'm firmly pressed into his body. "Only if you want the spanking of your life." He kisses the top of my head.

"As if that wouldn't please you. You like spanking me… Rapunzel."

"That's it." He remains standing and flips me over his knee before pulling up the skirt of my dress, pausing to admire my panties before pulling them down and lays ten firm spanks onto my bare ass. I definitely feel them, but they're really nothing. It actually kinda feels good.

I'm still smiling when he stands me back up. "Behave yourself."

"Yes, Daddy."

That's when I see it, even if he's trying to hide it: His eyes marginally soften and he's trying hard to prevent his lips from smiling with me.

We eat and we're quiet like usual. I dare to say we're slowly getting better at the talking part of human interaction, but we're definitely not expert level. If someone were grading us like on a report card, we'd get an A+ in sex and a D in conversing. As awful as the 'Darcy incident' was, it's changed something between us. And it's good.

"I have something for you Sam," I say nervously and once our dinner is finished.

"You do?" He arches a brow at me.

"Yeah, um, here." I get up to retrieve the picture I'd already removed from my sketchbook and present it to him.

He looks it over a long time. I think he's pleased, but I'm not really sure; it becomes more and more nerve-racking the longer he stares. Finally he says, "It's amazing the likeness you've done of my cock, but is it really that big, or are you just trying to flatter me so I'll set you free sooner?"

He's teasing. "No flattery here, it's really that big. Ask my butt," I say remembering not so swear since I'm still in a dress.

"Thank-you Dean. I love it. You're very good. Perhaps I might be open to you using your talent to raise money for a charity of your choosing. We can't sell them of course, but donating them to raise money would be socially acceptable. I'm beginning to see the wisdom in your brother's method of keeping you out of trouble by keeping you occupied."

Somehow, I know he doesn't mean it as a true slight, and all I can think of, is how fucking cool that would be. "Thank-you Sammy!" Without thinking I jump into his lap, careful not to crush his picture, but I do crush his torso with a hug.

He puts his free arm around me. "As for this, I'm going to frame it and put it in my office at work. But I'll have to decide if I tell them my husband drew this or not. When they see how big my dick is here, they might think you're just being biased, or trying to do me favors."

I smile into his chest and something happens through my whole body. I feel warm and content for the first time in, well I can't remember, but probably since my parents died.

"But for now, as lovely as that dress looks on you, I think it would look best on the floor, don't you?"


We have sex after that which is relatively, 'normal.' I'd almost call it boring and if it were anyone else, it would have been, but it's Sam and I could never get bored of sex with Sam.

He takes his time preparing me 'till I'm demanding, "just stick your cock in me, Daddy." I get a nice hard slap to the thigh for my troubles, but I don't care. It only makes me more horny. I do change my strategy and begin begging versus demanding. It gets me want I want quite nicely; Sam pounds into my ass relentlessly and when we've both climaxed, we collapse on the bed still panting a good thirty seconds before we catch our breath.

Something new we've begun since a week ago is snuggling. I'm not really a snuggler and no doubt Sam isn't either. Not that we haven't cuddled a time or two, but this is different. He pulled me to him that night one week ago and he has ever since. And there's a feeling that goes with it that I feel crazy for even thinking, but it's like he's trying to keep me real by securing me to him.

And I don't mind it so much. It's, nice.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking this week," he says.

Oh? I don't say it, but I think it and let him talk.

"I couldn't help consider your motivations for such blatant disrespect. While you may at times be willful, I don't think you're really the rebel you'd like everyone to believe you are." He says the last part with a bit of sarcastic infliction.

"And you said you were, jealous. That was very strange for me. Jealousy isn't something you have any right to feel, you should know better, I can fuck who I want. But no matter what you should or shouldn't feel, you did feel that way and I can only imagine that for you to react as disrespectfully as you did, you must have been very hurt."

Okay, seriously. Is someone playing a fucking prank on me? They've switched out my husband with some robot who looks a helluva lot like my husband and sometimes fucks like him, but this can't be him.

"When I play it all back, because I have obsessively, I see your face and it's like that first time when I… When I lost it on you. It's a look of a person whose heart is being ripped to shreds. You still shouldn't have said it, but I think I know why you did."

"Because I fucking love you Sam and it did rip my guts out see that." I don't know where that comes from; maybe the same place as my comment the other day.

"You see? I've been very hard on you in terms of punishment; it's not going to go away short of beating it out of you."

Which he won't do. I feel a world better knowing that.

"Besides, I know how you feel. Because I fucking love you too."

I freeze. I can't believe he's fucking said it. "B-but you're supposed to be afraid of love"

He laughs his huge happy laugh. "Afraid of love? That's absurd. I'm not 'afraid of love.' I simply don't like it and don't want it because I know what sort of trouble it causes. I mean, I don't like broccoli either, I avoid it at all costs, does that mean I'm afraid of broccoli?" He shakes his head. "No. I simply don't want it and keep trying to figure out ways of getting rid of it. Killing it. I'm not afraid of much, but more and more I am becoming afraid of doing things that will bring that look on your face. I can't live with that. So I've come up with a compromise."


"A compromise. You know, the thing couples sometimes do in which both parties are bound to end up dissatisfied, but as long as neither one is getting their way, it bizarrely makes both happy?"

"I know what it is Sam, but that's… Well it's—"

"Progressionist. I know. Not to worry, I'm not 'turning Progressionist' on you. But my husband clearly is and while I could ignore that, while I have every right to; this is the problem with love—the pain is too much even for me to handle. I can't see you like that."

"I am not Progressionist," I say insulted. I can't even begin to process all the other things he's saying. It's a lot. It's hard to fucking believe.

"Yes you are, but you live in a Traditionalist home and you will abide Traditionalist statute, or I will punish you. However, I will give you this because I think this is the one thing that could break you and as much as I do plan on curbing your insolence, I do not wish to break you."

I feel like I should say something, but I'm a fucking loss for words, so I stutter: "Um, the c-compromise?"

"I think you do like, or at least could like, adding others to our sex life. You did after all, enjoy being fondled in front of others on several occasions, it was hard for you not to orgasm in front of Stephan when he touched your cock. I think if you had say in who we fucked, you'd feel better about it."

I swallow because I can't even believe the words are coming out of his mouth. Hell. He thinks me Progressionist and he hasn't sent me off packing, that alone is huge.

"Besides, I can finally admit that without you, sex is meaningless to me. I can't fuck others when I'd like to anyway—you've already got that control over me, Baby. But watching you with others… fuck I like that, especially when you do it to please me. I can see how much it embarrasses you and your progressionist sensibilities, the blush on your face is delicious. You don't want to like it, but you do."

Fucking Sadist. "You'd let me help pick?"

"Yes, but men only. I'm not really into women. And this," he says rubbing a finger over my hole, "is just mine. No one fucks you but me; however, I would like to see you fuck someone, would you like Dean? Fucking who Daddy tells you to?"

Jesus Christ that makes my dick hard. "Yeah."

"So. I take it this would be amenable for you?"

Very much. Very fucking much. I turn around to face him. "Let's try it. I can work with that."

"Good. You're still grounded another week—you don't talk to Daddy like that." He presses my nose.

I have to stop myself groaning. I don't like hearing I'm still grounded, but at least there's a finite time now. "Got it. I'm going to be the bestest boy ever… Rapunzel."

He slaps my ass, but he's smiling; I'm laughing. I think Sam and I have our own inside joke now; like Cas and Michael. "I mean it. I'll be good, but if Darcy ever shows his face in our home again, I don't care how much I'll get punished for it, I'll saw his dick off with a butter knife."

I think that's for sure going to piss him off, but it's just the opposite. His smile cracks and he's bursting with beautiful laughter. "You know, I quite like you jealous. Now that I know I'm consequence free and only Darcy's going to get his dick cut off, the fun I'm going to have with him at parties."

"How about we refrain from sending me into homicidal rages?"

"But it's so cute. I'm going to make sure Darcy's on our 'always invite' list."

Fucker'll do it too. "That's not fair. There's no way for me to make you jealous."

"It's very fair. You've got every other power one can have over me, least I've got one on you."

"Every power? I must obey everything you say or be punished. That's not ultimate power?"

"Silly me. I must have forgot."


"But now that's all over, can you... can you say it again?"


"What you said earlier. You fucking, what me?"

Oh, that. I smile. "I fucking love you Sammy."


"Now that's settled we're going to celebrate with something fun."

Shit. I know that look in his eye by now.

"Go into that drawer and fetch what's in there."

Oh God. What now? When I open the drawer, I want to die. "Sam. What the hell?"

"You are still being punished and naughty punished boys should have red bottoms. Yours is too white, something we're going to remedy."

"But what about the other stuff? None of that looks like fun."

"Oh? Did you think I meant fun for you? I meant fun for me. Hurry up. Bring me the items."

Jesus Christ. I'm about to reach a new level of embarrassment. In the drawer there's a paddle, a pull-up diaper looking thing and a fucking pacifier. I grab them and bring them to him.

"Thank-you Dean. You should know, Age Play is not a particular kink of mine, but I knew this would embarrass the hell out of you, that's the only reason why I chose it. This is how this is going to work. You're going to put these things on. Then we will go around the house and you can ask members of staff to help you get your spanking. You'll say: 'Daddy says I've been a naughty little boy and that I must be spanked on my bare bottom. Will you please help me with my spanking? We'll do that until you've received fifty."

"Sam please don't do this. I'll be good from now on, I promise."

"You will be good and you'll begin by obeying me. For arguing your punishment and making me wait, I'm doubling the number to one hundred. Continue to argue and it will be two hundred."

Fuck. I'm already fifty shades of red as I slip on the stupid, diaper-pull-up thing.

"Now put the paci in your mouth baby Dean—you may take it out when you ask for spankings." He's talking to me like you would a fucking infant. I think that's called infantilism. I obey him and wipe a lone tear away.

"Don't cry baby Dean. It'll all be over with. You'll have a properly spanked bottom and you can remember this for the next time you decide to disobey me like that. Even if I understand why you did, it doesn't excuse that you did. I cannot have you do that again."

I nod and sniffle.

"You actually look really cute."

I scowl at him.

"All right. Bring the paddle Baby Dean. Let's go."

I do and the fucking diaper crinkles as I walk. I hate this. I hate this a lot—Sam looks pleased as punch. I don't dare complain though, I want this over with as fast as fucking possible.

We leave our room, my first time in a fucking week and I have to kind of 'toddle' behind him because this stupid thing is weird to walk in. He's right. I feel a level of embarrassed I can't even begin to explain. At least I think so until we chance upon our first staff member.

To remind you, the staff barely talks to me. They interact with me when needed and that's it. Yet they feel no compunction in participating in this. I stand behind Sam—kind of like a toddler might hide behind his mother—as Sam talks with the man.

"Hello Manfred. How's the family?"

"Very well, sir. Thanks for asking."

Manfred isn't as old as you might imagine someone with the name Manfred to be. He's maybe Sam's age. He's also extremely attractive. I might not mind getting spanked by him, if I wasn't wearing a fucking pull-up.

"Who have we got here?" he asks as if he's never seen me before.

"I'm afraid Baby Dean's not been very polite. Don't you have something to ask this gentleman, sweetheart?"

Fuck. This sucks. Here goes. I pull the stupid pacifier out of my mouth. "'D-d-daddy says I've been a…a naughty little boy and that I must be spanked on my b-bare bottom. Will you please h-help me with my spanking?" I'm glad to be grounded another week. Maybe I'll stay grounded forever. I don't think I can ever leave our room again.

He shakes his head at me. "I don't like to hear that you've been a naughty boy for your Daddy, but I'm glad you're accepting your punishment like a good boy. I'd be delighted to help."

Of course you would, fucking pervert. I hand over the paddle to him. He takes a seat on a nearby chair and proceeds to pull me to him. I'm more fucking embarrassed when his fingers reach to the waistband of my pull-up and more embarrassed still when he pulls it down and guides me over his lap. Sam watches the whole time. Anyone else walking by will also see.

Manfred is swift and firm; he gives me twenty swats and I'm actually fucking grateful for that. The more each person gives me, the less staff members I'll have to find. And I see why babies find these pacifier things fucking soothing. It's actually fucking helping me—if you ever tell anyone that, you'll live to regret it.

When he's finished, he stands me up, rights the pull-up and hands me the paddle. "Manners Baby Dean. What do you say?" 'Daddy' says.

"Th-thank-you for my spanking."

"Good, boy." It shouldn't, but Sam's praise makes me feel a little fucking better.

"Anytime Baby Dean. Anytime."

We continue on and at least I only have to ask five more people, but it's no less embarrassing by the end and my ass is definitely sore. Sam leads me directly back to our room. "You did very well, naughty baby," he says affectionately pulling me to him. "I dare say we won't have a repeat, will we?"

I shake my head, still sucking on the damn pacifier. "Okay. Clean yourself up and throw the pull-up and pacifier away, but remember, I can always acquire another of each. And Dean? It's still not a kink of mine, but you really do look fucking adorable with that pacifier in your mouth."

I narrow my eyes at him before I leave to the washroom and immediately throw the stupid pull-up into the trash, I never want to see that thing again. But I hesitate over the trash can with the pacifier. Maybe I'm the one with an Age Play kink? Nah. But I don't throw it away; I stuff it at the back of my side of the sink's drawer and run back to snuggle Sam.

Chapter Text

~Some time Before Sam Married Dean~

Sam is the kind of guy you'd like to fuck, you admire him, you look up to him, you may even want to be him, but he isn't marriage material. He's not marriage material because marriage means living with someone day in and day out. When you live with someone, you get to know the person. It isn't possible to like Sam once you know him. Sure. From afar everyone adores Sam, but if they knew him-knew him, they wouldn't like him at all. He thinks this of himself as he walks down the cloudy boulevard, piping hot latte in hand, fresh croissant in the other. He does this every afternoon because yes, he can take a break and yes he needs one; it's good for the mind and the soul. He actually takes plenty of breaks throughout the day. His mind isn't the only organ of his in need of relief.

But Latte and croissant hour is to relieve his mind. It gives him time to contemplate things and the reason he's now contemplating marriage at all, is because his Grandfather suggested it's time he marry. Sam knows that it isn't a mere suggestion, it's a veiled command, and like all commands he's given by his grandfather, his mentor, he will follow it. He did chance to ask why. Especially when his grandmother had broken the Samuel Senior's heart. His own father was left a shadow of a man after his mother's death.

"That's because both your father and I made the mistake of falling in love, which I think will be quite impossible for you," he said proudly.

"If not for love, why marry at all?"

"You need to produce an heir."

Right. There was that. In order to have absolute rights over the child, Sam would have to marry in. Having a child out of wedlock gave equal rights to the mother and father. But Sam wasn't really into women anyway.

"I was planning on hiring a surrogate, Grandfather."

"Who would raise the child?"

"I'd hire someone of course."

"You would allow your child to be raised by any old someone?"

That gave Sam pause because his grandfather had almost allowed just that: For Castiel to be raised by any old someone. It was just lucky for Cas that the any old someone turned out to be Sam. But Sam wasn't one to question his grandfather, or speak up to him on a matter he had no understanding of. His grandfather, as always, probably had reasons and if and when he wanted to share them with Sam, he would. Besides, it wasn't any particular hardship for Sam to get married. He would marry a man and that man would live in his home and obey his rules. It didn't really change his life much.

At the end of Latte and croissant hour that day, he passes by the jewelry shop he frequents. Sam is a jewel fanatic. In the front window, is the largest emerald he's ever seen. It's exquisite and rare. That's what his husband should be like. He takes the emerald as a sign for this. Sam believes in signs. He won't do anything once he's been given a bad sign, similarly, when he gets a good one (like freakishly large emeralds in the face) he moves forward and never looks back.

Sam decides to hunt for a husband like he does everything—like he runs the family business. He shmoozes and puts word out that he's looking for a husband. He meets with all the finest families near and far. His grandfather said he trusted him completely and would approve of anyone of Sam's choosing; he didn't even have to consult with him. When he met that 'right' someone, he wanted Sam to snatch him up.

But after a year he's still searching. Suddenly there's something wrong with each man he meets: He's not traditionalist enough, he picks his teeth when he talks; he wears too much black. He's certainly not found his emerald.

Word begins to fly as it does, like wildfire and soon letters arrive daily and families show up on his door step with would be suitors. The 'hunt' part becomes easy, but there's still no 'prey' to speak of.

Sam's at his desk at work when the letter comes. There's actually a pile of letters, but this one is sitting on top; he opens it and then it's over for him. Life as he used to know it ends when he sees green emerald eyes and long lashes look up at him from a picture someone's sent him. He scans the letter not even reading it, just wanting to find out the name to this face and the family he comes from. Winchester. Dean. His name is Dean Winchester.

All the other letters are in the way, he throws them into the recycle bin and he picks up the pictures (there are actually two) and stares at them for hours. He loses track of time; he misses latte and croissant hour; he can't focus on anything else.

He can't for the life of him figure out why he's so mesmerized by this man's face.

Then Sam finds the reason. All the answers to his best business decisions end up staring him in the face at some point, why should this be any different? He gets a sign and he knows what to do. In this case, the emerald was his sign, the man's eyes are green. Clearly this man is the answer to his latest problem. Not to mention, Sam wouldn’t mind looking at that face every morning. The sex would probably be pretty good too. He wasn't worried so much over the sex at the start of this manhunt. He was thinking it would be better for him not to have sex with his new husband—whomever it ended up being. After all, his new husband might end up attached to him, might end up caring about him. Sam isn't kind, but he's not outright cruel. He'd even considered sending his new husband playmates because it was also cruel not to allow his husband any sex at all if he didn't plan on bedding him.

But with this man, Dean, Sam wants the sex. And he would not be sending him playmates that's for certain.

His decision is already made, but he figures he should read the letter. He's devastated to learn that not only is Dean not from a Traditionalist home, but the letter is from Adam Winchester whose Progressionist parents died in a car accident years ago. Sure Adam has worked hard in the higher communities to be revered as a strong Standard, but it isn't good enough.

Sadly, this would not do. His husband should be Traditionalist and there were plenty around. He would just have to find another 'Dean.' But Sam doesn't throw away the pictures, or the letter, instead they end up in the right side drawer of his desk.

Two months pass. Latte and croissant time quickly becomes Latte, croissant and daydream about Dean time. He closes and locks the door to his office and tells his secretary not to bother him upon penalty of death. He pulls out the pictures and stares and thinks about all the possibilities, about all things he'll do with Dean, about all the ways he'll fuck him.

On occasion, Sam pulls out his cock to stroke himself to a long, building orgasm just from picturing scenarios and staring at the beautiful man.

He does this until it occurs to him it's become part of his routine; it's every lunch hour. The day inevitably comes where the fantasy is not enough. His desire becomes a burning need—he needs Dean like air. And when he counts back the days since his last fuck, he can't believe it's been almost three months. This is a turning point for him. Sam's very identity revolves around his ability to fuck and leave. He's always fucked lots of men, he always will fuck lots of men. He's made his grandfather proud by never letting a stranger get close to him using this very method.

Something must be wrong with him.

It's no matter and easy to fix. Sam calls in his secretary who he's fucked on many occasions; the man gives great head too. Sam orders him to get under his desk and get to work—he decides to forget about the fact that he's staring at Dean's picture the entire time and imagining Dean's lips wrapped around his cock.

He also ignores the fact that he's stopped looking for a husband. Calls and letters continue to flood in; the calls go unanswered, the letters are thrown in the recycling unopened. Dean sits in his desk and often on his desk, staring at him with emerald eyes.

Another month passes; his feelings have not changed. If anything, they're getting worse. Sam gets an idea. If he were able to fuck Dean, he might get it out of his system. Clearly it's all just become some unhealthy obsession. Like when you're on a diet and you think that sugary chocolate cake is going to be the best thing you've ever tasted, but in the end, it's better you don't eat it and if you do, you realize it's way too fucking sweet.

The chocolate cake, in the form of Dean still begs to be eaten and he lets it cross his mind to see if Adam would 'arrange' something, like a date perhaps, a date where they'd fuck. Surely Dean would want to fuck him too? But it isn't how Sam wants to do things. It would set the wrong precedent. Dean might get the impression Sam wants to court him and while the idea of courting is not unheard of by even Traditionalists, it isn't what Sam wants.

Sam wants a clean transaction. 'Dating' sends the wrong message. Dating says I want a relationship. Sam does not.

Sam reads the letter again during his latte, croissant and Dean hour and reads something that wasn't important on his first read, but has become important now that time has passed. Adam mentioned that he is actively looking for a suitor for Dean, translation: Sam is not the only person he's sent a letter to. Does that mean others have pictures of his Dean in their desk drawers? Sam is enraged. After enraged a new feeling happens: Worry. He's worried Dean's taken. It's been months since he first received the letter. What if Dean's gone? Surely someone like Dean's been snatched up? Sam was stupid not to call that very day. In his wild anger, he destroys his office; everything's ruined except the pictures of Dean and the stupid letter. And he finally calls his lawyer so the negotiations for Dean can begin, if it's not too late.

He can hardly believe his luck when he finds out Dean is still available. He doesn't want to come across as too desperate, because he's not. Just like in business, he knows a good deal when he sees one. That's all. Really.

He's surprised when Adam doesn't ask for much. He's mostly interested in social standing. He assures Adam he can be guaranteed Campbell level social standing, so long as Dean agrees to follow Traditionalist statute. Adam assures him he can do that. He assures Sam Dean is smart and teachable.

Once the rush of the negotiations simmers out of his blood, he realizes he knows virtually nothing about Dean. He learned a little from Adam, but nothing of merit. No matter, he could find out himself. Dean would be his forever and there would be lots of time. Besides, the sign he was sent for this particular business venture, was none like he had ever received before. There's no way anything could go wrong.

Everything is turning out perfectly for Sam. He thought marriage was going to be a hardship, but instead he won the husband lottery. For weeks before the wedding, everyone notices Sam's good mood.

"What's with you?" Cas asks him.

"Nothing's with me."

"There's something. Why are you smiling so much? You're getting married soon. Shouldn't you be preparing your own noose?"

"Why on Earth? Being married is going to be great. I'll finally have better company than you."

"You're going to have to see him everyday, you realize. He might talk to you, we all know how much you like talking."

That's when Cas notices—he can't believe it, but he notices—his brother is smiling. "You like him."

"What? I do not. I've never even met him. Virtually picked him out of a catalogue."

"You haven't even met the guy? That's no matter. Oh jeez brother—you have it bad."

"Have what bad?"

"Have it bad for—holy fuck. You Sam Campbell, have been struck by Cupid's arrow. You love him."

Accusing Sam of falling in love romantically, is the equivalent of telling him he was responsible for their mother's death. It's bad. It's really bad. Sam leaves and doesn't talk to his brother for a week and he's seriously rattled.

He's worried it might be true; he's got all the symptoms. He can't stop thinking about Dean, he gets ridiculously happy when his name comes up in conversation and when he pictures their babies, he pictures sweet baby Deans instead of dark baby Sams.

But how? The very notion is absurd.

When he calms down, he realizes that he can't love Dean. You can't fall in love with a picture of someone, it's just not possible. He must love the idea of Dean. He created the perfect husband in his head, he loves this fictional character who simply has Dean's face. But he also learns in that moment that he's not impervious to love. No matter how many defenses you set, love is devious and can ensnare you in its trap if you're not paying attention. Even the strongest like Sam can fall victim and he almost did with nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

He's unbelievably embarrassed by his folly.

Since his grandfather already mentioned that he would not be attending the wedding, he decides that no Campbell should attend. The affair will still be as big as it needs to be without his family there. He doesn't want his family to see him, Sam—the man they all look up to—make a fool of himself. Because he just might. Besides, it's going to be quick. He decides on New York for their wedding and he plans on making it the biggest deal possible. Everyone else will attend the wedding—except for the people he cares about most. He'll marry Dean in the morning, stay for a lunch reception then fly back that same evening via his private plane.

And by then, he'll have realized that the whole thing was just some strange bizarre infatuation, but at least he will have accomplished marriage. His grandfather will be pleased.

One thing he won't miss out on, is the first night of sex with Dean and for that he's going to use his favorite kink of all. That's when he decides to have a wedding dress designed for Dean. All day he can watch him in it, all day his cock will harden. The orgasm will be delicious.

Sam's little bubble is popped when Adam is sent to him with a request from Dean. He's disappointed to learn that Dean doesn't want to wear the dress and has asked to wear a tux instead. Sam can't believe any of it. Not only is Dean questioning a command issued by his future husband, his brother is appeasing him instead of doing what he should be doing: Giving Dean a good spanking for his insolence. Sam is angry, he almost calls the whole thing off.

He reams Adam out and makes it clear that if he should trouble him with anymore such requests, the wedding will be off. Sam is extremely glad when there are no more requests, he doesn't want to end things with Dean.

It's all worth it when Sam sees Dean walking down the isle toward him, in the flesh; he almost can't believe Dean is real and all his. All for him. He can barely contain himself—he wants to touch him so bad and fuck, that shy look on his face when he blushes. He can barely look at Sam, he can barely look at anyone—he's embarrassed to be dressed as he is in front of all these people, but he's doing it because Sam said to. It's fucking savory. Sam's cock hardens.

Sam's already forgiven him about the dress thing—it was probably just pre-wedding day jitters. Besides, if Sam thought Dean looked good in the pictures Adam sent, they were nothing compared to now. Dean in that dress is absolutely ravishing. Everyone else thinks it too. Dean might think they're all judging him negatively, but they're not, they're all admiring him and his undeniable courage. The strength, the beauty; yes, this is the only man who a man like Sam Campbell could marry. I think I've finally met my match.

When Dean finally reaches Sam, the man seems to take a moment to gather more of his courage; he looks up and then smiles at Sam. Sam can't breathe.

Somehow he maintains his indifferent composure on the outside, but he's certainly not indifferent on the inside, so many emotions swirl within him, awakening from a long sleep. Dean smiling and at him is better than anything he could have imagined. He knows in that moment, right there, that Cas is right. Cas is almost always fucking right. He's somehow gone and fallen in love with Dean.

But how? That question may have to forever go unanswered. Sam's starting to believe there really is a Cupid because there's got to be some kind of magic at work. If not Cupid, then someone has bewitched him. Sam isn't one to believe in silly notions like: 'Love at first sight.' But it's gone and happened to him.

Suddenly, all the sunshine from Dean's face vanishes and Sam feels like he's drowning. He doesn't know how to bring it back, or why it's gone? Or what the holy fuck, can someone open a window in here?

He acts on instinct. He could care less that he hasn't been told to 'kiss the bride,' (which may have been said for all he's paying attention) he leans in and kisses Dean's lips. They're soft and sweet and perfect and all fucking his. "You look beautiful," he says to Dean.

Dean's face lights up with a smile that's accompanied by the most brilliant blush. Sam is still having trouble breathing just right, but it's definitely a little easier when Dean's not upset.

Sam doesn't remember the wedding. He does the bare minimum in regards to shmoozing, the whole time enchanted with his new husband: His. He doesn't care about any person in the room anyway, just one. He watches Dean interact with people and doesn't say a word. The whole time maintaining his outer composure: Cool and indifferent. He remains concerned for Dean. Is Dean enjoying himself? Has Dean got enough to drink? To eat?

And while he watches, concerned, he also admires. His husband is breathtaking—which is why he can't seem to find his breath half the time. He's glad he bought Dean that necklace, he's going to buy Dean all kinds of things and definitely more dresses. Dean in a dress is sublime.

After a long exhausting day and a three and a half hour flight on his private plane, they are back where they should be: Campbell Manor.

He can't wait to show Dean some of his finer assets. Sam knows he's a creature to be admired as well and he's certainly no slouch in bed. Not to mention, Sam highly suspects that as much as Dean may have been opposed to wearing a dress; it's turning him on.

When he finally unveils his bride, Sam finds out he's right; Dean's cock is hard. And it's not the 'I just got hard' kind of hard, it's the 'I've been so hard all fucking day will you just take me now' kind of hard. This is beyond perfect. He and Dean are going to live happily ever fucking after. The sex is unlike any sex Sam's had before and Sam's had a lot of sex with many, many different people.

But things aren't easy.

Sam's normally a cool and controlled kind of guy, until he gets angry, and when he does, you don't want to see it. Sam's anger is violent and brutal. It's a force you don't want to meet. Sam knows and it's why he maintains a firm lid on it.

But he can't with Dean. Dean drives him crazy and he feels like he's always blowing up at Dean. He thought he could work with Dean's lack of knowledge and experience in Traditionalist culture, but he can't even compose himself to teach Dean the simplest of lessons. Surely Dean's not completely ignorant, he knows Dean attended a Standard school, he had to have. There aren't any schools teaching kids to be Progressive, thank god.

He keeps asking Sam if he can leave the Manor, then he has the audacity to request permission to get a job. Sam's incensed. How dare he? Sam made it clear, Dean's place is in the Manor.

He knows he should punish his husband for his blatant disobedience, but he can't. They're so new as a couple, he wanted these first days together to be different. He decides on leniency. If only he could figure out how to 'chat' with Dean.

He's talked to Cas about it already; he's got no idea how to talk to Dean. Cas would know exactly how to talk to Dean and that angers him. It's why he doesn't want him to meet Dean yet. He's already jealous of their fictional friendship. For some reason, Sam can see them getting along like the best of pals. Sam does want Dean to meet Cas someday before Cas's premature death, but not until Sam has made friends with him first. If they were to meet and became friends before he and Dean became friends, it might kill him.

Cas makes fun of him, but it's not a laughing matter. Sam wants Dean to like him as much as Sam likes Dean. Hell. He'd settle for Dean liking him half as much. Cas instructs Sam to ask Dean how his day is. Sam thinks he's getting pretty good at that. He can almost say it without taking a new breath.

But already his husband is disobedient. It's clear he's got no respect for Sam or the rules. It angers Sam, but he takes small, shallow breaths to calm his bubbling anger.

Dean's not stupid. He knows how mad Sam is and it deflates his whole body. Sam can almost see the happiness leave. Sam flounders; no idea what to do. There are rules Dean must follow, but he doesn't want Dean to look like that. He can't handle looking at Dean another second; he needs to get away; he storms out of the room.

To Sam's surprise Dean comes up with the answer for him. He asks permission to have his friend come stay. That would fall within the rules and Sam knows it would keep Dean from the moping he's been doing. He can't show his weakness. He wants to tell Dean his friend can come live with them if it will make him happy, but instead he remains firm and only gives permission for one week instead of two. It makes him feel like he's still got some control over the situation, since it's very important for Sam to have control. It makes everything better for him. The smile Dean gives him is worth every bit his pride suffers.

Sam wants more control. He doesn't like these feelings of helplessness and vulnerability his love for Dean leaves him with. The feeling of being so totally out of control it makes him assiduously angry. He knows Dean likes the sex games whether he admits it or not. Dean's so beautiful when he cries tears of embarrassment. So Sam decides on that. It will allow Sam to experience a measure of control, feel better, and he can give Dean the orgasms of his life. Sex may not be much, but it's something and it's something Sam it stupidly good at.

It almost works, until his unruly husband decides to flaunt himself to his friend. Sam will dictate who and when Dean can show himself to thank-you very much. He almost can't control his anger; he certainly can't let this go. He's able to calm himself enough to give Dean the discipline he needs.

Sam realizes that he's been doing Dean a disservice by not punishing him when he misbehaves. Dean needs structure and Sam can certainly give it to him. Punishing Dean helps Sam too. He feels the control he so desperately needs and he fucking loves it. Dean in a dress used to be the gold standard, now he thinks it's Dean with a red ass by his hand obeying him. He can't really tell which. Either way he fucking loves it all. And the sweet, sweet tears… He could tell Dean wanted to make it up to him. That he knew he'd done wrong. Yes. It was all going to be better from here on out, now that Sam had learned something about Dean.

The war continues. Dean has an outright temper tantrum. Sam wants to throttle him (especially because this night was supposed to be a treat for Dean, to cheer him up) and he will, but first he can see his husband needs more than just a firm hand. He needs some tenderness. His friend is gone. He's lonely. He hasn't settled in yet. Again he's lenient and sets aside punishment until after the event.

And it's really too bad about before the event, because during, everything was perfect. Dean is once again the belle of the ball. Everyone is envious of Sam and all Sam can do is stare at Dean the whole night. Even when he's supposed to be talking to others, he's wondering where is his husband? Does he have enough wine? Is he still as beautiful as the last time he's looked? Sam had better check one more time…

Dean dancing with everyone else somehow makes Sam more pleased: No matter what Dean does, or who he dances with, Dean comes home with him, Dean answers to Sam; it's fucking the best feeling in the world. Watching Dean with the others is like witnessing that feeling.

He talks to Cas the next day, because his love sickness is getting worse. He has to talk to Cas every chance he gets, actually, because Cas is the only one alive that knows his secret.

"He's always doing things to make me mad and I keep thinking maybe he'll do something and finally I'll stop loving him and oh the relief that would be! But it doesn't stop and with each passing day it gets worse. I'm hopelessly, helplessly in love with him. Every breath I take is agony, every day I wake up is a pain you can't imagine; it's like burning all over, all the time. I can't stop thinking about him. Why must I be plagued by this madness?"

"Wow, that speech is pretty fucking Shakespeare brother. Just add a few 'art thou's' and Bob's your uncle."

"Why must you make fun? I'm suffering."

"Love is suffering. Enjoy it."

"No. I want out. How do I get out? I hate this feeling of being out of control, of not being able to do anything of worth until I see him. Do you know I have to make myself not think about him for stretches at a time, just to get anything done?"

"I believe it," Cas says smiling.

Cas urges Sam to just tell Dean how he feels, but Sam's certain Dean hates him; he'll only make a fool of himself. "You can't tell someone you love them, when they don't love you back. It's not how it's done."

"How would you know?" Cas says.

Sam doesn't have an answer.

Cas provides one for him: "Take Dean out. You are right about something; he should at least like you a little, before you profess your undying love."

"That's a horrible idea. Even I know I'm only likeable from afar." Sam knows he's not a warm and fuzzy person, people usually like warm and fuzzy people, like Dean.

Sam is desperate, so he tries Cas's idea; it's a huge success. "He called me Sammy, Cas. I was surprised at first, but only because I haven't heard it since Mother used to call me that. Mother loved me very much; it's got to mean something." Sam holds onto that one something every time Dean calls him Sammy, because it's yet another sign. A good sign. Sam moves forward.

Dean asks Sam if he's had other lovers during the time they've been together. He didn't expect to get asked that question. It's not really the spouse's business, and he says so to Dean. Sam supposes that's some of the reason why the question ignited his now ever present anger, but the larger reason he's angry, is because to answer the question, he'd have to tell Dean yes, and if he tells Dean yes, he knows he's going to see that heartbreaking look in his green eyes. What if it crushes him?

When he figures out Dean is mad at him for blowing him off (since he refused to answer), Sam's surprised until he remembers his husband wasn't raised properly; he wasn't raised Traditionally. Of course he'd feel mad at being dismissed, especially at such a question. Dean's anger isn't hot like Sam's, it makes Sam feel cold. Even without Sam telling him the answer, Dean has ended up hurt. It's lose-lose. But he's so damn, cute. The hilarity of the way Dean's displaying his upset makes Sam feel like they might be okay. He thinks Dean will like some of his answer at least. Sam's right. It doesn't crush Dean—Dean is much stronger than Sam had even thought.

But Sam leaves the conversation confused. Something ugly festers inside him. Why should Dean get to change the rule book? Sam was supposed to have a lifetime supply of lovers; he's always had many lovers. It's his right. It's who he is. He doesn't feel good about this development.

The next dilemma he approaches Cas with: "He asked me if I work everyday, I didn't know what to tell him, so I told him I did. I don't know why, but the question seemed important. It's been niggling at me ever since. Do you think I should have said something else?"

"Why would you say anything else? You don't take days off. But you could."

Yes. Sam could. And he does. And they 'hang out.' And Sam can't fucking comprehend why something that he wanted—just spending time adoring Dean—feels so utterly gut wrenching. The whole time, it feels like falling. You know? That feeling when you're at the top of a roller coaster and then you suddenly fucking drop? That's what Sam feels, the whole fucking time. Punched in the gut happiness that's undeniable.

When things get this out of control, there's only one thing someone like Sam Campbell can do: Whatever it takes to get that control back. And when he sees Dean in that crisp, clean white dress trying to please him, he knows what he has to do. Because he was wrong; Dean doesn't hate him, not at all and the thought that Dean could love him is somehow worse than when he thought Dean didn't love him at all. If Sam loving Dean was this painful, think about how much more painful it will be when there is two times the love being fed between them. No. It can't happen.

But that pain was imagined, the pain Sam felt when he looked at Dean after what he had done was real and was unimaginable. His cheek all red and bruised by Sam's hand, the pristine dress ripped, marks all over his chest from being thrown around, his beautiful green eyes warm, but dead and flowing with tears. Terror etched into every cell of his body, clear upon every silent movement. Thankfully Sam can't see how red and marked Dean's ass is from the sound whipping he gave him, since he's sitting; though he knows how much it must hurt to be sitting on that ass at present. Sam says awful things, things he doesn't even mean, he wants to hurt Dean in every way. He does it both because he wants to and because he hopes it will make Dean stay away from him.

In the heat of the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do, but later, Sam doesn't know what happened. It's like he turned into someone else. Sam hates himself, because it wasn't someone else who put that look on Dean's face. Sam did that and Sam can never forgive himself. He doesn't deserve Dean. He'll give Dean back. He has the dresses removed—that was all for him, Dean hates the dresses, Sam was only trying to convince himself otherwise.

From his experience, Sam knows that once love is tarnished, it's the beginning of the end. He might as well end it now, so he gets as much distance between him and Dean as he can.

He's booked a flight to Athens. That's what's best for Dean. Never to have to see him again. Adam will come get him, he just has to call. Thinking of calling Dean's brother reminds Sam of the other dealings he's had with the man. He's not a bad person, Sam can tell he loves Dean to some extent, but much of it is guilt. The man makes Sam's skin crawl.

Adam didn't even seem to care who Sam was when they began negotiations. He didn't care where Dean went, so long as it raised his social standing. And now, Dean was married off to Sam, an ugly beast, who clearly shouldn't share the same air space as Dean. Adam might not be bad, but he isn't good and if Sam gets rid of Dean, that's who Dean will have to go back to.

Sam can guess that Dean won't be well received. No matter what Sam says to Adam, Dean will be blamed and punished—and oh God, Dean will have that look on his face, the one that breaks Sam's black heart. Not that Sam doesn't agree that someone like Dean needs more discipline, but he can't imagine Adam will be very happy that Dean was sent back by one of the wealthiest men in the world who also happens to have high standings in social class. The physical punishment won't be pleasant, but the emotional flogging he'll receive will be horrible. It will crush Dean. Dean is strong, but even Dean has a limit.

As awful as Sam is, he won't send Dean to that. He's protective of his Dean.

There's a huge feeling of relief when Sam decides he's keeping Dean. It was one moment's weakness that he vows will never happen again. No matter what may come, Dean is his. Dean will always be his.

He cancels Athens, but he still needs some perspective. He decides to visit his grandmother. She doesn't speak anymore. She just sits and stares at one spot on the wall. Sam doesn't know if she recognizes him, or even if she's aware of his presence; he just knows that somehow she'll reveal the key to his dilemma, if he just stares at her long enough. The woman is still a beauty. The facility has taken good care of her. Money can almost buy anything. It can't buy her sanity though and when Sam's mother died, followed shortly by Sam's aunt, her sanity left forever.

He spends one full day trying to figure out what the look on her face means. At the end he decides the look in her face is the opposite of something, it's what happens when there isn't something: It's nothing.

He can't face Dean yet, so he can't go home. He sleeps in his office—where he should have been during the day—he's still got his picture of Dean, but now there are more. Dean in his wedding dress, Dean in the dress for the benefit. Dean's smiling in them all and the smiles haunt Sam, because the last thing he saw on Dean's face was terror mixed with utter heartbreak. That's the only thing he can think about.

The second day he hopes for a spark of life from grandmother. There isn't one. All this from loving someone too much. Two lives destroyed. Was the love she felt for her children worth it? Sam knows in this he's stumbled across something. He wishes he could ask her: If she'd known that one day she's be a shell instead of a human, would she still have had children and loved them? He'll never have his question answered by her. He leaves for his office at the end of the day and tortures himself with the memory of Dean's tormented face.

On the third day, he has more questions than answers, but it suddenly dawns on him. What if he never even knew Dean existed? That's another way of asking the question he wants to ask Grandmother and he realizes he doesn't need to ask Grandmother, he only needs to ask himself. If he never knew Dean… empty. His life really had been empty. But did he know it? No. He wouldn't have known it, but now he does. It only matters what he knows now. He also knows that Dean and the gut wrenching ache he can't get rid of, is better than not having Dean.

How this information helps him, he doesn't know, but he knows he can go home now.

He watches Dean breathe, and try to fake sleep. Dean looks beautiful and awful at the same time. Looks like they were both in agony. And oh my god, is he? He is. How peculiar; he's wrapped around his wedding dress. He finds out Dean does like his dresses and somehow the dresses mean hope. Another sign. Maybe Dean can forgive him. Sam returns Dean's dresses.

More and more Sam realizes he was dead before, like his grandmother is now. Love killed her, but it's doing just the opposite to Sam: It's bringing Sam to life. Dean is special and magical. He makes Sam laugh, he makes Sam think, he still makes Sam unbelievably angry, but Sam likes that too, at least he feels something. Spanking Dean is fun, having a husband who obeys him is fun; Dean generally seems to want to please Sam. Dean is everything.

Enter Darcy.

Darcy isn't Dean. Darcy is who Sam should have married, because Darcy would deserve someone like Sam. Dean deserves much better.

Despite that fact, Sam doesn't even notice Darcy until Darcy approaches Sam at Dean's party. He's good looking and the type Sam would have went for before he knew Dean existed. And for some reason Darcy reminds him of who Sam used to be when Dean didn't exist. Sam was in control and Sam felt good. None of this constant internal fucking anguish. Sam's lost all of those things now, but the one thing he used to do that he could still do is fuck. Sam used to fuck so many men. Another favorite past time, until Dean.

Fucking whoever he wants, anytime he wants, is part of Sam's identity and Sam can't lose that. He's sure he read somewhere that when in love, you must struggle to maintain your identity that one should not 'lose one's self.'

Darcy is Sam's lost identity and he wants it back. Once it's back, he can be a whole person again, without Dean's aide. It's hard to leave Dean though, and the reason is stifling. Sam knows how Dean feels about him having other lovers. Sam had laid down the law, had told Dean that he would take lovers if he pleased; it's Sam's right and it's not Dean's place to say otherwise. So why does he feel guilty walking away with the gorgeous man? Why should he care how Dean feels?

He congratulates himself on his strength, because he did it. He walked off with Darcy with the intent of more. A blow job? Fucking? Whatever he wants, but it's half-way to the back of the room when he realizes love has foiled him again. The old Sam would have simply fucked Darcy over the table—in front of his husband. The old Sam wouldn't have thrown a party for his husband at all. There are so many things the old Sam would never have even considered and now he's slinking off in 'private' like a cheating Progressionist fool.

Sam is angry (but what else is new?) His horrible, monstrous, temper flares. It doesn't help matters when can't even perform for this second class lout. Sure he's pretty, but he's not Dean. Dean is fifty times, no a hundred times more beautiful than this guy is. Dean uses finesse when he goes down on Sam, without snuffling like a hungry pig. Dean looks up at him adoringly while sucking his cock with his green eyes and Sam's heart melts. Dean smiles goofily sometimes before he tries something new and Sam always loves the new things. Dean's got the dirtiest fucking mouth Sam has ever encountered and Sam fucking loves it. He loves Dean. He pushes Darcy off his cock.

"You know, it's true what they say," Darcy says as he picks himself up off the floor after being knocked over.

Sam cocks a brow.

"The myth heralds the legend, but the legend never measures up. I've heard stories about you, about the amazing Sam Campbell and his outrageous cock," Darcy laughs meanly. "But you're nothing. Your dick can't even get hard. Has marriage done this to you? I knew once you married that Progressionist Winchester you'd change, because underneath, you're weak. I knew you were the type to fall in love and bow down like a bitch, let your husband walk all over you. You're not who we think you are, Sam Campbell."

The old Sam would have beat the living shit out of a little weasel like Darcy, but Darcy has hit upon the same insecurities Sam was already experiencing and it freezes him. All he wants to do is prove Darcy wrong. "Come to my home and I'll show you just how Traditionalist I am. I'll fuck you hard over my dining room table."

Darcy smirks. "Still won't do it here? Fine. Call me. If I've got time, it could be entertaining." He throws a card at Sam and leaves.

Sam needs Dean more than ever in that moment. He needs to feel powerful, he needs control, he needs Dean's adoring eyes to look at him. To Dean, Sam is someone. Sam is alwayssomeone to Dean.

Everything will be restored to rights once he fucks Darcy. Sam can know he's still Sam, he'll have established that he's king of his castle (Dean should defer to his feelings and not the other way around) and Darcy can wipe that smug look off his face because he's wrong, oh so wrong.

As soon as he sees the look on Dean's face (that look), he knows fucking Darcy was the wrong thing to do. But why? It doesn't make any fucking sense.

Dean looks wounded. It makes Sam feel like a the worst person in the world. Sam gets angry (of course). Why should Dean have the right to look like that? He doesn't. It should be 'yes, Sam. I'll do whatever pleases you Sam,' But no. Dean the spoiled brat has to get everything he fucking wants, including Sam's fucking soul.

Sam shoves Darcy in Dean's face; Darcy the fucking antithesis of Dean.

Dean is a bright sunny day; Darcy's a dark cloudy night. Dean brings life everywhere he goes and Darcy kills and poisons. Right now, Sam wants dark. He wants to show Dean that the world isn't rainbows and sunshine. It's a cold, languid place and it's time Dean knew so he could stop smiling about it all the fucking time. And what better way than to essentially tell Dean that he's so worthless, he'd happily fuck the scum of the Earth in front of him?

He does. He shows him and it's like a sad unveiling. But Sam doesn't feel success over it for long; his sunny Dean loses it and Sam has bigger problems because he's unwittingly shown Darcy that Darcy's right. Dean reiterates the things Darcy's accused him of, but now it's worse because they're from Dean. Sam's heart feels like it's breaking. If Sam thought a heart in love was anguish, a broken heart makes it so your whole body goes numb and you gasp for air that never comes.

Thankfully he has his anger to protect him. Heartbroken Sam becomes enraged Sam. How dare he? After all Sam's done for Dean. How could he say such awful things about him? Clearly, he doesn't know his place and Sam is happy to teach him.

But then he has to suffer Dean's face. That face. Sam's heart clenches. While Dean runs terrified and regretful to their room, Sam kicks Darcy out and has to somehow come up with an explanation for all of this, for Dean.

He realizes the real reason his anger got so out of control; for a moment he thought he'd completely lost forever Dean's good opinion. Hell, he probably has now. After Dean seeing that, what Dean considers 'cheating' even if the very notion is absurd, he will most likely never forgive Sam. Sam can cling to his beliefs all he wants, but none of Sam's beliefs can change how Dean feels.

Dean won't understand the truth, that Sam feels who he was is becoming lost and that he somehow needs to reclaim that part of him. Dean won't care. Dean will be too hurt. Sam knows what hurt people do; they shut you out forever. He can't have that, Dean shutting him out forever, he needs an acceptable story.

Again, Dean surprises him. Dean didn't lose it because he suddenly hates Sam, Dean was jealous. Jealous means you care. Sam can hardly believe Dean would display such a show of emotions for Sam. Sam knows he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't believe his love for Dean is enough of a redeeming quality, for his blackened soul to be forgiven for all the hurt he's caused Dean, that he will continue to cause Dean. He's done nothing to deserve Dean's love, but he's selfish enough he'll gladly accept it, especially since he'd made the decision (one he'll never go back on) to keep Dean forever.

Dean surprises him yet again, by giving Sam the acceptable story he needs to explain his crazy behavior. Sam can't even believe he forgot. For once Dean's imbecilic brother is useful. Yes. Public face. It is true after all. Sam is always in the public eye. The Paparazzi are always trying to get a piece of him and uncover the 'secret Progressionist cult' he's most likely hiding in his basement. Wait 'till they find out his husband is a Progressionist, they'll have a hay-day with that. Because that's the truth. Dean is a Progressionist and Sam loves the fuck out of him anyway.

But his concern isn't the Paparazzi. It's Dean. And Dean's tears. And his gut-wrenching sobs. And eyes that are begging Sam's forgiveness and to please not get rid of him. How bad was his life before that he would choose this one with Sam and all of his awfulness over his old life?

Sam hates Adam more now and knows his gut feeling about Adam is right and he's glad he didn't allow Adam to fly to his home and help him 'take care' of Dean. Adam will never 'take care' of Dean again.

Sam wants to scoop Dean up and protect him from everything, even if most days he thinks Dean needs protecting from him.

He does need to make sure Dean follows protocol in body, even if it will never be in spirit. He must learn to obey Sam's ways and what they do behind closed doors can be their own business.

There's only one thing left tearing Sam up inside. Sam wants to give Dean monogamy. But he can't. He just can't. It would be like the last thread of himself pulled out and he can't give that up, not even for Dean.

~In a Sunny Bedroom at Present~

We are a mass of male flesh tangled together. I breathe his musky scent. His. It smells like home to me now; all I want anymore is to lie here like this and smell him. Feeling him breathe is yet another luxury. Breathing means he's alive; healthy even. I can't help but check every morning and make sure. What if he died in the night? What if he stops breathing one day? It's my worst fear imaginable. And not just because him dying, means me dying too. Because it does mean that; I will surely follow him to death. For even if I don't die physically, I'll die inside. I'll become a shell staring at a wall. Ah. I think I finally get it. On a wall you can watch memories—like one of those old movie projectors. The memories will play before my eyes. I won't care about eating, or sleeping, just remembering. I'll wake up every morning and have to decide: "Should I forget today?" If I forget, I can just leave this place. But leaving and forgetting will feel worse somehow than staying and remembering, so I'll chose to sit and stare and I won't regret it.

This is how I think because I am not optimistic like him. I'm an eternal pessimist who has managed to catch a ray of sunshine in a bottle. I have to let it out sometimes, to prove, even to myself that the ray of sunshine still exists, still works and has maintained full strength, but then I hoard it back up, locked away for me, the first person who doesn't deserve to have sunshine.

I shouldn't be allowed to touch him, but I do anyway. He's mine. Still, I do it in secret when he's not awake and run my hand through his short, soft hair.

From here I can see the picture of his mother. The one his father drew. The one I told Adam to produce, or else. I knew he must have something. And I couldn’t stand to learn that yet another thoughtless decision of mine resulted in him having nothing of his parent's. He loves them still, so much. It makes me jealous beyond belief. Especially when I see him staring at the picture so lovingly. I want him to look at me that way—I've got no idea how to get him to look at me that way. I've tried so many things, but I do everything wrong.

I've done a lot of the wrong things too, I know. I didn’t always know they were wrong when I did them and most people wouldn’t think they're wrong, but Dean does and he's the only person's feelings I care about.

His eyes blink open sleepily. "Good morning sleeping beauty," I say.

"Is it princess storybook theme week around here, or something?"

I frown. I know by now he's making a joke, but I don't get his jokes. I wish I did.

"Yesterday was Rapunzel, today it's sleeping beauty… no? Wow, tough crowd."

"Oh, I get it," I say belatedly. "No it's not princess theme week, would you like it to be?" That's my idea of a joke.

"I already wear dresses, what's a pair of glass slippers in the mix?"

I do get that joke and laugh. Dean can make me laugh. I kiss his lips slow and long.

"'Morning to you too Sammy," he says.

"What princess would you want to be? For 'theme' week."

"Between you and me," he eyes me to make sure he's got my confidence.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I smirk.

"Between you and me," he repeats. "Even though I think Pocahontas is the most bad-ass, I relate to Belle. I'd pick to be her."

He doesn't need to explain that one to me. I get it. I want to hear it anyway.

"Is that because you also married a horrible, ugly beast?"

He pushes the hair from my eyes. "That isn't a joke, you really think that," he says and sighs. "No Sam. She falls in love with the beast because while everyone else sees something awful, she sees something beautiful. The beast pretends he doesn't have a heart, I think the beast himself didn't know he had one 'till he met her. Then his heart exploded and he didn't know what to do with it. He wasn't nice to her because he was so afraid she could never love him back. He believed himself to be ugly, why would a beautiful creature love an ugly one? But I'll tell you a secret," he whispers. "Belle thinks his beast is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He sees what the others don't and he loves you anyway, even if you're sometimes grouchy."

Grouchy is an understatement.

He mistakes the worry on my face for disapproval. "Did I say too much?"

"No, Dean." But he did. As much as I loved hearing that, now the anguish is several times worse. I'm not likely to ever be a soft cuddly teddy bear like Dean needs. I'm a prickly cactus. Dean will get tired of being poked and he'll stop thinking all those wonderful things about me. It will feel so much worse than him never having thought them at all. I want him to always think those things even if they're not true.

Dean smiles brightly at me. "So should I expect a big yellow dress? Oh, but can we skip the gloves? I don't like gloves."

"We have to have the gloves," I tease. " Your hands could get cold, and a big, shiny tiara."

"Well of course a tiara. But I'm going to require my own singing teapot."

"I'll get you anything you want. You have, but to ask my Belle."

"Does that mean I can convince you to fuck me, even if my ass is a bit sore?"

"I've got a better idea." I keep him lying on his side and shimmy down so my mouth is level with his cock, I let him wrap his thick muscled thigh around my head and plant a kiss on the shaft of his cock. "Us beasts may be the grouchy sort, but we can redeem ourselves you know. By always giving good head."

When I've swallowed every drop of Dean's cum, I return top-side and nuzzle my nose with his. "Was that good, my Belle?"

He looks drunk. "Fucking incredible. Thanks Sammy."

"Have a baby with me," I say impulsively.

"A baby? What? But we've never even… Right. I suppose we don't and you decide and—"

I kiss him to shut him up. "Not today then," I tease. "I just want a sweet baby Dean at some point."

"Y-y-you do?"

"Yes. I want our son or daughter to be exactly like you. I don't want a child anything like me."

Dean laughs. "Well what if I want a mini scowling Sam?"

He's being preposterous. I darken my brow at him.

"I mean it. He'll be so fucking cute. I'll try to feed him breakfast he doesn't like and he'll demand to speak with who's in charge, as he sits in his highchair with his arms crossed."

"Maybe you should be spanked again?"

"If you want to, but I really am serious. When we have kids, I want a Sam."

I didn't plan on that one at all. I want to tell him that's never going to happen, but Dean has a way of making me want to give him anything he wants. I don't bother fighting it. "Fine. But I get my baby Dean first."

"Okay, but just remember, you're the one who asked for it."

Chapter Text


When I put my hand out, I feel nothing and at first I'm afraid. He's gone. He wasn't real, he hated me and he left. But once the dregs of sleep slide away and I take three breaths and calm down. I know Dean's real, he's just not here where he's supposed to be.

I know where he is. I don't bother with pants or underwear and pad over to his art studio.

He's there.

I stare at him like I do; he doesn't see me; he's got a wide smile and his mind is far away—he's lost in his art as he calls it. He's staring out the window, painting the sunrise. The thinner blanket from our bed is wrapped around his waist, his creamy torso bare, the muscles flexing and releasing with each stroke of the brush. He's already got paint up to his elbows.

I lean against the door frame, my hard cock poking out, I cross my arms and say as foreboding as I can, "'morning, Dean."

He jumps and looks at me worried. "Shit Sam, you scared me." He freezes knowing I won't be pleased he left our bed without letting me know he was leaving. "Sorry. I can explain. I thought…well I was planning on being done before you woke up. The sunrise was just begging to be painted, I didn't want to disturb you. It's going to be a great piece for the show."

Everyday he worries there aren't enough pieces. And believe me there are.

"How long?"

He bites his lip. "Thirty?"

"Twenty. Then come back to bed where you can make it up to me."

"Thanks, Sammy."

I walk over and wrap my arms around him; I kiss his neck.

"You're going to get paint all over you," he says.

"Don't care."

"Yes, you do."

He's right I do, much as I try not to care about things like that. "Then hurry up. I shouldn't have to come find you, let alone wait for you. I'm supposed to be your priority."

He smiles at me. "I'll be quick. You very much are my priority, Sammy."

It's not long before he's prowling up the bed toward me. "Are you pouting?" he says.

"I woke up and you were gone."

He studies my face. "Sorry, baby. How can I make it up to you?" He starts nipping at my cock.

I yank him up to me and secure him in my arms; I breathe him in.

"When I gave you permission to host this event, I didn't think it was going to take so much time away from me."

"I'm sorry. You're right. You are my priority, Sammy. I swear. I'm just really excited. You going to spank me?"

I really should. I'm supposed to. When Grandfather finds out how much I indulge my husband, he's going to be angry. And I do like spanking Dean, very much, but it's hard to spank him over this specifically. I'd rather watch him smile like he does when he's painting. "Later," I say. "I have to get ready for work."

"Okay. You want me to wear something special? Lay myself over your dinner plate, waiting?"

If he's going to think up tempting ideas like that… "Yes. Something blue."


"And I want one of my belts in between your teeth."

"Done, but with my mouth full of belt, how will I beg you for my punishment?"

Dear God I love him. Fucking perfect. "Oh, I'll remove it and leave you plenty of time for that, my belle."

We lay there as we should have upon waking up and I hate that I have to go.

"You, um, you remember you said you'd pose for me?" he says carefully.

"That doesn't sound like me."

He laughs. "Was that a joke? I was beginning to think you didn't know how."

I smile into his forehead. "I'm very funny. Hilarious even."

He's laughing harder now. I did that. I made him laugh.

"You're right. Thinking of you being hilarious is hilarious."

I whack his ass for that. "Ow. Okay. Too far." He's still smiling against my chest. "Would you rather I do a self-portrait?"

"Do that and I'll spank you for real," I say angrily. "You're mine Dean. No one gets to take home a sketch of you, no pictures for their desk drawers, nothing. Am I understood?"

"Got it. No Dean mementos for anyone."

"And I haven't forgotten, but I think the whole idea is ridiculous. Who's going to want to bid on a sketch of me?"

"Like, the whole world. It's going to make big bucks."

"I still think you're crazy, but I'll do it." Because he wants me to. "You owe me," I add, so he won't know.


Being a sexual deviant is a skill. It's amazing the trouble I've been able to worm my way out of by offering Sam kinky sex. And it's a win-win, because as it turns out, I fucking enjoy kinky sex too. Half the ideas I come up with are shit I want to try and I wouldn't have thought to ask anyone, but Sam's inspired me. I know he's up for anything, literally anything. In fact, the more 'out there' I get, the more impressed he is.

"Are you thinking about my brother's cock again?" That's Cas of course. We're heading out to the garden with Michael. Spring was late this year, with the frost sticking around as long as it did, but then it sprung in full force; we've now got a beautiful garden. The air is alive with the fragrance of lilacs and the flutter of honeybees, butterflies and pretty little ladybugs. There was even a large dragonfly happily stuck on a large leaf of lettuce, one day, come to pluck the tiny green aphids. Networks of ants march up and over the stalks and leaves and back into the dirt then out again. Flowers of all different types color the place like an abstract painting; lily of the valley, sweet peas, larkspur, peonies, foxglove, dahlias, hydrangeas, and lilies. Oh and the sunflowers. Their wide stalks tower over everything, with their faces smiling at the sun. The daffodils are already dipping their heads, the tulips stand strong. We're well into summer, technically and the hot sun shines its face on us often.

"Yep." I smile. He fucking asked.

Michael's pushing him in his chair, which he still rides in like a Maharaja, until we get to the door, then he hops out. "You think that will offend me, but you're wrong. Finally you two are getting along. You were both beginning to get on my nerves with all of your whining about the other."

"You loved it. Made you feel important."

When we push open the door today, we're all blown away. "Roses," I say. "So many fucking roses." They've bloomed everywhere along with everything else.

"Didn't I tell you?" Michael says.

Cas hops out to inspect our handy work of his mother's garden. When we planted much of it, he wasn't quite bipedal yet. "Good job, Winchester," he says.

"Hey. What about me?" Michael says.

"I'm saving your reward for later," he winks.

"Ew. Cas!" That's me. They both fucking laugh.

We brought lunch with us today. There's still a shit ton of work to do, but we're able to stop and enjoy what we've brought. We all freeze when we see the head of a man pop over the fence. He's wearing a ball cap; face covered in a beard, and he's at the top of a ladder. "Balls!" he says when he see all of us.

"Bobby?" Michael says. "What are you doing here?"

"The Missus's garden. I always tended her roses. Not stoppin' just because…I don't got time for this. What are you idjits doin' here?"

"We took over," I say.

"Who's this kid?" Bobby asks Michael.

"This is Dean Campbell Bobby. Sam's husband."

"Sam's hus…I think I left something on the stove. I have to be getting…ah crap. I'm coming down. Let me in."

This Bobby fellow comes around to the door, Michael opens it for him. They hug. "Never thought I'd see you again," Michael says.

"Michael? What's going on?" I ask.

"Cas, Dean. This is Bobby Singer. He used to work here with my father when I was growing up."

"I left just after Mrs. Campbell died."

But apparently still sneaking into gardens, gardens that don't belong to him. Not that I can say it belongs to me either, but I somehow feel ownership.

"I always took care of her roses for her. I've come back every spring to make sure they was tended to," he says. Then his eyes set on Cas. "And who is this?"

"I'm Castiel Campbell. The son of whose garden this is."

"Balls. Ain't you supposed to be deformed? Can't walk?"

Cas gets up from where he's lying on the blanket and does a little jig. "Does it look like I can't walk to you?"

I glare at Cas. Stupid Campbell pride. So much for our other secret. "Glad to meet you then. I was real sad when I heard the news," Bobby says.

Cas walks over and shakes the man's hand. "Nice to meet you Bobby."

I'm glad they've decided this dude's our friend, but I haven't yet. "What's with him?" Bobby says flicking his head in my direction.

"We're not supposed to be in here," Michael explains.

"Yeah. I don't imagine yah are. Why you think I was sneakin' in? People don't lock things they want yah coming intah. Your secret's safe with me, Mr. Campbell."

I'm still not used to being called 'Mr. Campbell;' I walk over to Bobby and extend my hand. "Call me Dean. It's nice to meet you Bobby."

After all the intros, there's an awkward silence. Bobby doesn't seem like a bad guy and I'm getting that he really cared about Sam's mother. "You know Bobby, there's a lot of work to do yet and Cas over there is a lazy asshole. Blames his 'condition' on not being able to work long periods of time. Do you think you might be able to lend us a hand sometimes?"

"I take offense to that," Cas says as he lies back down on our picnic blanket and reaches for the grape bunch lazily.

"I see what you mean and besides, I think Mrs. Campbell would want me overseeing what you idjits were doing to her garden."


I'm glad he said blue. I've been saving this for when he said blue. I think he's going to fucking die when he sees me.

I was able to find a site online that makes male lingerie. Apparently there's a market for it, though I guess it's not a topic that generally comes up over cocktails with friends. All I had to do is send in my measurements, they make it, they ship it over. It was fucking expensive, but my husband is stupid rich, and it was for him, so I didn't feel bad.

I grew up with money, but it doesn't mean I liked to spend it stupidly. This scrap of lace was definitely worth it. It's the same shape and coverage as a woman's, one piece bathing suit, except there's no ass, just a blue string that goes up the crack of my ass. It's sapphire blue and black lace and fits snugly over my cock. My cock is trapped actually, no way for it to get out unless he takes this off, which I'm sure he won't—he'll love it too much. I'll be hot and bothered with no release, he'll enjoy that. My dick's already hard just thinking about it.

I've placed myself over his plate, belly down, his favorite black strap between my teeth, legs spread wide. The thick, black heels are already hurting my feet, but they do a nice job helping me position my ass in the air, just so. The staff move in and out, dropping off this dish and that around me; I don't pay them any attention (they're kinky fuckers anyways). I'm laying here for Sam, not them, but they're welcome to enjoy the view. I'm concentrating on Sam; I think about how he'll smile; I think about how much this is going to please him. Still, a blush of hot embarrassment lives under all my cocky arrogance. I don't know if that will ever go away; and I wouldn't want it to; it makes the orgasms that much more savory.

The air is a bit chill in here, but the goose bumps tickling my flesh are not just because of the air. Anticipation. That's what builds in the waiting. I've been here an hour, just so I can tell him how long I've waited and please him; thinking about what he'll do, if he'll let me cum, how many times he'll strap my bare ass.

I'm right about everything. I hear a strangled, "Dean?"

I can't answer though, my mouth is full of belt. He takes slow steps over to me, his long fingers run down my ass crack, then pull at the blue string; his fingers run up and down it; I have to try not to squirm. "Just when I thought…jeez Dean, you're full of surprises."

He takes the belt from my mouth, I can hear him fold it over and without warning, there's a sharp, whack. I exhale hard. "Is that what you wanted, baby? You need a good spanking don't you?"

"Please, Daddy."

I can map each of his strikes to my ass cheeks, slightly moving from foot to foot to work out the sting. There are about twenty before he says, "back up a bit, baby. I want access to that cock of yours."

I do as instructed, his large hand rubs over the lace, chaffing the shaft in a delicious way. "Please Sammy."

"Hmmm…do you think you deserve to cum after this morning? I had to wake up all alone."

"It'll never happen again."

"No. It won't." He gives me another sharp whack, this one isn't quite has playful. I know what to do.

"I need to be taught a lesson Daddy. Will you punish me? Please?" I stick my ass out further and make sure my lace trapped cock is easier for him to access; I hope he'll fucking touch it again. I'm leaking all over the damn place.

He lands another stripe on my ass, I hiss. "I'd be delighted to little boy." He lays a good dose of his belt down on my poor ass, which is definitely going to feel those stripes for a few days at least.

When he's finished, he whips me around, so he can look at me. He's cataloging every inch of me and finally he smiles. "I fucking love this Dean. You did this for me?"

I can't resist. "It was for my other husband, actually, you just happened to chance upon me first."

His face darkens with anger for a moment, then it relaxes. "Oh. That was a joke."

I laugh. "Yeah. Of course I did this for you. I was so fucking excited when you asked for blue; I've been waiting. I also waited here a whole hour for you; thinking about how you would react, about how hard your cock might get."

His face lights up. He grabs my hand and puts it on his cock. "I don't think my cock's ever been so hard—the skin might split if I don't fuck you immediately."

"How do you want me baby?"

"It's hard to decide. I'd love to look at your red ass as I fuck it, but I also want to look at all this lovely lace."

"So fuck me twice."

That makes him stare at me funny, almost whimsically. His hand slides up my neck and into my hair; he pulls me in for a sensual kiss. He spins me around and I think he's going with the 'bend me over' option first, but he starts undoing the laces of the get-up I'm wearing; I'm shocked to hell and for one very scary moment, I think maybe I've done to much. He starts sliding it down my body and off; he places it carefully on my chair. I'm naked now, save the shoes, my hard cock still leaking despite the pit of worry in my stomach.

He pulls me in to kiss me again. "If you wear that while I fuck you Darling, I won't be able to stroke your cock and I want to make sure I can give you the orgasm of your life. You've pleased me Dean. You've pleased me very much."

I heard him say the words with my own ears, but I still can't believe them.

"But after that, we're putting it back on you and you're going to wear it while we eat dinner. Then I'll tease you mercilessly 'till bedtime. And if you do a really good job sucking my cock, maybe I'll give you another orgasm."

Holy. Fucking. Fuck. All I can do is nod.

"So lay on your back baby, and enjoy the fuck out of this."


I love my husband. I love him so fucking much. And the part that's become scary for me isn't the loving of him (which does surprise me) it's the loving him so much that I worry every fucking day I'm going to lose him some how.

I can't believe he's done this for me. It's the best fucking present ever. I don't even care about this morning, well much. In any case he's one hundred percent forgiven. I just want to fuck him and own him.

I love watching his face as he enjoys my cock. I'm thrusting my lube slicked cock in and out as I hold tight to one of his thighs in one hand and push the other right up to his chest. I ram my cock home and I should be chanting, mine, mine, fucking mine. But I'm not.

Instead my mantra is: Yours, yours, so fucking yours. Because that's the truth and I know it more than I know anything these days. I'm more his than he is mine. It feels so wrong; I know it should be the other way around, but right, or wrong it's the way it is.

I can't lose him. He's got all the power now and I see why Grandfather taught me to protect myself from love. If Dean leaves me it will destroy me. I'll end up like my father.

"Sam…Sammy…fuck, that's good baby."

"You like Daddy's cock baby?"

"Fuck, yeah."

"I want you to cum all over yourself, baby boy."

I've been fucking him and teasing him at least an hour. The staff's come in and out. They dropped our salads about twenty minutes ago. I think they just wanted a peek at Dean and me. They're quite enamoured with Dean, everyone he meets is. They can look all they want. I'm happy for them to see my butterfly in a jar.

Dean's built up orgasm explodes out of his cock and I soon follow into his perfect ass. I reach my mouth down to taste him then slide my cum-coated tongue into his mouth so he can taste himself.


"Was that good?"


I help him re-dress into the gorgeous lace bodice after cleaning him up. He's smiling. I'm smiling. I can't seem to stop staring at him.

"Should we eat? I'm famished," he says.

I nod toward the salads, the staff is quick to come in and fix us up. They try to sneak peeks at Dean when they think I'm not looking, but I notice; Dean doesn't.

"So when would you like me to pose for my sketch?" I say.

"Well, the event is next weekend. The sooner the better."

"How's tomorrow?"

He looks shocked. "Tomorrow's great, but you'll have to take the day off work. You'd do that for me?"

Only for him. "Only if you sketch me wearing that."

"Right. Then there will be no actual sketching being done."

"True. Dilemma."

"I bought the matching silk robe to go over top. Will that be enough for you to keep your hands to yourself 'till I'm done?"

"Maybe. And I hope you know I'm having an entire lingerie set made for you. My tailor will be by the day after tomorrow. I can't believe I haven't thought to do so already."


It's two days before the big charity auction. I'm fitted into a tight, white sleeveless dress. I always think he'll pick something more conservative for when his grandfather comes to dinner, but he seems to want to show off some of my 'finer assets' when he comes. It's a nice dress though, not 'slutty' by far, just kinda revealing. It is the kinda dress you want a great set of tits for.

Oh god. Sam's not going to make me get boobs is he? He's never mentioned it and he keeps saying he likes my 'boy-parts' but you never know with the big guy.

This is the third time we've hosted Samuel senior. He didn't seem overly thrilled to hear the news about my event, but he didn't forbid it either, which I know is good, if he says it's off Sam will cancel it in a heart beat. And I…I don't think I could take that. Not gonna lie, it would fucking crush me.

I keep trying to do my best to appease the senior Campbell, but he doesn't seem to thaw. Not like Sam has in the months I've known him. It's like Sam was dead and now he's alive. He smiles almost everyday, at least once a day. He make jokes, or tries to (and I laugh even if they're not very funny), the man even took a day off for me just so I could sketch him.

Of course the sketch took longer than it should have. I knew me wearing a silk robe over that lingerie would do very little to deter him. He fucked me so many times, in so many ways over every inch of my art studio. But the best part was all the laughing. We had so much fucking fun. I had to scold him more than once to hold still and stop smiling (since it was supposed to be a serious sketch) and of course we kept breaking out in laughter when neither of us could keep straight faces.

I never thought I'd see a day like this with Sam. I really didn't. Things were so fucking awful in the beginning.

But we're growing, both of us, like the garden. We've still got bugs to work out, lots of bugs, but we'll get through them. We love each other.

Right away, Grandfather notices there's something different about us. "What the hell is with you two?"

I'm not sure what tipped him off. Maybe it's the way Sam lazily holds my hand. Or the fact that Sam practically dotes on me: "Oh, looks like you need some more wine, Darling," and "allow me to get your napkin for you, my belle," and "how are your feet in those shoes? I'll massage them for you later."

It could be our constant stream of 'inside jokes' that seem to somehow make their way into conversation. I didn't realize we had so many. But they make us both burst into a fit of laughter, one ol' Grampa C does not appreciate one bit.

But if you ask me (and you've really got no choice other than to hear my opinion) I think it was the big fucking smile plastered on Sam's face all night long. The man's been smiling since the day I sketched him and hasn't stopped.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong Grandfather. Everything's…right," Sam says and can't help himself looking at me. The worried look on my face should remind him of who he's speaking to. But even then, I've somehow become his first priority, Grandfather Campbell might as well not even be in the room.

"What's the matter my belle? Something wrong? How can Daddy fix it?" He runs a hand through my short hair.

Grandfather Campbell pushes away from the table violently. "That's it. I've had enough."

Sam jumps up, finally awake from the trance he's been in all night, he's confused by his Grandfather's explosion.

Grandfather Campbell stares at him, studying him up and down, judging him. "You've gone and fallen in love with that whore."

"Do not speak of him that way."

I can hardly fucking believe it. He fucking stood up for me. "I thought you liked Dean?"

"I did until he decided to use whatever witchcraft he has on you. Tell me boy. What did you do to my grandson? I know your parents were Progressionists, it would be just like their kind to consort with the devil—what did you use? Release him at once!"

I can't even form words to such an accusation. I try to sputter something, but fuck—he's a scary son of a bitch.

"Do you hear me? Release him!" He's reaching down and grabbing me by my pretty white dress and all I can think is: I hope he doesn't rip it, because I'm not fighting back. I don't know what he's going to do to me, but I know he doesn't love me like Sam does, that's for damn sure. He will beat me to a pulp if he wants to. Especially if I don't 'release' his grandson from the supposed spell I've cast on him. I can't believe I'm being accused of witchcraft in this day and age. I guess it shouldn't surprise me; he'd much rather believe I cast a spell on him than believe his perfect grandson could fall in love.

But a different set of hands interfere. Unfortunately not before Grandfather's fist connects with my face, several times, enough to split my lip and leave me feeling dizzy. Sam reaches in and has to throw me so I'm well out of Grandfather Campbell's range and I trip on my tall heels, just catching myself before I fall into the table. "You won't touch him again," he says.

I look up just in time to see. With all his anger, Grandfather Campbell reaches up to slap Sam across the face. Sam takes it in stride, standing firm, pretending it doesn't affect him. But he can't help it—it affects him. He needs his Grandfather's approval and a slap across the face is about as much disapproval as you can get.

"What a colossal waste. I devoted my time, my energy, my money to you. I allow you freedoms I felt you'd earned; like choosing your own husband. I thought you could produce an heir in a business fashion, as I've taught you. But you're just like the rest of them. You'll end up just like your father. I'm disappointed Samuel."

He storms out of the room; Sam looks heartbroken and it's because of that look in his eyes I want to chase after the mother fucker. I want to beat his grandfather to a pulp. He turns to me. "Are you…are you all right? Your face my belle." He rushes to my side and looks over my face. "Fuck. That's going to fucking bruise." He snaps at a staff member, "ice."

He guides me to sit as he checks over the rest of me. "I threw you. Did you twist an ankle?"

"No, I think I'm all right. Sam, I'm all right."

"None of this was all right."

A bag of ice is given to Sam, he wraps it in a cloth napkin and applies it to my cheek. "That's not going to be gone by Friday…Your event."

"It's okay Sam."

"People will think I beat you."

Ah. "You're allowed to beat me if you wish. No one will care."

"I'll care."

"Should we…we could postpone?"

"I'm sorry, Dean. We might have to."

I nod and I can't help the tear that plinko's down my face.

"Don't cry my Belle," he sighs. "I'll figure something out."

Sam fusses over me all night and has his personal doctor come by and look me over. I don't need stitches, but I'm to keep icing various parts of my face. The longer Sam has to watch me do this, the angrier he gets.

By the next morning, despite my icing efforts, my face looks like a fucking war zone. I've never seen Sam this pissed and this includes the time I told him off in front of dickhead Darcy.

He yells a the staff all morning. "Butter! I fucking well ordered butter! I order it every fucking morning! Where the bloody fuck is it?"

At least five staff members are fired.

"This orange juice tastes like horse piss!" He throws the glass with the orange juice, I jump, it smashes on the wall into smithereens. He slinks back in his chair disgusted; I know better than to say a word.

"This is fucking ridiculous. I'll eat out rather than eat this crud. I can't be here." He can't look at my face anymore he means—I'm getting a whole lot better at translating Sam. He's done all he possibly can for my face; it wasn't good enough; he's pissed he couldn't stop his grandfather from inflicting damage. Now, there's dick all he can do but stare at it, probably in more pain than I am over it. Worse, he's going to have to cancel the event; he doesn't want to have to break that news to me.

Four hours later, he's back and he's got Becky with him. "Is there anything you can fucking do about that?"

Becky looks doubtful and angry. "I don't know, Sam. I'll damn well try."

Sam stays to watch as Becky works on me. She's working hard, but will it be enough? It's not fun, it's fucking painful, but when she's done, it doesn't look half bad. Most of the damage is covered, the bruising anyway. The cut on my lip is still there, but it's far less impressive with the bruises hidden under the thick old lady foundation she used on me. It's not perfect and I can see the doubt etched in Sam's features.

"Well?" I say.

I only get a half smile form him. "I think this will get us by for one night, but you won't be having any other public appearances for awhile."

My face hurts when it splits into a real smile. I want to hug Becky, but I doubt Sam would be okay with that. Instead I tell her, "you're the fucking best, Becks."

As one crisis is averted, another lands on our doorstep. When Sam is like the Tasmanian Devil (not that his anger ever went away, but it had cooled some) a little while later, I know something else happened.

"My grandfather called. I foolishly hoped it would be an apology, but instead it was to tell me that if I don't cancel the charity auction, he'll disown me."

It's a fucking gut punch to go with all the face ones. "Can he do that? You're married."

"He can. It won't affect us financially and he's already given me this house. Transferred it into my name just after the wedding. I've got my own fortune put away. I don't need the family money, that's the part I'd lose. The company is also in my name. He transferred that when he retired to his house boat. It's more of a social slap in the face; embarrassment and…"

And he loves his grandfather. Adores him. Doesn't want to lose his grandfather's good opinion. He's mad, fucking mad over what his grandfather did to me, but one terrible act doesn't make you stop loving someone. If that were so, I'd have begun hating Adam a long time ago.

"Cancel it Sam. Please."

"But you've worked so hard. It's made you so happy."

"And so do you. You can't live with the look in my eyes when I'm hurt, I can't live with the look you've got now."

Sam looks like he's ready to throw something else. "He's not the same man he used to be. When I was younger, he used to take such good care of my grandmother. I don't know when he changed."

I don't doubt Sam couldn't see the change happening. As a young person, going through the loss of two parents, his grandfather's course of action most likely made sense at the time. No matter how bitter his grandfather became over the years, he still remembers the one who loved his grandmother.

"I won't give in to this man, Dean. Let him disown me, you will have your event."

"But Sam, really, it's not that important."

"Not that important? You've been planning it for weeks, you've been painting and sketching 'till your fingers fall off. Don't lie to me Dean."

I sigh heavily. "It is important to me, but not as important as your relationship with him."

"Look at what he did to your fucking face. That's important to me too. You're important to me Dean."

"Yes. And believe me, hearing you say that, hell, just you allowing me to put the event on in the first place means the world, but—"

"No buts. Am I not still your husband?"

"Well, yeah."

"Oh good. Then allow me to clarify something for you. This is my decision and not yours. I say the event is going to happen and if Grandfather wants to disinherit me over it, let him."

I smile a puffy, painful smile at him. "It's like I've got my own hero on a white stead." I chance putting my arms around him, he lets me.

"I'm no knight, Dean."

"Dark Prince?"

He raises a brow.

"That's what you are; a Dark Prince."

"Be careful. That makes you my maiden in distress."

"No. It makes me your highly capable princess. All the wimpy princesses get princes of light, the dark princes are much more difficult." And far more rewarding in the end.

Chapter Text

"How many times must I tell you not to enter the boxing ring with kangaroos?"

"What can I say Cas? I'm a regular Muhammad Ali."

"You look terrible Dean."

"You still worship your grandfather after this?"

It's something for him to think about; he has no answer.

"It's okay, Becky's going to fix me up. I'll look like nothing happened."

He's still speechless.

"I was just being an ass. Trying to make light of a fucked up situation. You were supposed to laugh. It's not your fault Cas. It's no one's fault."

He's quiet another while until he says, "how long have men said that?"

I don't have much time to get philisophical with Cas tonight. Sam will be home soon and I need to be ready, the big even is tonight. The fundraiser Sam insists on. "I have to go get ready, Cas."

"Listen good, because I'm only going to say this once: Good luck to you Dean even if you don't need it. And whatever you have to do tonight, whatever you have to say or do; do it."


Cas was being fucking weird, so I'm kinda glad to leave and get back to what I know: Doing whatever the fuck Sam says. I head to our room knowing there will be a dress for me of some kind, perfectly suited to the occasion. Becky will come soon and make my face look normal, everything's going to be fucking good.

I don't think about what Grandfather Campbell's done, or what he's going to do because that's all fucking wildcard. Sam said he'd done some major shmoozing to overcome the guests we'd lost thanks to the shmoozing Grandfather Campbell's done, but he still was unsure what was going to happen. However we end up, I'm okay. I'm willing to cancel the event, so if we get five people, I'm good.

When I get to the bedroom, I take my shower and come out expectant.

I look to the bed, because usually, that's where Sam has my outfit laid out. I see nothing, but I still reach down to grab the perhaps invisible, or camouflaged outfit, but there's nothing fucking there. Nothing.

Our bed is perfectly made. All the pillows fluffed, the bedspread pulled so tight you could bounce a fucking quarter off it, but no fucking anything on it.

What the fuck am I supposed to wear? Do I pick something myself? No. That's not possible. Sam always picks for me—he must have forgot in all the chaos with his grandfather; that's enough to make him act out of the ordinary. If he did forget, I need to pick something he would approve of. I run to my closet and look at the dresses. There are so many now and I have no idea what Sam would deem appropriate for this silent charity auction.

But what if the reason he didn’t leave a gown for me, is because he thought I should wear a tux? It's a charity event where I'm the center of attention, kinda. Maybe as much as everyone is kind about the dresses, they were just blowing smoke up my ass because I'm married to Sam Campbell. Maybe Sam thinks I'll raise more money dressed 'normally.'

I have no fucking clue, but I do know I can't find any dress that seems right and I sit down on our bed in nothing but a towel and start to fucking cry into my hand, the pressure of which hurts my fucking bruised face.

I'm like that 'till Sam finds me.

"Dean? Darling?"

He kneels on the floor and spreads my knees apart so he can wedge between them, and look up at me. He takes my hand away from my face kissing all the way down the arm then on the palm finally holding it in both his hands and rubbing. "C'mon my belle. Tell Daddy so he can fix it. Is it your face? Are you worried about tonight?"

I shake my head. "I don't, I don't know what to wear. You didn't, Sam you always leave me something."

He smiles. "Is that all? Baby, I thought you'd want to pick; this is your event."

So was my 'coming out' party, supposedly, but he picked a lot more than a dress for me at that event. Maybe he sees it as different since I planned this one from start to finish? I'm not sure. Either way, it doesn't make it better and I'm more confused, so I cry harder.

He watches me helplessly for a moment, then something I never thought would happen between us happens. Without me fucking telling him, he figures out exactly what I need. He stands up. "C'mon, Dean. I'll help you."

He pulls me up with him and I follow wiping my eyes furiously. I hate that I'm fucking crying over this. "Do you have a preference at all?" he asks raising a brow.

"I, I don't know. Do people like me in dresses? Will that make us more money? Or less? I just don't know."

Sam reaches out his hand and runs it through my hair. "Fuck'em Dean."

Seriously, what? "But I thought you cared about what people thought? Isn't that why you can't, be with just me?" I almost start crying over that again. I hate that it bothers me. We have taken a few lovers together since our 'compromise,' and I actually fucking like it. It's a great way to add spice to an already spiced sex life. But I think I'd enjoy it even more knowing Sam was just mine. That we do stuff like that because we fucking want to.

"I did say that, because, embarrassingly, the reason is far stupider." He looks at the floor. "Fucking became part of my identity Dean. I didn't love anyone, not really. I loved my family, sure, but that's not the same thing as falling in love and being hopelessly lost to a person. It felt good to fuck people. I loved it and I couldn’t imagine giving that up; I thought it would be like donating a limb. But after what happened with Grandfather, I realized I'm already lost and I don't fucking care. I don't mind being lost to you. I'm all yours Dean."

I have no fucking clue what to say to that. Of course it makes me happy, it's all I've been hoping to hear from Sam.

"But at the same time, I think I can have some things too. More, compromising I suppose. I'm willing to give you this Dean because it hurts your heart. It's not like the other things I require. I actually don't require fucking others, not anymore. I was holding onto that character trait with some foolish notion that if I let go of that one thing, I'd have to let go of all the other things I do like. I think you'll willing give me the things I need, because you love me too. You already said you did, no takesies backsies."

That makes me smile wider. I taught him that. And I know what he wants. What he needs. "I know now you are a Traditionalist because you like being a Traditionalist, Sam. I wouldn't take that away from you. Especially when you pander to my, Progressionist ways so often. With all this compromising you'd better be careful."

He kisses me long and slow, my dick hardens and I moan into his mouth. "Good. Don't expect the rules to change, unless you want me to get particularly creative with punishments."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Sam's already creative enough with punishments. He doesn't even let my ass get white anymore.

"I guess this means I shall have to cancel our date with Stephan?"

Stephan's the guy from my coming out party, the one that looks like Daniel Radcliffe. I'd kinda been looking forward to that. "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Is that fair to him? He was probably really excited."

Sam smiles in that way I now know means he's thinking of something fucking evil. "Hmmm, looks like baby boy wants to play with Stephan. Okay. We'll keep the date."

Fuck. He's really going to make me beg. Sam is a fucking sadist and you should never let on to a sadist what will make your dick fucking hurt, they like that shit. But as much as he'll put me through torture, the orgasm (assuming he lets me) will be unreal. My dick twitches just thinking about it.

"But back to serious matters. I don't want you to worry about social standing anymore. You're a Campbell now. We have plenty of fucking social standing and wherever we don't, we have enough money to buy it," he says arrogantly. "I know how much your brother brainwashed you, but that ends Dean. Do you know why?"

I'm not fucking stupid. I've been paying attention. "Because you say so."

"Good boy, baby." And if Sam's cock wasn't hard already, I know it is now.

"So tell me, what would you, Dean Campbell, like to wear?"

I know what I want to wear, but it doesn't mean I want to fucking say it out loud. It's still embarrassing to admit. I blush and look at my hands, twisting them. Sam grabs them and stills them for me, he gently nudges my face up to look into his dark eyes. "You want to wear a dress don’t you, Darling?"

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and exhale as I nod.

"You like it better when I pick for you? When you don't have a choice? Makes it easier, doesn't it, baby girl?"

God that turns me on. "Yeah, Daddy."

He nods. "Okay. From this moment on, I pick what you wear out and you wear it, no complaints, understood?"

"Yes, sir." Not only is it easier, it fucking lights my dick up.

"I have the perfect idea for tonight."


Sam said he had this made for me a while ago and he was saving it for the right moment. I feel really good standing in it, not to mention, I look just like a fucking Highlander. Sam's grandmother is part Scot on her father's side. The tartan pattern on the kilt I'm wearing was Sam's great-grandfather's very own. It's a combo of grey blues, maroons and forest greens.

It's a Great Kilt, so it's full length, but we've got the upper half draped over my right shoulder making it look almost like a cape that hangs to one side. That piece is threaded through a scarf ring that sits at my breast bone.

I'm a more 'casually dressed Highlander.' I'm not wearing a jacket, or vest, only the large, white, long sleeved shirt that's actually a lot more like one of those old timey night gowns. The bottom is currently tucked into the kilt, so you can't see it, but when the kilt is off, the 'shirt' falls below my ass. The shirt v's open at the chest and is underneath the piece of kilt acting as the tartan sash, going over my shoulder. Sam said I looked more 'artsy' without all the fancier pieces, but that he did have them for another time.

The full length, great kilt, only ends up falling to my knees, with the upper piece pulled over my shoulder as it is and you can just see my kneecaps before the kilt hose begins, snugly sitting just under my knees. We also skipped the ghillies (the tongueless, laceless traditional shoes) for tall, black, knee high boots that make it look like I'm about to ride off on a horse into the forest on some long journey.

We didn't accessorize too heavily; no sporran, but there is a belt looped into the kilt with the fancy, ornate buckle. But the best accessory of all is the Sgian-dubh tucked into my left kilt hose. It belonged to Sam's great-grandfather and I'm so fucking honored to wear it, plus I feel totally bad-ass.

And no. I'm not wearing any underwear. It's very, breezy.

Becky did an excellent job on my face and even the bits that were next to impossible to hide completely, well I don't think anyone's looking at those. I look pretty fucking omnipresent in this get up. As usual, Sam picked the perfect outfit.

I've lost track of the compliments I've received, but they haven't just been congratulating me on 'my' outfit choice for this evening, I've had many of the guests compliment me on past outfits. I think they really do like my dresses.

"Look at you, my Highlander stud. Everyone wants a piece of you. Does your cock hurt under there yet?" Sam says helping himself to said cock, slipping his hand inside the kilt, grabbing the shaft to stroke it a bit then tugging my balls.

"Mmmm, please Daddy," I moan.

"You'd like me to fuck you in front of all these people, wouldn't you my pretty whore?"

Note. There is a difference in the way Sam calls me his pretty whore, or any variation of and Grandfather Campbell doing so.

"I want you, Sammy. You can have me any way you want me, whenever you want me. You want me to bend over something? Put my hands on a wall?"

He kisses me as he plays with my cock some more. I'm not fucking stupid. He's just being a cock tease. He's not going to fuck me 'till I'm insane with need. Just as I'm building to a nice quick orgasm, he pulls away. "You're doing very well. All of your pieces have bids. Even with the loss in number of guests due to my grandfather's poisonous tongue, we've still got quite the turn out. And you were right, that portrait of me has a ridiculous number of bids, but I made sure to put the highest one."

"I know," I say shyly, not about his silly bid, but the fact that so many people are being so generous with their bids. I almost can't fucking believe it. "I guess people like donating to kid charities."

He spanks me hard. The kilt is a poor shield and it fucking stings. "Bad boy. They love your work, quit being so damn modest or I'll give you a real spanking in front of all these people."

I rub my ass. "Jeez, okay. I'm just, I've never done this before, it's a bit hard to believe they like my work and it's not some other reason, like maybe because I'm Sam Campbell's husband."

"Well stop it. It's not any of those reasons. It's because you're fucking good. I wouldn't have married you if you weren't the greatest thing on Earth."

I roll my eyes at him; he's fucking absurd.

"Um, excuse me young man, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time. Samuel, would that be all right with you?" It's an older looking woman, with white hair, finely dressed with a string of fat pearls around her thick, wrinkled neck. By the way she addresses Sam, I know she must be familiar with him.

"Frances, hello. I haven't seen you since I was boy. Dean this is Frances Lennox, she was a good friend of my grandmother's," Sam introduces after he's hugged and kissed her.

"Is a good friend dear," she corrects him. "I have a question about a very peculiar painting. May I steal him, Junior?"
Sam nods. "Of course. Go sell paintings Darling." He kisses me hard on the lips, still careful of the damage he knows is under all the make up and leaves. That man is in an awfully good mood for a guy who just lost his life long mentor. I hate to be a negative fucking Nelly, but I just don't see it lasting.

I hope I'm wrong.

"He is a magnificent creature, isn't he?" she says conspiratorially. I blush because I realize I've been staring after him all fucking love sick. Sam's my whole wide world.

"Um, yes, ma'am."

"Don't be shy. I love when people are in love. It's okay for you to ogle at your husband. I used to do the same."

"Used to?"

"I lost my Henry two years ago. He had Parkinson's disease. One day his heart stopped working."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault dear, but I thank-you. We had good years; it wasn't easy, but nothing ever is." She smiles. "Listen to me go on. You don't want to hear an old woman natter. The reason I interrupted; I was curious about a painting. I'd really like to know the story behind it."

I look at her surprised.

"You don't get this old without learning a thing or two; I know every painting has got to have a story. At least this one does."

When she leads me over to the one she means, I see that there's a mill of people staring at it, mesmerized. Couples stand arm in arm around it and even the kidlets stop to figure it out.

It's a painting of the garden. The door is wide open and you can just see what's beyond, but only enough to make you wonder and wish you could go inside. Robin is in the picture, by the door, looking toward the audience with his head tilted, daring them to enter, like what that little bastard did to me.

I'm not sure what to tell her about the painting. Where do I begin? "That Robin is a mischief maker. He's responsible for that painting and everything that happened thereafter."


"Yes." I tell her everything, starting with the robin and how he showed the way to the key. I tell her about 'Mary' in her pretty dresses who lost her parents and a little boy who lost his too, but couldn't walk and the other little boy who talks to the animals and showed them how to grow things. I explain that the doorway leads to a painful memory for the one who locked it away, but because the three children never knew that darkness, they unleashed the real magic held within its walls and that magic was able to bring everybody back to life, even reaching the dark prince's black heart and made it bloom with love again.

"Wow. You have quite the imagination. I like that story very much. But tell me, why did the robin pick Mary? I would think the it more likely the robin would chose the boy who talks to animals."

I know exactly why the robin picked me. "Because it takes one to know one, ma'am. Mary is every bit the mischief maker as that cheeky little robin. And besides, Mary's the only one with enough guts to fall in love with a dark prince."

If she notices me look over to Sam, she doesn't say. "Nothing wrong with mischief makers. I've been taken to mischief a time or two myself. I'm going place a hefty bid on this painting. I want it. If I win, will you sign it to my late husband?"

"I'd be happy to Mrs. Lennox."

"Please call me Frances."

"I'll see that it gets done, Frances."


I don't see any nervousness from Sam, but I'm a nervous wreck as the night creeps on. Everything is going perfect. Too perfect. I don't know what I expect to happen. Grandfather Campbell riding in on a dark horse and burning all my pieces? Maybe he'll arrive with an army of his snooty, old friends and they'll put me on trial as a witch?

Sam did say he'd take care of it; he refused to tell me much else.

I know via very rapid word of mouth, we did lose some of the more well to do guests, but we've got a cooler, hipper, crowd. It's mostly young people, without as much money as some of Grampa Campbell's friends, but these people will have money enough. I'm not obligated to donate any amount and this was really just a ruse so I could 'sell' my paintings without making it look like we need more than one income. I now understand that Sam doesn't give a shit what other people think of him in that regard, per se, it's his own foolish Campbell pride. He still doesn't want me having a job; he doesn't like what that means to him.

The loss I expect in donations isn't a huge hit to us. Not socially anyway. I expected Grampa C to take more measures to ruin us.

But I'm momentarily distracted from thoughts of Grandfather Campbell when I see the hottest asshole alive enter the fucking room. Sam comes up behind me, just as I see him walk in. "Sam. How did he get an invitation?"

"Who, Darcy?" he says innocently. "My secretary must have made some kind of mistake."

Yeah. Somehow I don't think so.

"Perhaps I'd better go say hi."

Let's see if he meant what he said earlier. I grab his hand. "Oh no you don't. You're staying right fucking here, Sam."

"How dare you talk to me like that. I'm your husband. Apologize."

"Fine. I'm sorry and you're still not going anywhere. Or did your little speech mean nothing?"

"I meant every word, but surely I can talk to the guy."


"I love you all jealous, and with what I have planned, it will make you more jealous; the sex will be, well there aren't words. You won't regret it my belle."

"Don't you 'my belle' me. What exactly did you have planned?" I make sure to say in the past tense so he understands it's no longer 'planned.'

He catches on quick and smirks. "I was going to position myself across the room from you, and just talk to him. But I was going to lean in close, maybe whisper something in his ear, make it look like more, so you'd come over and do whatever exciting thing you would do in a jealous rage."

I glare at him.

He looks afraid of me for a change. "I didn't do it."

"If I catch you within two feet of that guy, he loses his balls and I don't care what kind of crazy punishments you come up with, I'll make sure you don't touch me for a week, so get someone to get rid of him."

"All right. All right. You're no fun."

I can't believe my fucking eyes when he actually goes off to do what I basically told him to do. The only way I can make sense of it, is that Sam is a clinical person. This particular topic must be filed away into its own box and be considered separate from other aspects of our relationship. This is what he's given me control over in the 'compromise' as far as he sees it. I smile.

It's fucking hilarious and honestly, I was all talk. I'm sure I'd never be able to go a week without sex and I'm sure Sam could think of something to 'change my mind.' Still, my empty threat gets my point across.

I'm smiling wide; I feel good. The night is good and it's almost over without much recourse. I feel like a Highlander might have after a hard battle won and gaze over the crowd, happy.

But then the arctic wind blows in. Grandfather Campbell doesn't need to be on a fucking horse to look magnificent and imposing as he saunters in the door and down the isle, the one where I happen to be standing amidst all my pieces. He's not alone. He's followed by his crowd. The ones I invited who hadn't shown up 'till now. It's almost as I pictured it. All that's missing is the pitchforks and torches.

They fan out into a V, like ducks, with Samuel Senior at the lead. "Bid away, boys," he says and they all attack the silent auctions bid sheets with vicious intent. Sam comes up behind me.

"What's all this?" Sam demands.

"Well you see, I have this invitation right here," he says pulling it out. "So do my boys. We thought we'd come by and collect fodder for the huge bonfire we're going to have later."

Asshole. So he does plan to burn me at the stake. Metaphorically at least. I look to Sam because I've got no power here; I'm not sure if Sam does either. "Get out of here. None of you are touching Dean's paintings," he says.

"Oh, but soon they will be our paintings. Besides, I thought this was to raise money for charity. Or is that all a lie? Who cares what we do with them afterward, so long as you raise money for the kids?"

"He's right, Sam. Let them. We still win—we'll raise a shit ton of money." I'm fairly sure this doesn’t count as a dress, and since I'm sure the last Scot to carry this Sgian-dubh said more creative curses than I can imagine, I think I'm okay to swear.

"But it's not right, my belle, all your hard work."

"I'll paint others. It's fine Sam."

We let them bid, knowing they're the richer of the guests invited and they will likely out bid all the rest.

"What on Earth is going on in here? I step out to have a cigarette and I come back to this swarm of wasps. What are you up to Samuel Campbell?" It's Mrs. Lennox and she's not addressing my Sam.

"Frances? What are you doing here?"

"I came for a nice evening and to donate to a good cause while acquiring myself one of these magnificent works of art. I know that's not what you're doing here. Stop all this nonsense now and leave at once."

The entire room is watching by this point. I grab onto Sam not knowing what to fucking do. I don't think he does either.

"We have just as much right to be here as you do," Grampa Campbell explains. Mrs. Lennox is seething, but she doesn't say another word, making sure to keep an eye on her bid.

When it's time to hand out the 'prizes,' we realize the clear winners are Grandfather Campbell's friends. When Sam realizes they will make off with my masterpieces, he's furious and I'm doing all I can to prevent him from murdering them all.

There's only one painting left unclaimed and I'm surprised when I see it sitting there after the vultures swooped in to claim my shit, just so they can huck it in a fire. Why leave this one? Even the one I did of Sam is gone. "Hey, there's still one more here," Grandfather C says. He takes a closer look, and his eyes get a far away look, like he might recognize something about it, but all he does is scowl darker.

"You take your filthy hands off of my painting Campbell," says the voice of Frances Lennox. "I knew none of your cronies could out bid me. That work belongs to me."

I'm cheering inside, while Sam Senior looks like he's having a minor conniption. She storms over and double checks the bidding sheet. "Ah yes, there's my bid right there at the top," she smirks.

"At least you won't get this one you incredible ass and if there's any of the old you still left in there, I suggest you tell your idiot friends to stop this particular batch of Tom foolery. Is this really what you've become? Taking your anger out on an innocent boy? For what?"

"Samuel is the son I never had. That boy has bewitched him with his Progressionist ideals. Yes, Progressionist. Do you hear that everyone? This pretty boy you've fallen in love with is no Traditionalist, he's a Progressionist like his parents were and now he's poisoned my grandson."

"You're the one who's poisoned," Mrs. Lennox says shaking her head disgusted. "You loved your wife, I know that. But when your daughters died, you took your love away from her, afraid of what it might feel like to lose her too. It was like unplugging a lamp. How can someone live with nothing after being so dearly cherished? They can't. Now she sits, lifeless, staring at walls, probably remembering what her life used to be like. You did that to her and you can never get her back. You know it's your fault you lost her. Now you're trying to do the same to these poor boys."

"Shut-up, you old hag. This is not your affair. You've gone too far." Grampa C turns to Sam. "He's going to betray you one day. I just know it. When that happens, you can crawl back to me on your hands and knees and if I'm pleased, I'll allow you to make it up to me. Until then consider this me publically denouncing you."

"I'm married. I've already earned my name. Denounce me if you wish, it means nothing."

"We'll see. Come on boys. Take your paintings, we've got a bonfire to attend."

They take all my paintings except for the one that belongs to Mrs. Lennox. I don't know what to feel as I see them walk away. The guests begin to leave. Some are disgusted (with me or Grampa C, I don't know which—probably both), some apologetic and some just don't want to get in the middle of such a debacle. I don't blame them.

Sam's still holding me when Mrs. Lennox approaches us. "I'm very sorry for that, but it had be said, it was too long in coming."

Sam's awfully quiet. I feel I should say something. "Thank-you Mrs. Lennox, I mean Frances. Um, may I sign your painting for you?"

"That would be lovely dear." I sign her painting and that's about as long as it takes for the roaring flames to be seen out the window. They're burning everything right outside the hall. I guess Sam senior owns this town and can do whatever he wants in it. There are sirens and they put the fire out in time to save everything but the paintings.

I watch them spray water over the burnt remnants of my beautiful projects. A piece of something blows by, with still burning embers around the edges. It's the sketch of Sam's face trying not to smile. I remember the day I drew it as it continues to burn up; be consumed. That was a good day. They seem so few sometimes, but it's always been that way for me. Even before Sam.

Sam picks me up off the ground. I didn't even feel myself kneel to the cold pavement. "C'mon, Baby. Let's get you home." Sam sounds utterly dejected.

"Wait, Sam. I want you to know, I forgive him for this. It's terrible and awful, but I forgive him."

"I don't and I never will. You're far too forgiving Dean."

It's starting to rain. "But what if I stopped loving you, or you stopped loving me? What would happen?"

"You can't stop loving someone—believe me I've tried."

"If that's true, he still loves her. Sure, he fucked up royally, but he still loves her and she's lost to him forever. It's really sad. I feel sorry for him."

He stares at me considering it, but doesn't comment on his grandparents. "The rain is starting to wash your make-up off; we should get you home, my belle."

Chapter Text

"Another party?"

"Yeah." It's the fourth we've hosted this week, or is it the fifth? It's been crazy. "I'm exhausted Cas. I can't take this anymore." As is turns out, maybe my brother wasn't so wrong about social standing. Sam's never known what it's like without it and if things keep up, we'll need all the social standing we can get.

"Well, you'll get a lot of votes in that, in my opinion."

"I didn't ask you for your opinion," I say sticking out my tongue. Everyone's in a fucking bad mood since the night of the charity event, or as it's better known: The night of the great bonfire. Cas has been acting weird around me. He hasn't really said what he's thought of everything. I kind of expected him to have an opinion, since he has an opinion about everything (like right now), but he didn't say anything.

"Of course you want my opinion. Is there any other?"

Least he's acting his regular self today. I don't know whether to be annoyed or relieved.

I'm wearing a long, fitted emerald green dress. It's sleeveless and the velvet fits snug against my chest all the way down to my ass. The rest of the skirt is a loose fit, so I can walk easily. It's simple, but I feel extremely elegant. I've got strappy, silver heels, but I'm not wearing them right now. I'll be getting myself ready tonight, and most nights from now on, thanks to the 'lessons' I've had from Becky over this past week, but she'll still be by to wax me regularly, at Sam's request.

"I could use your help you know. Any decisions on when we tell Sam?" He knows I mean about him and the walking; all of it.

"Do you really think now is a good time? Don't be stupid Dean. From what I hear, his temper is at an all time high, we don't need to add more stress."

I nod because he's right, but it's got me on edge more now than it did before. We've left it too long. When Grandfather Campbell gave his speech about 'betrayal,' I couldn't help think of this—will Sam consider what Cas and I have been doing as an act of betrayal?

It began innocent. And in the beginning, I didn't know where things would go with Sam and I; I needed Cas; I needed the garden. Least that's how I rationalized it. It didn't seem too terrible to have this a secret.

But things have seriously changed and Sam should know; he deserves to know, but I can't convince Cas to fucking tell him. It's never the 'right' time. I don't think there is anymore.

"Fuck, fine. How's the garden been?" I miss being out there everyday. It's been too hectic and Sam has been between here and his office. His office when he has to, but home the rest of the time. A whole bunch of his office staff quit and it's been a nightmare for him; he comes home to hide and deal with shit here.

None of the home staff have quit. My guess is they're kinky perverts (well we know that part) who've finally found the kinky employer of a lifetime and they're not willing to give that up over a little social blasphemy. Yep. It's so where I'm putting my money.

"It's good Dean. You should see the carrots. They're ready. And the corn is getting ready to grow corn. Planting food was a brilliant idea," he says like it was his idea.

"It was my idea."

"Sure, sure," he smirks.


I order a pot of fucking coffee from downstairs to guzzle while I get ready—powdering my nose and evening out my complexion. No I don't wear eyeliner and shit, or eye shadow…or fucking rouge.

I'm in the middle of fixing my hair when Sam comes in, my whole body stiffens. Cas wasn't kidding when he said his temper's been at an all time high. All his days have been bad days; I never know what's going to set him off, or, if he's already been set off.


"Hello Darling, I came to check on you."

He sounds okay. I turn to look at him—wow, he doesn't look okay. He looks ragged and used. While I think his hair looks sexy as disheveled as it is, it's not his usual, his tie is undone and so is his shirt part way exposing the top of his chest. He takes his jacket off. "I'm fine, Sam. You look, tired."

"Thanks for stating the fucking obvious," he says. I wince.


His eyes narrow at something behind me. "What's that?"

"Oh, just some coffee while I get ready."

"Are you lying to me? You said you were fine."

"I am fine, Sam. I wasn't lying. I'm just a little tired—we've hosted a lot of functions is all, but really I can handle it."

He lays down on the bed and covers his head with a pillow. "You're right. It's a lot of functions, I don't think I can stand another one myself, but we must. I lost seven major accounts today."

At least he's not throwing shit—I'll bet he was earlier. "It's okay Sam. I don't care how much potential money we lose."

"I do," he says throwing the pillow at me. "I'm the provider and I'm failing miserably."

I don't know how much money he has exactly, but I'll bet it's still enough to keep us stupid rich. He's over reacting, but it's not the thing to tell him now.

"I'm sorry, Sam." I already got in trouble for asking if there was anything I could do to help. He doesn't want my help, except for me to play perfect hostess at these functions.

"I guess you've already put your make-up on?"

"I have. Why, you need a slow cock suck baby?"

"Yes, and I need to pound that tight hole of yours. I want to know you're walking around all night with my cum inside you—I need that baby girl."

And he says I can't help. "I'm sure my make-up can survive that—do it. Please."


After drinking seven cups of black coffee, I feel fucking sick to my stomach and all that caffeine has me jittery and on fucking edge. But guess what? Still fucking tired. I get all the shitty side effects of the caffeine with none of the positive ones. Fuck you coffee. Next time I'm resorting straight to ephedra.

But I look amazing. Sam's gotten good at not ruining my make-up before these stupid things, and it's a good thing; he's a man who needs to be relieved constantly.

I feel so owned right now and it's fucking turning me on as much as the sex did. He slid a sizable plug inside me after he unloaded inside me. I begged him to let me cum, but he wouldn't, ending our session with the epithet that if I was a good girl tonight, he'd let me cum later. Fuck. As if that helped matters.

I make my way through the room and chat with all the different couples, just as Sam instructed me to. I'm supposed to be as flirtatious as possible, with both sexes. When I told him that made me feel like a whore, he responded by telling me that I am a whore, his whore and to remember that as I did exactly what he said.

Fuck that made my cock heavy and dripping. It's not fucking fair for him to be so good at sexual torture.

I end up not minding it so much, especially since most of the guests are politely flirtatious and a couple of them, I wouldn’t mind inviting into our bed. Speaking of which, Stephen ended up cancelling our date and I was fucking disappointed. He didn't say why, but Sam and I can only assume it has something to do with what happened the other night. He wasn't there, but everyone's fucking heard of it by now and are all choosing sides.

There's just one dude that's creeping me the fuck out. I don't know what it is about him, but I just want to stay away from him. And I try to, but I'm pretty sure he's seeking me out.

It doesn't help that I'm extremely fucking irritable from all that fucking coffee I drank earlier. I'm going to end up tearing him a new one if he doesn't leave me the fuck alone. "What's wrong with you?" Sam notices. I'm pretty sure he came up to tease me, but stopped cold noticing the sour look on my face.

"It's that Theobald dude. He gives me the creeps Sam."

"Nothing's going to happen to you. I'll make sure."

"I don't want to talk to him anymore."

"Well he wants to talk to you, and he's a good account. I can't lose him. It's just talking."

"And him grabbing my butt."

"You're really going to complain about that? Shall I list the things I've watched you do to people you know far less than him?"

"No," I grumble.

"Then be a good boy. You do want to cum at the end of the night, don't you? You must be positively dripping."

I am. I'm surprised no one's noticed the wet spot that's likely on my dress. Thank god it's a dark emerald. "It hurts, Sam. Couldn't we, take care of it now? I'm sure they'd all like to see a show. It will buy you serious points with these people."

"So would spanking your ass. Go entertain guests, while I decide which one is going to be more fun for me."

He sends me off, blushing, with a tap to my ass.


I continue to avoid Theobald, despite what Sam told me to do, knowing I'm likely to punch him in the face and I'm sure the punishment for that will be a lot more than simply ignoring him. I still feel like shit from that coffee, and you know, I'm not so hot on Sam at the moment either—I'm sexually frustrated, I need release, he should help a brother out. I've still got to talk to all these people, look sexy and I’m tired, so fucking tired. This is where I'm at right now, so when Theobald comes around for the fifth time, to tell me how delightful I look, I end up saying something I shouldn't.

"Stay the fuck away from my ass, Theobald," I hiss at him, hoping the other guests don't hear. Unfortunately Sam does hear.

"Dean, apologize at once," Sam says.

I do because I don't know what came over me, I've never been one to talk like that, even if I've been fucking thinking it the whole time. "I'm sorry, Mr. Arlington, sir."

"It's okay, Dean. Really. I'm not even offended."

"Nonsense, you're just being polite. Dean, come here."

Fuck. Fuck. I'm such an idiot. Looks like I just made Sam's decision for him. Looking at my feet, I make my way to him; he puts a knee out still standing, pulls me over top and flips my skirt up. I'm wearing a thong, so Theobald can see what he's been wanting to all bloody night, my bare ass, as Sam spanks it, hard. He doesn't hold back and I can't either. "S-Sam…please. I'm sorry."

He doesn't relent 'till I'm crying and my ass is probably a nice shade of crimson—the exact same shade my face cheeks are being spanked in front of everyone like this. When he does stand me up, I'm wiping at tears and apologizing over and over. Theobald doesn't look upset and in the wake of this eye opener, I realize that maybe I was over reacting. He's really a nice guy.

"Dean's, it's okay. I'm not mad. I tend to come on strong. Sam, you don't have to worry about me pulling out of your company. I was one of the ones glad when you took over. It was high time for fresh blood in the Campbell company, and I'm proud to be a client. Not to mention, Frances Lennox has very good things to say about you." He takes one of my hands and kisses it. "Thank-you, Dean. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy that view of your bottom. I unfortunately must go, but have yourselves a good night."

I mistakenly think I'm in the clear after all that, Sam's still got his laser set to stun. "S-sam, I can explain—"

He grabs me by the wrist and practically drags me to the nearest washroom where he shuts the door and locks it. I don't know what he's going to do. My husband, still so unpredictable at times and with unpredictability comes some fear. From me.

"What on Earth has gotten into you tonight? You know how important this is."

"I know, Sammy, I'm so sorry." I really don't know what else to say.

"We were lucky with Theobald. He's a nice man, just a little overzealous with touch—a small price to pay. He even tapped my ass a couple times—it's no big deal."

I think that's a big deal. I didn't say he could touch Sam's ass. I glare at him. I'd rather him have touched my ass.

"Do you remember the punishment for swearing while wearing a dress?"

"Yes, sir." Thankfully my stomach's feeling better. I ate a bunch of bread and butter, it helped significantly, probably soaked up the coffee.

"What is it?"

"Washing my mouth out with soap," I huff. Fucking mad at myself. This sucks.

He reaches under the sink where the extra bars of soap are stored and gets a fresh one—joy. Taking his time, he runs it under water, 'till it's way too fucking foamy. "Open."

I do and the bitter taste of soap stings and brings tears to my eyes immediately.

"Good, boy. Now stand over there, while Daddy spanks you."

It's one of the smaller washrooms, so there's not much space. I have to stand over the closed, toilet, spreading my legs wide to either side, as he lifts my dress again. He rubs over the flesh he's already spanked. "You know Dean, I've risked a lot for you. I wanted to do it, I'd do it again, but I'm very disappointed in your behavior considering. The least you can do is show me, your husband some fucking respect."

That kills me, more than this spanking's about to. He's right—he's been doing all of this for me and I basically spat in his face. What if Theobald had been pissed? Fuck. I spread my legs wider to signal to him that I'm ready for my punishment.

He uses loud, sure slaps that have me wriggling despite having promised myself I would keep still. "Ass out," he has to say part way through, when I'm unintentionally jumping out of the way of his hand, tucking my pelvis under just a bit to shield it. It already fucking hurts from before; it really fucking hurts now.

When he's done, he doesn't leave the bar of soap in and make me wait like usual. He pulls my dress down, smoothing it over my bare, red ass and guides me back to the counter where he takes the soap out of my mouth and chucks it. "Rinse," he orders me and am I fucking glad to.

When I'm done, he pulls me to him and I gratefully put my arms around his waist, and cry into this chest, my mouth still tastes like bitter fucking soap no matter how many times I rinsed it. When we get back out there, I'm drinking wine—lots of wine. "I'm so sorry Sammy. I am grateful—I didn't mean any of it. I don't know what got into me. I wasn't feeling well and I guess I just got irritated. But it's no excuse."

"It's okay now, my belle. It's all over."

I sniffle and nod into him. I'll say hallelujah to that.

"You weren’t feeling well though? I thought you said you were fine?"

"I was. I swear I was just tired, but then I drank a pot of coffee, so I could do this and well it made me nauseous and irritable. I'm not trying to excuse my behavior—but that's why it happened."

He continues to sway me side to side, quietly, rubbing my back. "I'm sorry for all this, Dean. I'm running you to exhaustion. We'll take a couple days off to rest, but I'm afraid we need to keep pushing."

I nod into him again.

"But there is something I can do for you. Hop up on the counter."

As I obey orders, he simultaneously lift my dress, so the cool countertop meets my searing hot ass. "Ooh."

He smiles. "Feel good? Or bad?"

"A mix of both….but that's good, so I'll say good."

He pulls my panties down enough to expose my cock and yanks my balls out over top of the elastic. "Your cock is still hard, baby."

"Yes, Daddy. I want to cum so bad."

"But you've been naughty. Why should Daddy let you cum?"

I know he's just playing right now, he totally intends on letting me cum, so I play right back with him. "Because I'm tasty Daddy and because you need to show your bad girl who makes her cum the best, or maybe she will find one of the guests to do it."

"Bad girl. You cum for me and me only. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy," I smile. My face is still hot and wet from tears, the skin feels puffy under my eyes. Make-up's probably ruined.

He toys a little with the plug at my entrance, pulls it out gently as I instinctively bare down. He tosses it in the trash can and I have to keep from laughing imagining someone finding it there. He slips two fingers inside as the cum, kept hot inside my ass dribbles down onto the counter. "Did you like having Daddy's cum in there?"

"Yeah, Daddy," I say shyly.

"Good, girl."

Sam engulfs my cock with his wet mouth, as he continues to finger fuck me and I can't help bucking up into his mouth and down onto his fingers all at once. I've been so close to fucking orgasm all night, that it only takes a few powerful sucks and twists of those long thick fingers and I'm unloading down his throat, screaming loud, not giving a shit about who can hear me.

The rest of the night isn't so bad once I get a couple of glasses of wine in and by a couple, I mean eight glasses. I'm feeling damn good now and Sam finally has an easy smile on his face, watching me flirt with the guests, knowing I'm all his (again) come the end of the night.

He has to carry me into the bedroom at the end of the evening, and I'm giggling, fucking giggling at specks on the wall by that point. "Was, wrong Sammy," I say when he's got me all undressed. I'm naked on the bed all sprawled out.

"You were? Wrong about what?" he says, amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Yah. I like, functions. Was fun."

"You like getting sloshed you mean," he says lying on his side, beside me. His face is soft and he's simply admiring me.

"Sorry, Sammy. You wanna spank me again?"

He shakes his head. "No. You've had enough spankings tonight. My hand is tired."

"Use a paddle," I slur.

"No, Dean."

He stares at me a while longer and the exhaustion I've been feeling settles over me, my eyes start to droop. "We better have more sex before I fall asleep," I tell him with my eyes closed.

"I think that ship has sailed."

"But, but, but—"

"Hush. I enjoyed watching you have fun. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

I think I mumble something back to him, but I'm not sure. I think I fell asleep.


The next morning I'm fucking hung over as hell. "Ugh. Sam. Sammy. I have to…" I can't even say it. I have to put my hand over my mouth or I'm going to fucking puke on him and our bed.

He's up like a shot and helping me to the bathroom so I can pray to the porcelain gods. "Thanks for holding my hair back, Sammy," I say when I'm done. I can't even get up off the floor and just slump against the tub to lick my wounds.

Sam starts running a bath for me. "I might have to start calling you Gramma Campbell if you keep drinking like that. How much did you have to drink?"

"Don't worry, after this, I'm never drinking again."

"Famous last words."

"I had like, eight glasses."

"No, it must have been more than that."

"Well, I was pretty drunk last night, so I guess it could have been, but that's my count. I had to stop at one point since even the drinking was making me nauseous."

"What do you mean even the drinking was making you nauseous?"

"Ugh. All that coffee," I say. My body remembering and wanting to puke again.

"Right. I remember you saying something about that," he says as he lifts me from under my legs and behind my back and places me into the hot water. "You sure you don't have food poisoning? I've seen you drink more than that without this severe of a hang over."

"Well now that you mention it, those cocktail shrimp, tasted kinda fishy. I actually had them all sent back. I ate a couple and started gagging. Too bad, I fucking love those things. But I spit them out. Can you get food poisoning from a taste? I don't think so."

"I don't know," he says pouring water over my head. It feels fucking good. "But I'm calling for the doctor."

"I don't need a doctor. You're over reacting."

The look on his face alone, shuts me up. "I don't recall asking you."

I quietly stew as he washes my hair, then my body. I hate doctors. I've tried to stay away from them pretty much my whole life. Even when I was sick, I'd pretend not to be so my brother wouldn't find out. Sometimes that meant going to school with a fever, but it was fucking worth it.

I chance to say something more when he's pulled me out of the tub. I feel a helluva lot better. "He's not going to find anything—see, I'm fine," I say spreading my arms, smiling wide.

"I'd really hate to spank you in your condition," he comments absently as he dries me off. I doubt he'd hate to, but I certainly would. I feel better, but not better enough to be spanked. "There, now go put on a pretty sun dress for Daddy, with some silky panties. Pink like your ass."

I bite my lip and smile at him shyly, but go do as bid. I slip on a pair of silk pink panties that have a bunch of fucking ruffles on the front, but the back is kinda boy-short style, covering most of my ass, but leaving the perky part of my cheeks exposed.

I haven't had much luck in white, but third time's a charm right? So I choose a short, white, sundress, with a heart shaped bodice and thin straps. The skirt falls to mid-thigh.

I pad my bare feet over to Sam when I'm finished getting dressed and I think I'm going to kiss him, but fuck, I'm over come with a wave a nausea I can't hold down, so I run to the toilet instead. Thankfully I don't get any on my dress. "Freaking hangovers."

Sam's looking at me skeptically, while I brush puke out of my teeth, scouring my tongue with fresh mint toothpaste. "God you look delicious. You'll be the only thing keeping me going all day at work."

"Do you have to go in today?"

"'Fraid so, my belle. But I'll be home to ravish you by dinner. Be a good boy for when the doctor comes."

"What sort of doctor can come calling at a moment's notice?" I'm afraid I already know. Probably the same doctor that sees Cas. If it is, I at least hope it's in new one and not the fucking idiot that told him he'd never walk and would die at a young age.

"My doctor," he says firmly with that dark look in his eyes that says stop complaining, or else.

"I'll be good, Daddy."


When Sam's gone, I practically skip outside, not even bothering with shoes since it's sunny and hot. I change out of my sundress, and into my garden attire, so I don't get the pristine, white material dirty. I have a bit of trouble doing up my jeans today, fucking lacey ruffles on my panties, but I manage, since they were a bit loose fitting to begin with. I don my straw hat and remain barefoot as I head to the garden where I know Cas and Michael will be.

"Hey, assholes," I say to all of them. Bobby's here too. He's a frequent guest in the garden now.

"'Bout damn time, you showed up. You seem to be the only one that can make the lazy one work," Bobby says.

He's referring to Cas of course. "Well he's going to have to work today. I can't stay long."

"Is Sam coming home early?"

"No. You guys are good here all day, I have to see the fucking doctor."

"Why? Are you pregnant?" Cas laughs thinking he's real funny.

"I'm not fucking pregnant jackass, I've got a dick and no uterus." I throw a clump of dirt at him.

"Whoa. Touchy. Mood swing…" he pretends to say under his breath to Michael and Michael tries not to laugh, but I think he's biting the inside of his cheek so hard it's bleeding.

"Okay, okay. Enough from the peanut gallery. Let's get to work, we've got lots to do today," I say.

We don't actually have that much to do, but I want to get to the part where I get to mindlessly work with my plants. They bring me so much peace and with everything going on, I need it now more than ever.

After a little while, Cas approaches me again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't tease you like that, but you have been rather moody lately. I know it's been hard."

"Apology accepted Cas." He doesn't apologize too often; it's a huge deal.

"Why are you seeing the doctor?" He sounds worried.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just your brother being overprotective," I say pissed.

"What's your deal?"

"I fucking hate doctors, okay?"

"Bite my head off why don't you? Jesus Christ, Dean. I think you're bordering on hangry. Time to feed you—we're stopping for lunch."

Cas will use any excuse to take a break, but I have been kinda grouchy. You would be too if you were about to be examed for your hangover.

We all sit at the picnic bench we'd built and Cas passes out sandwiches from the picnic basket. "Thanks, Martha," I tease him, short for Martha Stewart. Something about lunch outta picnic baskets always reminds me of her.

I can smell it before I see it and I fucking wretch again and have to go off to puke behind a bush. "Dude! What is in that sandwich?"

"It's shrimp salad," Michael says. "They had a bunch of shrimp that never went out to the party last night and they made it into sandwiches for the staff. I took some when I went to snag food."

"Yuck! Don't fucking eat it. It's gone bad, smell it—it smells—" I can't fucking finish 'cause I'm fucking puking again. When I'm done, they're all looking at me like I'm crazy.

"You're the only one it seems to be bothering Dean. It smells fine," Cas says taking a bite as if to prove it.

"Fine, go ahead. But don't say I didn't warn you when you're puking later."

They toss me some other snacks from the basket and I stay far away from that god awful smell until they're done.

I decide to leave them shortly after that fiasco. The truth is, I feel fine now. No after effects of that fucking hangover, aside from my new aversion to shellfish.

I change back into my dress and take my time walking up to the Manor. I do feel fucking tired again, but I'm not drinking anymore coffee. Maybe I'll take a nap before the doctor gets here.

I do and wake when there's a knock on my door. "Oh, hello there, Dean?"

"Yeah that's me," I say getting up, a little groggy, but not too groggy to notice he's looking at me a little funny. Oh right. The dress. I'd got used to everyone expecting me in dresses. I'm actually relieved to meet someone that's not as okay with it; I was beginning to think the world had gone crazy. I stand up to shake his hand.

"I'm Dr. Angel," he says still giving me a strange look. But boy am I ever glad to hear the name Dr. Angel. I know that's Cas's, what I like to refer to as, 'non-quack' doctor. Because the one he was fucking seeing before, who told him he would die any day and never walk, was a fucking quack. This one seems to know what he's talking about—according to Cas. Now that I'm more awake, I can hear he's got a bit of a lisp; like maybe he's the kind of doctor found drinking cosmos and wearing eyeliner in his time off…the kind that should like my dress, maybe want to wear one himself.

Still I say, "sorry. Is me in a dress uncomfortable for you? I can change—"

"No, Dean," he smiles gently. "That doesn't bother me in the least—you look stunning in dresses. I've seen a few pictures in the media. I'm concerned with what's on your dress. Is that what I'm here to see you about?"

On my dress? I look in the mirror. Fuck. Oh fuck. There's blood, lots of it. I'm sure I've gone white and Dr. Angel sees me freaking the fuck out.

"It's okay, sweetheart."


"We're going to get you to the hospital, immediately."

Hospital? I'm not fucking going there. "No. I-I can't leave the house without my husband. It isn't permitted doctor. Can't you just work on me here?" I say without stating the obvious. I know he does a lot of shit on Cas here at the house, or well he did. Cas hasn't really needed the doctor in a while. Sam doesn't know that though.

"I'm sure this is a time where he'd make an exception Dean, sweetie."

I'm shaking my head frantically as I feel more blood pooling and seeping down my leg. Fuck, this is embarrassing.

"How 'bout we call him? I've got to get you there quickly."

I realize he might be right, so I nod stiffly. "You call Sam, I'll call the ambulance."

I'm sure he'd like me just to sit down while he takes care of everything, but I think he knows I need a task and that I'll keep freaking out, 'till I talk to Sam. I call the office and get his secretary, his secretary puts me through right away. I try to keep fucking calm, but I can't. I need Sam to do that for me. "S-Sam…Sammy—"

"Dean? Is that you? What the hell is going on?" Great. He's freaking out too.

"Hospital. I have to go to the hospital. Is that okay?"

"Hospital?" he says calming marginally, realizing he's got to figure this out for me. "The doctor's coming by my love. Are you that worried? I'll come straight home to get you."

"The doctor's here Sam. He says he has to take me to the hospital. Ambulance is on its way. Is that okay?"

"Jesus Dean. Of course that's okay. I'll meet you there. What happened?"

"Blood," I say. "Blood, everywhere."

The line goes silent then I hear a smash. He threw the phone. I know Sam well enough by now to know he's not mad at me for this. He's fucking worried out of his gord and I didn't exactly give him the most reassuring explanation. I think I'm going into shock, because, well, oh God, I don't even want to admit this, but I fucking suck around blood, okay? It's all I can do not to faint, but I am feeling really fucking dizzy.

"Come on honey. Let's get you downstairs."

I don't know why I fucking do it. I know it's a bad idea, but I stick my hand between my legs. The blood is coming from my ass. I can feel it and now I can see it. "Um, Dr. Angel?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Catch me?"


When I wake up, I'm in a hospital bed. I'm hooked up to machines and in a fucking hospital gown. Sam is in an chair beside me looking as ragged as he did the other day. When he sees me sit up, he stops me and grabs my hand. "Dean, oh god Dean. Don't ever scare me like that again—I thought I was going to lose you."

"Lose me? What happened, Sammy?"

He licks his lips and stares at me much like he did in our first days together; cold and hard. But now I know it means he's thinking, and he doesn't want to tell me.

"How long was I out? Am I going to be okay?" I try, 'cause I'm still not getting anything from my husband who's tearing up. His eyes are already red-rimmed, probably from crying while I was out. He's holding something in his other hand than looks like a film of some sort.

He nods. "You were out for awhile. The doctor thinks so, but we don't know for sure. This is unprecedented."

"What is? Sam," I growl. "Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me."

That's when the doctor walks in. Dr. Angel. He's all smiles and is a helluva lot more cheery than Sam is. "Ah. Dean sweetheart. How you feeling?"

"Good?" I say it like a question, because I do feel good, but hooked up as I am, I feel like I shouldn't feel good.

"We should be able to send you home soon. There are a few more tests we'd like to run on you, but not to worry, we are quite certain that you and the baby are fine."

"B-Baby?" I look at my husband. "Sam?"

Sam's speechless. The doctor speaks for him. "Oops! Sorry, my bad. I didn't mean to spill the beans. I thought you would have told him Sam."

Sam is staring at me with an indescribable look on his face. I don’t know if he's happy, sad, worried, mad, freaked out…probably all of the above.

Maybe I misheard Cas when he told me about his doctors, maybe this is the quack doctor. "I think you've got me confused for someone else. I mean, I was wearing a dress earlier, but look." I whip my dick out. "I'm a boy. A real boy. I can't…I don't have a baby. I think you're looking at the wrong chart doc."

He shakes his head. "Believe me Dean, it's not everyday I tell a man he's pregnant. I haven't got the charts mixed up," he's smiling like a fucking ray of sunshine. "You're going to be a mother."

Sam glares at him. "Don't get him excited. There's no guarantee the pregnancy is going to survive. What about the complications you spoke of?"

He waves his hand. "Pishaw. No pregnancy is guaranteed. The stuff that can go wrong would blow your mind. It's why women often died in childbirth and still do, and don't get me started on still births and other complications. Dean's pregnancy will be more delicate, only because we don't know as much about this, but it's got just as good a chance as any other pregnancy. Here, you wanna see, sweetheart?"

I haven't even fucking digested the fact that somehow, I'm fucking pregnant and he's snatching the thing Sam was holding out of his hand and shoving what I can now see is an ultrasound picture at me. "See? There he is right there. You're about two months along."

I should be asking a lot of other fucking questions right now, but the only one I can form words for is, "um, he?"

"Oh, sorry honey. Shouldn't have said that. Don't know the sex yet, but we will be able to find out in another three months."

Sam glowers at the doctor again.

"Right. Well I'll leave you two for a moment. I'm sure there are a lot of questions you're going to need answered and I can answer some of them, but like I said, we need to do a few more tests and I'll fill in as many blanks as I can."

The doctor leaves me staring at the picture, the picture of my baby and I'm glad I have something to look at because I can't find it in me to look at Sam yet. He's definitely mostly pissed off. Oh my god, what if he says I have to get rid of it? I don’t know how I'd feel about that; I mean, I don't know how I feel about any of it yet, but if this is somehow really real and not just some cruel fucking joke, I want to keep my baby.

"Sam? Talk to me."

"I'm so worried, Dean. I can't…I can't lose you."

I shake my head. "Not going to lose me, I swear, but what do you think…about this?" I hold the picture out to him.

All my fears are assuaged when his face breaks out into the biggest fucking smile I've ever seen from him. "Dean I…while you were out, I stared at that picture and I dared to dream that maybe everything would be okay and maybe you'll have this baby and fuck…it's more perfect than anything I'd envisioned. I mean, I would have gone the surrogate route and been all right with that, but a baby made from just you and me is so much better," he sighs. "But Dean, what if…what if…"

"I'm a lot stronger than you're giving me credit for Sam Campbell. I'm going to be just fine."

He shuts up and nods.

"But, you're not attracted to women—you don't like girl parts—"

He cuts me off by grabbing my flaccid cock. "I don’t think this is girl part, do you? All the girl parts are inside you and I can't see them anyway and even if I could, whenever I look at this," he says referring to the picture; the picture of our fucking baby. "I'm grateful for them. Besides, they're Dean parts now and I love all Dean's parts."

Chapter Text

I'm laying on the bed waiting for Sam.

I've only known about the baby for two days, but I've already got my dress pulled up, with my hand on my belly trying to see if I can feel…it. I feel fucking bad calling it an it, but I don't know if it's a him or her and it's too fucking cumbersome saying that every time, so deal.

The doctor is coming by today to give us the results of more tests he had rushed (Sam hasn't lost his fortune yet and it talks) and hopefully fill in just how the flying fuck this happened and what pregnancy might look like for me.

So far it's not fucking fun. Sam is a paranoid freak.

He's had me set up in the bedroom with strict instructions not to leave the bed for any reason. "How am I supposed to pee?" I asked. His solution? Call for someone each time (though thank god it wasn't a bed pan). I didn't realize just how much more I was peeing 'till I started calling for someone every time I had to fucking pee. So I kinda stopped doing that and just hope Sam doesn't catch me. Next time, he can have the baby and see how logical it is to call someone every time you have to piss.

Whoa. I'm so going to use that line on…everyone. Well, everyone who hasn't had a baby.

The doctor didn't put me on bed rest, just so that's clear, Sam did and I'm humoring him 'till the doctor tells us the results of the other tests and scans, but there's no fucking way I'm spending thirty-two more weeks in this bed.

For now, it is probably what's best. We don't know a lot, just that I was born with both sets of reproductive organs. The doctor originally diagnosed me with a new form of Intersex, formerly known as Hermaphroditism.

But lucky me, I am an unusual case. The unusual, of the unusual and he just didn't think he could classify me in that category, so, more tests.

If I had any of the cases of intersex currently known today, since I clearly have the external genitalia of a male (as Doc Angel put it), I should then have two 'X' chromosomes, which would explain why I have the internal reproductive structure of a female. Sex organs differentiate in utero. In plain English, we all begin with the same reproductive structure, until it changes into what's required for a boy or a girl. Even intersex people can't possibly get two sets of internal reproductive materials, though they have sometimes been known to have two sets of external genitalia. I've got both; on the inside at least.

Chromosomally, I'm all male. I have an 'X' and a 'Y' chromosome, as males do, yet I have both sets of internal reproductive equipment. The doctor has zero clue what happened in utero and can only speculate, but he did find that, um, apparently, I do have, uh, the other external part under the skin, in, uh, that area. He doesn't think it's well formed, but he thinks it could possibly be usable after a few surgeries to get it 'up and operating.' It's got it's own cervix and he thinks it's a future delivery option for a second baby.

Yeah, that's right. Second baby—he's already onto my next pregnancy, excited about having a miracle patient, and I'm still freaking out about this first one thanks.

I politely told him I was good with the penis thanks and we'll leave the (wacko) vagina buried. I fucking like having a penis.

We're going to find out more of the details today, the results of the hormone tests and maybe even the 'how the fuck I actually got pregnant.' There's no access to the cervix attached to the weirdo secret vagina; how'd the sperm get in?

But right now, as I'm fucking waiting, I don't care about the how's or the why's. I'm marveling. I feel special. I've never felt this way. I was always just Dean Winchester, the unimportant third child to Mary and John Winchester.

And now I've been blessed with this. I feel so fucking cliché, but it really is a fucking miracle. I'm already daydreaming and I think the pregnancy hormones have kicked in, big time, because I've got tears in my eyes for no reason when Sam comes to get me.

Sam. Oh god Sam. He's a nervous fucking wreck. He gets nervous if the wind starts blowing the wrong way and starts making phone calls to see if there's someone who can fix it. "Dean. Are you hurt? Is the baby hurt? How can Daddy fix it?"

I sit up and wipe my eyes sniffling. "I'm all right Sam. These are happy tears."

"I don't know. It seems too hot in here, don't you feel hot?" he says opening a window. "Have you eaten? You should eat. You're eating for two now."

"Yes, I ate and I always eat for two Sam."

"Then you should eat for three."

I'm not going to survive this pregnancy and it won't be due to complications, it will be due to my crazy husband.

"I'll eat for three Sam," I say to make him happy. I'm hoping he'll settle down once the initial shock wears off.

"Dr. Angel is here. He wouldn't listen to me when I told him to come upstairs. Apparently you must accompany us outside."

Not only is Dr. Angel a super, kick-ass, physician, he must also be a wizard. He's go to tell me how he got Sam to do what he wanted.

He begins slipping his arm under my legs and back. "Sam? What do you think you're doing? I'm perfectly capable of walking downstairs."

"What if you fall?"

"Sam," I growl. "I'm not going to fall."

"You shouldn't be getting worked up either."

"Then let me go."


To my fucking surprise he does, straightening out my long skirt. This dress is coral and a plain cotton material without sleeves. It's very flowie and airy.

He makes sure to hold my hand and guide me down the stairs like I've never done it before. I want to snap at him, but I have to remind myself, he's doing it from a place of extreme caring and not from trying to annoy the shit out of me.

Dr. Angel is out on the veranda and sitting by easels that have poster boards set up on them. Wow, he must have been up late putting all this together. Sam sets me up on the cushy couch that's out here and scoops my legs up, as he sits down, placing my bare feet in his lap. "I'm sorry, Doc, I'd get up to shake your hand, but apparently I'm an invalid."

Sam scowls at me.

"Not to worry, Dean," he says standing. "I think what I have here will soothe you both sweetie."

Sam looks nervous as he begins massaging my feet, so he has something to do with his hands. I have no idea what's going through that head of his. He won't say much, other than to tell me what I should be doing or should not be doing. I know he wants the baby, but that's about it.

"This is my rendition of your insides, Dean."

"Oh God. Somehow I feel violated," I blurt out.

The doctor laughs. "Don't, it's a very scientific sort of drawing, like one you'd find in an anatomy book. But I want you do get an idea of what you might look like, so you can understand what I think happened. How I think you got pregnant. Please understand, much of this is speculation, there is only so much information we can gather with just the one case to study, but I think perhaps, there are more cases out there that are maybe undiscovered," he says excited as fuck.

He clears his throat. "But let's focus on you Dean. Everything in the front of the house is the same. Testes, urethra, epididymis, seminiferous tubules…"

"I don’t' know what half of that stuff is, doc."

"Without giving you a whole biology lesson, which I'm sure you don't want, all your sperm making equipment is present and where it should be, and is properly associated with your prostate and seminal vesicle—which are more toward the back of the house—it's intact and is working. It's as we move back from the bladder, where we get differentiation from usual male anatomy. Your bladder is a little more forward, like it might be in a woman, to make way for your uterus and fallopian tubes. As I said there is a cervix that comes down from your uterus, leading potentially to an opening, which, with the right team of surgeons, we could get up and functioning, huh? Huh? What do you say, honey?"

"Still no, Dr. Angel. Sorry. At least for the moment." I don't want to lead the guy on, he seems pretty excited about it, but I don't want to hurt his feelings either.

"It is a bit soon, no need to make decisions right now."

Or ever. "So I get it that much doc, on the outside I'm a man, but on the inside, I'm…this," I say pointing to his neat and tidy anatomy lesson. "But how did it happen?"

"This is the best part. It was hard for me to figure out at first, but after staring at the scans long enough, I figured it out, or at least, I've figured out a probable enough hypothesis. The answer," he says all fucking giddy. "You have two cervixes coming off your uterus. Two! Can you believe that?"

I can't believe any of it. I don't answer.

"And guess where the second cervix leads out?"

"China?" I say.

He laughs. "No, no. But you are funny dear. Your rectum, then to your anus."

I think that means the same thing. "But…isn't that, not good for the baby?" I say a little worried. "What about…?"

"Feces? Well, you're right. It could potentially be a problem, for not just the baby, but you too even sans baby. But this is the most incredible part," he says bursting, like he's an archeologist that just found the new T-rex. Or maybe found out that the male T-rex can have babies.

"You've got a rectal epiglottis. Well, that's the name I've given it and clearly you've got some kind of cervical glottis, but of course by now the plug has formed so—"

"English, doc. I need English. Not all of us have medical degrees." I'm the one running this god damn conversation since my husband has taken a fucking vow of silence or something and our doctor clearly has designs on a Nobel fucking prize.

"Sorry, sweetie. It's just so exciting." He pulls out his iPad and shows us a cartoon animation of swallowing, because apparently that's how my 'rectal epiglottis' works. For those of you who are not so much into science I'll give you the ol' Dean run down of this process.

Basically when you swallow the chewed food is pressed by the tongue, up against the roof of your mouth and back toward the pharynx, but let's just call the pharynx the airway, okay?

This causes a pressure, which in turn activates receptors in the swallowing center of your brain. A bunch of shit happens, but most specific to how this relates to me, is the closing of the laryngeal muscles (larynx, otherwise known as the 'voice box.') They contract and close something called the glottis which is like two doors sliding together. Then, the 'epiglottis' (a leaf-shaped flap) shuts like a fucking trapdoor, over the glottis. Batta bingo, batta bango, breathing is stopped momentarily. The gross, chewed, food, shit slides down the esophagus, like a cart on a roller coaster, pushed by special contractions that if you want to be fucking technical about it, you could call peristalsis.

"You're saying my 'parts' include a swallowing like mechanism? No pun intended doc, but that's a bit hard to swallow."

"Sorry, hun. I know it is, but there is definitely the presence of both muscles that close over the entrance of your second, shorter canaled, cervix and a larger, leaf-shaped flap that reminds me of the epiglottis. Hypothetically, when feces would move down your rectum as it does using involuntary muscle contractions, the second cervix seems to move forward creating sort of a mechanical lever and the 'rectal epiglottis' flaps over your second cervix. This closing would create a positive pressure inside the cervix, the equivalent to subglottic pressure in the larynx (voice box) during swallowing. The feces can slide by the opening, which is quite a ways away from your anus, where the feces leaves the body. But by this point, I'm going to assume you have the added protection of the cervical plug created by the body out of mucus, the same as what happens during female pregnancies. It's a barrier to prevent anything getting into the uterus, like bacteria and such."

"Let's say all of this is true," Sam finally says. "It doesn't seem to make for optimal conception, or delivery."

Doc Angel nods. "You're right Sam. Especially due to the position of the second, shorter, cervix. It's quite a ways up and I do have a hard time imaging sperm finding it's way up so far, but I hypothesize that with the right length appendage," he winks at Sam. "It's worked some how. Still, even with something of the right length, because of the position of the flap and the way I think it works, I would presume it would be closed, or the sperm would just pass by during intercourse. It's quite miraculous how this little one got in there, but he did."

That's the second time the doctor's referred to our baby as a 'he,' even though he's said he doesn't know the sex yet, but right now I'm having a much more embarrassing thought, that as much as I don't wan to say it, I feel we owe it to doc Angel. "Um, so I think I know how going off of what you said."

"You do?" he says and I don't blame him for doubting my scientific expertise.

It's something Sam and I have done often enough. "Yeah. Um. I'm no doctor, so you tell me, but say um, some sperm was put up there and left up there with, er, um—" I'm red as a fucking tomato.

Thankfully the doctor, who seems to have no problems talking about this shit takes over for me. "A butt plug? Why, yes! Yes, indeed! That's it, that's got to be how it happened. I don’t know why I didn't think of that. My husband and I—"

"Okay. TMI doc. TMI. Let's just leave it as the most likely reason to our little mystery baby." I can't help reaching a hand over where I think it is, like I'm protecting it. "I know I already asked you about this, but…you keep calling it a he."

"Sorry, slip of the tongue. I shouldn't be doing that and don’t usually, I just think there's a higher chance of the baby being a boy since you both donate an 'X' and a 'Y' chromosome. I propose that only gives you a twenty-five percent chance of having a girl, but you could very well still have a girl. This baby is a miracle in the first place, I'm just going to keep waiting for more miracles to happen."

I turn to Sam and smile. I can see he wants so bad to be happy, to be excited about this, but he's worried about me. "I have to ask doctor, how is it that no one bloody well knew about this? Most women who are within reproductive age have a menstrual cycle. To my knowledge and Dean's, he's had no such occurrence."

"This is the second most exciting part," the doc says far too fucking giddy. "Dean's original hormone profiles showed, for lack of a better term, just how 'man' he is. It's why you began bleeding Dean. You very nearly lost your baby."

Just the fucking thought of that brings tears to my eyes. I already fucking love this thing. I can't believe it. I just found out, but I might as well have found out at the dawn of time, because I feel like I've loved it forever. "Don't cry, my belle. All is safe. Doctor?" he says with eyes that say 'make him cry again and they'll never find your body.'

He's not intimidated by Sam. "Sorry, sweetheart. As I was saying, your hormones sway 'male' you see," he says to me. "You have high androgen levels, I think that's why you have such a, phenomenal penis," he says like you would say the grass is green.

I blush and wipe at tears, fucking hormones. "Androgens, doc?"

"Right, sorry. Male hormones dear; Testosterone, dihydrotestosterone and androstenedione. It's why you have such a healthy male reproductive system, you would have no problems impregnating someone if you wished.

"This is why I think Dean's female organs were something that had to have happened early on in his in utero development, but as I speculated initially, I don't think there was just a differentiation when the sex organs were formed, or you'd have only one set of internal reproductive organs. I think somehow you ended up with extra DNA of some sort, or quite possibly there was a genetic mutation, or more likely multiple changes in epigenetic expression dating back generations in your family leading to the evolution of the first true male able to conceive and carry. In fact, I now completely denounce my original theory that you are intersex, because it's just not possible. This is Darwinism at work. This means your children could carry the gene and pass this trait on. We could be seeing the first in a long line of male carriers, there may even be more out there already—only time will tell.

"But back to hormones. Since there is enough female type hormones present in utero development, this could have allowed your uterus to develop at that time, but later, due to your androgen levels, I think you've had a severe case of polycystic ovary syndrome, leading to a severe case of secondary Amenorrhea."

"Um, but to save me from Wikipediaing all this later…"

"Of course, sweetie. In a woman, hormone imbalances, in other words, the incorrect ratio of female hormones lead to these maladies in women. Amenorrhea is the absence of a menstrual cycle for three months or more, which is one of the symptoms of polycystic ovary syndrome."

"Well, but shouldn't my, um, uterus have dried up after all these years?"

"No Dean. It doesn't happen that way with women with these syndromes. These syndromes can be reversible, with the worst side effects being early menopause, infertility, and a few other pesky things, but definitely not shriveled up uterus," he smirks, amused. "In fact, I was able to find an instance of a true intersex man who was considered ninety-five percent man, based on hormone profiles, but had a small, fairly unhealthy uterus. With doses of female hormones, the doctors were able to get his atrophied uterus up and running. He didn't make eggs though, and had to conceive via implantation, but it worked. He was considered the first true male pregnancy, until now. You have your own eggs Dean."

I crack a smile at him, because he's quite cute. It's like I'm a son he's proud of and anything I do is better than anybody else. I really fucking like Doc Angel.

"That's how I saved your baby, if you wanted to know. Female hormones. It was a huge guess at the time, but I didn’t have much to work with and it was a fairly safe remedy. If I had been wrong, it wouldn't have hurt you based on the dose I gave you—perhaps just a few minor side affects—but I did indeed dose you with more female hormones to save your baby and you. You were running right on the border, with just the right ratio of hormones to keep this pregnancy going. You should be okay now, I think we've pushed the cascade toward, um, we'll call it 'pregnancy state.' I will keep a close eye on your hormones and give you more if I need to, to prevent miscarry."

"Female hormones? Am I going to grow breasts doc?"

For the first time, the doctor flushes, he doesn't want to answer that, knowing how I'll react.

"Spit it out, Doc."

"You might. You won't be a playboy centerfold, but the tissue around your nipples could change and soften, like in gynecomastia. I'm basing this purely on your special biology Dean, but since you do have both systems; I think you might even be able to feed the baby," he says that last part a little too excited. "I could be completely wrong about this of course. It's just a hypothesis."

Dear God. "What triggered this in the first place? Is this because of all that freaking kale/soy crap Sam's been making me eat?" Sam tends to order what he considers 'health crap' for dinner often, but now he gets me steak sometimes.

"Actually, I didn't know that, but now that I do yes. It's very possible. Not the kale of course, but the soy. Soy is highly estrogenic. They don't even allow cancer patients to consume it and it's been banned from use in infant formula in the UK since 2005. It is actually the equivalent to giving your infant three to five birth control pills a day—that's a lot of estrogen. Studies on rats, sheep and monkeys in combination with multiple reports from pediatricians and parents, suggest that soy in infant soy formulas can irreversibly harm the baby's later sexual development and reproductive health. It's serious business. The phytoestrogens in soy strongly resemble the natural estrogens produced by humans as well as the synthetic estrogens in birth control pills. Even though they are not actually hormones, but mimickers, the human body mistakes them for hormones. We've found that in male infants consuming soy formula, the receptor sites intended for testosterone can become occupied by soy estrogens and appropriate development may never take place. It delays physical maturation and some of these boys end up with breasts. So yes, I do think this is the likely reason it pushed your hormone cascade toward the ratio required to kick start your menstrual cycle and another good reason to open up the 'exit door' to your first cervix—to see what's in there. Since you don't seem to have had any negative symptoms, it's possible that you just happened to get pregnant on your first ovulation cycle ever. But we can worry about that later, for now, I strongly advise you both not to consume any soy, nor feed it to your child. If you'd like to continue having babies in the future, I can give you the necessary hormones, if you end up needing them. It's better to have a controlled situation rather than eating soy and garnering who knows how many phytoestrogens. Sorry. Got on a bit of a soap box there, but I'm really against soy."

"Woo hoo! No more freaking soy!" I say.

Sam can't help smiling at me.

"Well. You've got to be relieved too, you can't possibly have liked that junk," I say.

"I guess I am a bit relieved."

"There you have it. My hypothesis on the who, what, when, where, why as far as I know it. We will learn many things as we go along I'm sure."

"Speaking of moving forward, what can and can't Dean do?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, what can Dean do?"

Doc Angel thinks we're funny. "Well Dean should get lots of fresh air and exercise, within reason of course. Both are good for him and the baby," he says. "He is not on bed rest." He's definitely lecturing Sam. "There really isn't a difference at this point, now that I'm monitoring him closely. The only thing I do ask is that you stay nearby—don't go on any vacations."

I look at Sam knowing what that means. It's getting closer to the time of my sister having her baby and we were supposed to go out there. We'll have to cancel that trip. I'm disappointed, but of course I don't want to leave the safety of Doc Angel's monitoring, since he knows my situation and seems to genuinely care. I'm like, his greatest scientific discovery.

"I can do that. I want this baby, we want this baby. We'll do whatever it takes."

"I wouldn't recommend too much coffee and no alcohol of course, the combo of excess amounts of both is what probably stressed your liver and thus your steroid hormone production in the first place leading to that almost miss carry. A little bit of coffee is okay. Even a small amount of alcohol will not kill your baby. Many cultures around the world think we're quite silly with our zero alcohol tolerance to alcohol while pregnant. The Italians believe a little red wine is good for the baby. But since we are working with so many unknowns, I'd say it's best to avoid it all together. You may even want to consider avoiding caffeine all together as well."

No alcohol. No caffeine. No soy. Got it. I'm not fucking taking any chances.

"But enjoy! You're having a baby. This is exciting, Hun. I'm a bit envious. I wish my partner could carry for us," he says with a wink. "You two are very lucky."

"When can we, um…when can we you know, tell people?"

"The decision is up to you. The standard is twelve weeks, but some wait a little longer. You're not nearly showing yet, I think you could get away with waiting till sixteen weeks if you wanted. I'm not saying you should, I'm only telling you all of these things so you can make a better informed decision for yourselves. I don't want to be negative, Dean, but this is a situation where we don't know everything. Male pregnancy 'till now has only ever been theorized and was once attempted by a doctor unsuccessfully, so we have some information to go off of, but no male has ever had all the parts to do this properly, you are the very first. We are pioneers together. Do as you feel is best."


We have lunch and tea (I drink decaf) with Doc Angel and ask him a few more less serious questions. He tells us he plans to find the best OBGYN to both work alongside him with our pregnancy and perform the C-section for us, but he will be there assisting that day and all the way through.

"On that note, I don't know how long a male pregnancy lasts. Normally C-sections are booked a bit before a woman's actual due date. I'm hesitant to do that with you. I'm going to discuss it with the OBG, but I suspect we'll wait until you actually begin contractions."

Doc Angel also plans on hormone testing me every week, 'till he's certain my hormones have taken off toward pregnancy, which means he'll be here every week. That put Sam at ease…a little. He also assured us that we can resume regular sexual activities and that even spanking is okay. "So long at you're not too rough," he says with a fucking wink. Why is it, that even our doctor is a kinky perv? I expect he's a drag queen in his off time.

When he leaves, I decide to take the doctor's advice and go for a walk. "Where do you think you're going?" Sam says as I get up from the table.

"The doctor said exercise, which I haven't had in two days," I challenge him. I'm suddenly different; I've already gone Mama bear. I'm doing what's best for my baby and Sam can go hang himself.

"I see that look in your eye, mother of my child," he says not even able to stop himself smiling when he says that. "I heard the doctor loud and clear, but you will hear me. We will follow all of the advice the doctor has given us, but you are still accountable to me and you will ask when you want to do things like go walking. I want to know where you are at all times. What if you suddenly start bleeding again? Collapse god knows where on our fifty-seven acres? No. I won't have it Dean. You will be accompanied whenever you go outside for the duration of this pregnancy and you will carry a cell phone on you at all times. Am I perfectly clear?"

I don't like it, but he's right. Any of those things could happen, I don't want to take any chances. "Yes, Daddy," I say coyly.

"Wait for me here. I will go change and then I will accompany you on your walk if you must."


Sam looks good in khaki shorts and golf shirts and fuck, the sunglasses. I hardly get to see him dressed so casually. I love him in his suits and all, but they're so stuffy.

He made me put on shoes and we walk hand in hand along the perimeter. "So no tofu and no shellfish. Do you have any other aversions I should know about? I'll make sure they never appear on the menu."

"Not yet, Sammy, but Sam?"

"Yes, my belle?"

"You've been home for two days, what's happening with work?"

"That's not something you should trouble yourself with, or stress over. And besides, I've been working from home. I'm going to work from home as often as I can so I can be here in case you need me."

"While I love you would do that for me Sam, you don't need to. I've got a kazillion staff, my own private doctor, and I was thinking, if you were okay with it, maybe Charlie could come stay with me for a bit?"

He wrinkles his nose at that idea, but he doesn't say no. "I'll think about it, but for now, I want to be here. Fuck. I've never been so happy and so fucking terrified all at once."

"That's how all first time Fathers feel, Sam."

"This is different. I haven't had time to be terrified about the baby yet, I'm too worried about you. It's not that I don't think you're strong, but even the strongest of women have died having babies; you're a man. Men aren't supposed to have babies, it just isn't done."

I can understand his fears and there isn't much I can do to assuage them. I can try to distract him with humor. "Well I'm going to be a man having a baby, show everyone how it's done."

"Your arrogance is going to get you killed."

"I'm not going to die. I've survived you haven't I?"

That makes him smile. "I guess."

"So what are we going to name it?"

"Shouldn't we wait to talk about things like that? Maybe 'till the pregnancy is a little more secure?"

I ignore him. "If it's a boy, I was hoping Jonathan after my father. I would have said Samuel, but well, I didn't know if you'd want it anymore. Perhaps you'd be okay with it as a middle name?"

"I would have given my grandfather that honor as well, if things had been different, but now I barely want to share the name with him. I don't want Samuel for a boy, but I would be willing to have Samantha, for a girl, so someone can have my name, and…for my mother."

Right. I think I remember seeing that in the journal I found, somewhere. "I like it. Maybe Samantha Mary…for my mother too?"

"Yes. And I like Jonathan for a boy's name, but you don't want to put your name in there at all?"

"Not really. I was hoping to sneak the name Winchester by you if you really didn't want Samuel."

Sam stops us walking and turns me to face him. "Why? Why wouldn't you want Dean?"

"It's a boring name. What kid wants the name Dean?"

"Dean," he growls low.

I look at the ground. "Dean isn't much. I'm nobody Sam. Who wants to be named after a nobody?"

"You're lucky you're pregnant Dean Campbell. If you weren't, you'd be getting my belt right now. Why would you think such a thing? Wait, don't answer that. I know. Your brother. If he weren't your brother, I'd kill him."

"It's not his fault Sam. I'm the one who's always screwing up. He was right, about every word. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't even be with you."

"Well I can't argue with that last part, but only because he sent me the photo of you, but I'm certainly not with you because of him. I was enchanted with you Dean. You're not a screw up and if I ever hear you say that again, the punishment will be severe. Of course I'll save it for after you have the baby, but I will remember. You're the best person I know. You're kind, forgiving—though I still say too forgiving—smart, talented, and God Dean, you're happy no matter what. I don't know how you do it, but you're happy even though I get the impression that your life hasn't been roses, has it?"

No. If I'm honest it hasn't, but I don't like to talk, or even think about the things I'd rather not have happened, at the top of the list: My parents dying. "No, but it is roses now. You're right. I won't talk about myself that way, but I still don't think I want a Dean Junior."

"Well, I do. And after all, it's what I want that matters."

Right Sam Campbell. His actions have proven by now, that's not near true. I laugh.

"His name can be Dean Jonathan Winchester Campbell, after the greatest men to ever live. But no son of mine will be a Progressionist, I'm sorry, baby. This home is a Traditionalist home."

"So you've said."

He pulls me to him and kisses me soft at first, then harder. When he pulls away I'm panting. "You know, I think it's stressful for the baby to get me worked up like that and not finish…"

"You do, do you?"

"Yep. Besides, don't you want to see what kinda panties I've got on?"


It's seven days and a doctor check-up where I get to meet Dr. Harvelle the OBG, who prefers to go by her first name, Ellen, before Sam feels comfortable to go into work and only because he absolutely has to.

Ellen brings along her daughter, Jo who is a mid-wife. Doc Angel is really covering all bases. He hinted again that if I would like to deliver naturally in future, like say if I underwent the surgery to open up my other 'parts,' and assuming everything went well this time around, I wouldn’t even need an OBG and perhaps could just use a mid-wife.

In any case, I have quite the team looking after me and both Sam and I relax a little more. My hormones are looking good, though Doc Angel and Ellen agree I swing more toward the 'male side.' They're still going to have to watch me closely.

We haven't told anyone yet, though I've been dying to tell Cas. I'm not even sure Sam's told him, since he's spent the time he's not been in his office with me. I'm not planning on losing this baby, but if I do, I know I'd tell Cas about that anyway. He's one of my best friends.

I'm not really 'showing' yet. I've got the tiniest of bumps, but it just looks like I've eaten too many burritos or something—those things give me gas. In the dress I'm wearing, you can't tell at all, but of course I'm going to lift up and fucking show him—it's Cas, were close like that.

"Dean? Oh thank God! Please tell me he's gone. I can't stand another day locked up in here, pretending to be ill."

I know a way he can stop having to pretend, but I don't bring that up. I don't want to fight with him, I want to tell him the news. "There's a reason Sam's been home so much lately…" I tell him everything, about the hospital and the baby and what they found out about me. I can tell by his expression that he can hardly believe it and I'm sure both Sam's and my face looked similar when we first found out. "Here," I say handing him the ultrasound pic.

"Ashton! Ashton!" Cas shouts out to the room.

"You're not being punk'd dude, that show hasn't aired since like, 2007." Though I have to admit, I thought I was being punk'd too.

"Then that means…"

"Yep. You're going to be an uncle."

"Yipee! Finally!" He jumps up and we hug, but then he jumps away. "Whoa! Guess I gotta be careful."

"Not you too, Cas. I'm fine."

He laughs. "Yeah. Guess Sam is freaking."

"Like you wouldn't believe. But let's go down to the garden today. I want to introduce…"

"Aw. You want to introduce baby Winchester."

"He's baby Campbell," I say glaring at him. It's not just my baby, it's Sam's too.

"Take it easy, Mama bear. I only said it because I call you Winchester. Deal with it. But…he?"

"Yeah, didn't tell you that part. So the doctor thinks we've only got twenty-five percent chance of it being a girl. It's most likely a he—I'm kind of tired of calling the baby an it. I feel like an ass."

We do make it down to the garden. Bobby's already there; he comes whether we do or not. I give him and Michael the run down and realize this is going to be the longest birth announcement ever. It also takes me forever to convince them I'm fine to work.

Finally Cas relents and hands me a shovel. "You may need some bigger jeans, those are looking a smidge tight already."

"Ass. They are not. You can hardly see anything. The baby's like the size of a pea." But I make sure my shirt is pulled down as far as it can go. I'm able to do everything, but I am tired and apparently this baby doesn't seem to know that morning sickness is supposed to happen in the morning. I pretty much feel nauseous all afternoon and have to eat bread and crackers from the food basket to try and keep from puking. I do puke once.

I head in earlier than usual to lie down, since I'm fucking tired still, I put my blue sundress back on and head up to the house. I freeze when I see Sam's beat me home. "There you are," he says angrily. "I was just about to call you. No one knew where you were. I thought something happened. I thought—"

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "I um, I went for a walk. Didn't know you were coming home so early."

"I didn't either, but it's nice to know when I'm not here, my rules are followed," he says sarcastically. "I'm only your husband, the one who worries sick over you and you can't abide a simple order."

"I'm sorry, Sam."

"I know the doctor said I could spank you and you deserve it, but truth be told, I'm too afraid just yet. I can confine you to the house Dean—you can get just as much sun on the veranda. Disobey me again and that is what I will do."

He's not doing it this time? "Yes, Daddy," I say hoping it will soften him. It does, marginally, I can still feel all his Sam coldness when he pulls me to him.

"Sam, I really am sorry, I didn't go far and, I'll make sure to follow your rules in future." Fuck. If he keeps coming home at unexpected times, how am I going to continue going to the garden?

"Please make this easier on Daddy. This pregnancy's going to kill me as it is. Maybe we just have one baby?"

"It's too soon to say, let's have this one first."

He's quiet for a little bit swaying me side to side and basking in my scent. "You look beautiful in that dress."

"Thank-you, you want to see how beautiful I look out of this dress?" Unfortunately I fucking yawn.

"I do, but first, you're having a nap. I'd better not find out you're overexerting yourself."

"What will you do to me if I do?" He's already said he's not comfortable spanking me at the moment.

"You don't want to find out."

Chapter Text

There's a reason men don’t have babies.

It's the same reason they call it 'Man-Cold' when a man has a cold, because men are babies when they're sick. Yep. I admit it. We are legit fucking babies when we're sick. We want to be coddled, we want food brought to us; 'woe-is you's' complete with head pats are a must.

But a fucking 'Man-Pregnancy?' Multiply 'Man-Cold' by one thousand and you have me.

I've reached the sixteen week mark. My sister had her baby over a month ago, and while I was excited, me being pregnant completely over shadowed that event. I still cried when I saw the pictures (fucking hormones) and when they Skype called me.

We haven't told anyone yet. During the call, they could only see my upper half and besides, I wore a dress, which I've been wearing a lot of now since all my jeans are too tight. The dresses still hide my now fairly pronounced baby bump, but not for much longer. Except, apparently (according too my sister) my face looks a little puffy. I almost lost it on her. I'm self-conscious enough about my ever growing stomach and now I have to hear how my face is following suit? Fuck that. I mean, she doesn't know I'm pregnant, but still.

It's been hard getting down to the garden, since Sam has been home a lot and since we haven't made any announcements yet, he wouldn't allow Charlie to come, but said we would discuss it again once we decided to make the announcement.

For now, I'm just fucking miserable. Don't get me wrong, I'm still fucking excited about this baby, but pregnancy is for the birds. And because I'm a man, a whole bunch of shit is different, combined with a lot of the same shit in female pregnancies, at a much stronger force.

Sam has been very patient with me, but I can tell his patience is wearing thin. Not only am I a pain in his ass (I fully admit it, I wouldn't want to live with me either) work sucks for him. He still won't tell me the details, but I can tell shit isn't good. Normally, I'd be far more helpful, not making him worry about me too, but I'm too wrapped up in my 'pregnancy problems.'

"This is your fault. You. You did this to me." I come ranting into the dining room. This time I'm not wearing a dress, but a loose fit pair of jogging pants and a blue t-shirt, which rides up my torso, completely exposing my belly. He's sitting there, jaw tight, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else and I don't think he approves of my choice of clothing. I'm sure he doesn't care about the jogging pants, but I knew when I left the bedroom he wouldn’t care for the way my shirt fits. I decided I didn't give a shit.

"What's the matter, precious? Is it something Daddy can fix?"

"Not unless you can carry this baby for me the rest of the time. What's the deal with the 'morning' sickness that happens all God damn day? They should just call it sickness. And all the fucking books say it should have ended by the end of the first trimester, well I've got news for them, that's all fucking lies. I think we should sue them for fucking dishonesty and getting me all hopeful. I'm still tired, I have to piss every two seconds, my back already hurts and I'm fat. You probably think I'm ugly."

"I've told you my belle, I think you're more beautiful—"

"Do not tell me I have a fucking pregnant glow, Sam Campbell. My sister already said my face is fat."

"She didn't say it like that, Baby."

Sam is getting angry and doing his all to hold back from throttling me. I don't care. He can fucking suck it up.

"Do you need some larger shirts, sweetheart?"

"Larger shirts?" I glare at him. "You do think I'm fat."

"No, it's just, that one looks—"

"There's nothing wrong with this one," I say making an attempt to pull my shirt down that doesn't work.

He's smart enough to stay quiet after that. The staff bring out our meal. "Oh my god. Are you kidding me with this shit? I can't eat this. Sam," I gag. "I've been off of seafood since day one." I start to fucking gag more and have to run to puke in the plant. Thankfully the offending piece of halibut is away from my place at the table by the time I'm back, but Sam still has his and I can fucking smell it. I put my hand over my mouth and nose.

"Sam," I say pointing. "That has to go."

He snaps his fingers and a staff member comes to take it away. "I thought it was just shellfish, darling?"

"All seafood." I drink some water to get the now constant puke taste out of my mouth. I swear my stomach acid is going to burn my esophagus away if this keeps up.

"I'm sorry, baby. Daddy didn't know."

Aw. Sam. Poor Sam. Having to fucking deal with me. And he's so patient and sweet and kind. Now I'm crying. Fucking hormones…I can't believe I'm fucking crying. My moods are up and down and all over the fucking place.

"Here. Come. Come sit on Daddy's lap."

I do gratefully.

"Please don't cry Dean. I'm sorry. I will banish all seafood from the house."

That makes me cry harder because he's so fucking good to me. "That's not why I'm crying," I sniffle. "I'm an asshole. You're the best husband ever and I'm a huge jerk," I snuggle into his neck.

He sighs heavily. "I'm sorry this pregnancy is making you so miserable Dean."

"It's not your fault."

"You just said it was," he says with a half smile.

"It's not. I'm just frustrated. Nothing the doctor's recommended is working and he's afraid to give me anything. I'm just screwed for however long this lasts."

"It can't last the whole pregnancy."

"I sure as hell hope not."

"Well you need to eat something. What do you feel like?"

"I can have anything, Daddy?"

He smiles wide. "Anything."

"Pickles, cheese, oh and mustard, lots of fucking mustard. Also, can you get them to bring us some of those honey glaze doughnuts? Least a half-dozen."

"You want to eat pickles and doughnuts?"

"Like you wouldn't fucking believe."

Sam doesn't ask any further questions and just fulfills my requests. I think he'd find a way to solve Hilbert's sixteenth problem if I asked him to, right now.

He even eats most of the stuff I asked for with me. He draws the line at mustard, which I dip my pickles and cheese into, getting my fingers all fucking mustardy; I lick off my fingers, smacking my lips.

"Thanks, Sammy. That was divine." I give him a mustard kiss on the cheek.


I end up changing into something Sam would deem more appropriate. I steal one of his shirts, since his frame is larger than mine. I can't believe the man actually owns t-shirts, I've never seen him wear one.

It's while I'm digging through his stuff, I feel something move from fucking inside of me. It scares the living shit out of me and I end up jumping so far, I fall against my side of the closet and knock over some shoes.

I pause. What the fuck was that? It felt kind of like bubbles popping. I wait. It happens again. It feels like the bubbles are popping against my bladder, which makes me feel like peeing again, but unlike the other times, where I'd shout 'fuck my fucking life,' I'm smiling.

It's the baby. I can feel him. Holy fuck, this is both the weirdest and coolest thing ever.

"Well hello, little bubbles." I put my hand over where my little bubbly baby is kick-boxing with my bladder and as my eyes move down I see something on the floor that fell out of one of the shoes I knocked over.

The white elephant.

Shit. I'd forgot about that, I'd ended up hiding it in a shoe, 'till I could deal with it, but life got busy. Double shit. Where the fuck is its trunk?

I get down on my hands and knees, which is a little harder than it used to be. I feel enormous, but I'm not really, it's more like I'm permanently bloated, but it does fuck up my center of gravity a bit, so I'm not quite as agile as I was sixteen weeks ago.

"Dean? What are you doing on the floor?" Sam says.

I quickly knock the elephant under the shoe rack before he reaches me and helps me up. This time I have a distraction. "I knocked those over," I say pointing to the shoes, "when the baby moved. Sam, he moved and I fucking felt it!"

He puts his arms around me and pulls me to him with my back to his chest and puts his hands over my belly. I rearrange his large hands so they're over the spot where he's kicking. "See? He moved again. Can you feel that?"

"I can't feel anything," he says disappointed. "But that still doesn't explain why you were on the floor."

"I knocked over some shoes, I was picking them up."

"You should be letting the staff do stuff like that. I'd better not catch you doing that again."

I would normally leave it at that, but I want to get him out of the closet. I don’t know where the elephant went to; if it's hidden enough; so I push him. "I'm not a fucking invalid, Sam. Leave me the fuck alone."

That does it. He's not in the best of moods and I've been pushing him and pushing him for weeks.

My mission is accomplished though, and he leads me out of the closet and into the bedroom. "I spoke with Doctor Angel on numerous occasions," he says and I know that's the understatement of the year. During the first two weeks, he called the Doc at least every two hours to ask a question. I'm sure he knows more about my pregnancy than I do.

"He has assured me that you are officially out of the danger zone and that this is a strong healthy pregnancy. He has also assured me that spankings during pregnancy will not harm the baby, in fact they are no more harmful than having sex. There are a few positions we have to stay away from, over my lap for one, but other than that, so long as I don't beat you to death—which I hope you know by now I would never do—it is perfectly safe to spank you and even use an implement."

I thought the Doc was on my side. I frown.

"I was still apprehensive, but after some thought, I think it would be better for you. The way you're acting out, you're stressing out yourself and the baby anyway. I think spankings will help calm you and remind you of who is in charge in our home. I know you are miserable," he says holding up his hand to forestall my excuses. "And I will continue to do everything in my power and beyond to make you happy and as comfortable as you can be, but you cannot talk to me that way. You owe me some respect as your husband."

I worry my top teeth over my bottom lip. "I'm sorry Sam, I have been an ass."


He puts a pillow on the ground, a foot from our bed. "Remove your pants."

I get a small nervous tingling that's not the baby—it's been awhile since I've last been spanked. I remove the joggers and place them on the bed, I'm still in Sam's t-shirt and a soft blue pair of panties. He glances at the t-shirt. "Is that mine?"

"Yeah, Sammy…you were right. My shirts don't fit so well anymore. Was it okay I borrowed it?"

"You may have it—I don't wear that shirt anymore, and you'll have new ones by tomorrow, my belle. Come here."

He takes my wrist and leads me to one of our bed posts. "Hold on."

I do and my groin joins the rest of my body in tingling, when his fingers tug my panties upward, revealing each cheek of my ass and wedging them further into my crack. He slides the t-shirt out of the way and without another word, he begins spanking my virgin cheeks with his hand. It fucking hurts. Because of the way he's got my panties arranged, the majority of the spanks are lower down, closer to my thighs. "Ow, Sam. Does it have to be so hard?"

"This is just the warm up my belle. You're going to be a good boy after this."

Fuck. Okay. Dually noted: Don't fucking piss husband off during hormonal rages. This time, I wasn't actually raging and just getting myself out of potentially bigger trouble, but I'm certain that was just the metaphorical straw that broke the camel's back. He's been pissed at me awhile now, just holding back out of worry for me and the baby.

"I'm even willing to offer you more leniency because of your pregnancy, since I'm aware that hormones can be quite controlling, but there is a line and I will be there to pull you back should you cross it."

The swats are firm, but they come a littler gentler, but it makes no difference pain wise since he drags the spanking out for a long fucking time; I've got tears in my eyes by the end and my ass cheeks feel hot. "Now for your punishment. Kneel there by the bed," he points to the pillow.

I think about making a comment, that I was just being scolded for crawling around on the floor and now he wants me on the floor? But I'm sure that wouldn't work in my favor; apparently this is somehow different. I get down slow and careful and kneel on the pillow.

"Put your hands on the bed, stick out your ass and spread your legs."

I do.

"Are you comfortable?"


"Where does it hurt?"

"My ass."

"Dean," he warns.

"I'm fine."

"How is the baby, my belle?"

"He's fine."

"Tell me right away if you or the baby suddenly aren't fine for any reason."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, Daddy."

With the way I'm positioned, he's able to push up the long shirt of his I'm wearing and out of his way, making my ass available to him. I'm five thousand percent certain the view of my pink, freshly spanked ass in panties is turning him the fuck on, so I make sure to stick it out lewdly in hopes I'll at least get his cock up my ass when this is over. If you thought I was horny before, regular Dean's got nothing on Pregnant Dean.

"I have two new implements the doctor recommended, in case I was still worried—as it turns out, our doctor is quite the Traditionalist, he's familiar with many discipline techniques."

Yes, I've already come to that conclusion, thanks. I don't say a word.

"He recommended two items that don't cause a lot of impact to the body, but carry every bit as much sting as my wooden paddle, or even my hand. Today, I'm going to use the less, shall we say, offensive one and you can consider this your warning."

He shows me the long thin rod. "This is a light cane, far, far removed from a heavier cane—it's already spent some time soaking in linseed oil—I'm going to give you a nice thigh spanking with it. If you continue this line of insolence, I will introduce you to my new Lexan paddle, which I'm dying to use."

I'm sure he is. Neither of those sound fucking good.

"And believe me, I've had lots of time to dream up all kinds of new punishments for you—there have been many times I've wanted to discipline you over these past weeks; do not test me further Dean, or I will be employing those fantasies. Repeat for me why you are being punished, so I know you know."

"I wasn't nice to Daddy, I've been a fucking dick—I'm sorry, Sam," I tell him again, it can't hurt. I've been spanked with a cane before, but never by Sam.

I feel the thing rub against the curve of my ass, it's long, thin and solid. "Ready?"

"I'm ready."

I hear it pull back and sail through the air, kinda like the switch did. When it hits the under curve of my ass, my already sore ass cheeks clench. I cry out, "fuck that stings."

"I'm just getting started, Baby."

It seems to require no effort from him at all to wield that thing, he's also good at it; precise, most of the strokes are aimed at my upper thigh area. He gives me a couple of slow measured strokes, then mixes in with several fast paced strokes in the same area. He has to give me a break before moving to my other thigh, it hurts and I have to catch my breath.

He takes his time alternating high on each thigh, some of the strokes hitting the lower part of my ass, then works his way down to my inner thighs—that's the worst and stings so bad my eyes get teary. And in fact sets off a whole barrage of tears; it feels good to cry.

He has to ask me to spread wider and perch my ass out a couple of times since I've been scooping my hips away from that fucking bastard cane. When he's finished, I'm crying into the bedspread, my thighs stinging like fucking hornets attacked them.

"C'mon, you're okay," he says helping me up. "You displeased Daddy, but you've been punished and you're forgiven."

"It hurts, Sammy," I complain, but I get little sympathy.

"Don't act like a jackass and you won't get spankings," He says putting his arms around me best he can with my baby belly in the way, he kisses my crown. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just stings." And sadly the doc is right, there don't seem to be any other effects I can complain about except my sore ass and thighs.

"I'll rub lotion on for you in a bit. You know, you really do look fucking sexy pregnant Dean. Feel this," he says putting my hand on his dick. I love that there are some things I can always count on with Sam. "I could see your hard belly hanging down; combined with the lovely lines I stripped onto your skin…fuck…I want you, I want you bad."

That isn't a problem, I'm fucking horny—I'm always fucking horny as a fucking rabbit these days.

"Kneel on the bed, Baby. I want to eat your naughty bottom."

Fuck, okay. Don't have to tell me twice. I'm still wearing his shirt, he didn't tell me to take it off, so I don't. "God you look hot, my belle. Tell Daddy how much you want his cock?"

"So fucking much. I need it Daddy. I'm such a fucking slut. Will you fill my cunt with your cock?"

Sam fucking loves it when I talk dirty, he moans. "You're such a whore, I bet you that's not even my baby in there is it? Tell me what a whore you are."

He's just playing—before you freak out. Sam's cock is the only cock that's been in me since we married. So save immaculate conception…it was definitely his man power that helped make this baby.

"Yeah, Daddy. I'm a whore, fuck your whore, please…need your cock in my pussy…I'm fucking horny Sam."

"Spread your legs nice and wide baby."

I do and he slips his tongue into my hairless hole. Becky hasn't been by to wax me since we found out about the baby, but I've kept up. I'd actually rather she did it, she's better at it than I am, but I've learned a thing or two from her. I still get shy about her waxing my ass, but if Sam says it's going to be done, it's going to be done; complaining is pointless and only turns the fucking sadist on.

I moan as he licks down to my balls then back up to my hole, swirling his tongue down and inside as I push back, rocking with the flicks of his tongue. "Oh yeah…oh yeah…"

He uses lube when he decides to add a finger, then two. My nuts feel heavy, hanging there as I push back into his fingers, begging for his cock. "Your cock, Daddy. Please."

My ass and thighs still sting, but now I don't mind so much; pain and having my hole fucked by anything are a good fucking combo, my dick is crying, it wants to burst so bad already, but Sam will be fucking pissed if I cum without even being given his cock yet. I turn up the beg factor. "Pound into me Sammy. I'm a naughty boy…Please…"

Sam can't wait either. He enters me slow, but thrusts hard. I can't stay still and move with him, his fingers grip my pelvis, hard, bruising, using it to yank me back onto his cock over and over and over. "Oh, fuck, Sam…can I cum. Please say I can cum?"

"Cum for Daddy, Baby."

And I fucking do all over the bed spread and Sam in my ass. I collapse on my side and Sam surrounds me, we lay there recovering for some time. Even though he's taken this big step with all the spanking and the sex, there's still some apprehension in his voice. "You okay my belle?"

"Never better. That was great Sam. I love it when you fuck me like that." We've had sex since finding out, but…not like that. I feel high.


After a few minutes, I feel bubbles again. I put Sam's hand over where I feel them. "Still nothing?"

"No," he pouts. "Not fair. I want to feel the baby."

"I'm sure you will soon. We really should figure out how to tell everyone."

"I think we should tell our families first then I'll put an official announcement out. You know they're going to want to interview us, yes?"

"Yeah, I know. You going to let them?"

"Depends on you. Do you want to be interviewed?"

"I think it's for the best that we do, but do you know what I really wish?"

"What's that my belle?" he says giving me a gentle squeeze.

"My dad used to own this '67 Chevy Impala. Adam sold it after he died, but it was a great car. I'd like to get my hands on another one and you, me and our little one could go on the road, become anonymous, visit towns, go on an adventure. I could 'home school' our child on the road, maybe we would end up settling on a farm somewhere in Virginia…maybe have a truckload of babies..."

"Well you just might get your wish, that's all we might have left when Grandfather is through with me," he huffs. "I was hoping I could turn everything around, that I wouldn’t have to tell you, but…I've only got twenty employees left, Dean. Short of a miracle, I think the company's finished."

My heart falls…for Sam. I know his company means a lot to him, and the kind of life we live.

"Not that I'd want to use our child in any way, but by default, the announcement will either put us back on the map, or run us the rest of the way into the ground."

"Maybe we shouldn't Sam, maybe we should cover it up…say we got a surrogate…the staff won't tell, they're loyal to us." All the staff have known since I began showing. Sam gathered them and told them. The kinky perverts are unusually loyal.

Sam shakes his head. "No. I won't be afraid Dean. I've only ever been afraid of one thing; losing you. I'm not adding anymore to that list when the one thing is so utterly terrifying. I know this baby is the best thing to happen to you, I won't make you lie about it."

I flip around to face him. "You know that you're the other best thing to happen to me, right Papa bear?"

He smiles. "Maybe I will be one day, Mama bear."

Mama bear. I double smile at that, he's said a few things in that regard…somehow Sam knows. I love that I don't have to explain some things to Sam and he just knows. "Do you think our child will be all right with that? Calling me Mama?"

"Our child we do as he or she is told. You're carrying the baby and all that goes with it, you have every right to the title, Mother."


It's fucking risky with Sam around, but I haven't seen Cas in a week so I slip off to see him. This means, yes you guessed it, we still haven't fucking told him, which he's now claiming he doesn't want to do because Sam hasn't told him about the baby. It's a load of bullshit.

"You know about the baby, Cas."

"Yes, because you told me. My own brother doesn't say a fucking word."

"Which means I wasn't supposed to tell you and it's only going to get us in more trouble when we tell him."

"What if we never tell him?"

"What? You're crazy."

"I mean it. We've gotten away with it for this long, what's to say we can't carry this charade on for the rest of our lives? Or maybe Michael and I will run away together, we never have to 'meet.'"

"Now I know you're insane."

"I don't see why you're not the one mad. He should have told you about me by now."

"The only reason he hasn't told me is because he still thinks you're going to die."

"You don't know that's the reason."

"Yes, I'm sure of it. Why are you being such a fucking dick today?"

"Because you won't drop this."

"I'm not going to drop this. Fuck. I'm just going to tell Sam."

"Do that and I'll never speak to you again."

He says that with such venom, we're both shocked into silence. "Fine. I'll keep quiet if you tell me the reason, the real reason and not all these bullshit lines you've been feeding me since day one."

"Some things are better left unsaid."


"Fine, but you're going to wish you didn't know."

"Just fucking tell me."

"I love you, Dean."

"And I love you too. I know we love each other—we're family."

"No, you imbecile. I love you, love you."

I'm fucking confused. "But you love Michael…"

"I love Michael now, but I loved you first. It's Sam's worst fear realized—that's the reason he didn't want us to meet, Dean. He wanted you to fall in love with him first, he was afraid you'd like me better."

"But that's…"

"Absurd? Yes, I know that and you know that, but Sam's fragile in this area."

"But none of that will matter now because I did fall in love with him anyway, despite knowing you."

He's looking at me like I'm the dumbest person in the world, waiting for me to get it.

"Oh my God, you still love me."

"Love doesn't exactly go away, Dean. Who couldn't fall in love with you?"

"D-does Michael know?"

"Of course he knows—you're the only naïve flower among us. Sam will know and then he'll kill me."

"Michael doesn't hate me?"

He waits again, this time I get it faster. "Michael loves me too, doesn't he?" I fucking face palm.

"He can learn ladies and gentlemen…" Cas says giving me a sarcastic round of applause. "The first day he met you and showed you his fox. You think he lets any old person pet his fox? Why do you think he's such a loyal secret keeper?"

Shit just got seriously fucking real. "But, you two, you're so lovely dovey and gaga over each other."

"Of course we are. Don't let it go to your fucking head. We might love you, but we are also madly in love with each other. You can love more than one person, Dean."

His assholesque remarks actually make me feel better about this whole 'everybody is in love with Dean,' thing. "I don't get it. How? Did you have some sort of 'I love Dean club?'" I felt lucky enough to have Sam fall in love with me, now I've got two other great people that supposedly love me too. I can't help feeling fucking warm and fuzzy. Can I blame pregnancy hormones for that too?

He's quiet again.

"Oh my God, you did."

"At first. We were also really attracted to each other the moment we laid eyes on one another. We'd fuck and sometimes talk about you. In a fucked up way, we helped the other get over you. Then we fell in love. You really don't see yourself like everyone else does, do you Dean? You're an easy person to love. The whole world is in love with Dean Winchester."


"No. You're better than us Dean. Better than any of us Campbells, that's why I call you Winchester. None of us deserve you."

I don't know what to fucking say to that.

"Shit, Dean. Hide."

I can't dive under the bed like I used to. It's cumbersome and I have to be careful. I'm going to get caught; we can't keep doing this. Thankfully, I get under the bed in time.

"Cas? Were you talking to someone?"

"Nope. Just to myself, it's not like I have any friends. To what do I owe this honor?" Cas is very good at being the woe-be-tide sick person. He's had many years of practice.

"I wanted you to be the first to know, Dean and I are having a baby."

Thank God he was also my 'first to know,' so technically he's still the first to know. Sam tells him the whole story and Cas is going to be nominated for an Oscar this year, since his acting skills are fucking phenomenal.

It is fun to hear Sam gush over our child, who, by the way, did not like the way I clambered under the bed. He's moving again; I feel lots of little complaint-type bubbles as he kicks the shit out of my bladder. I try to soothe him by rubbing my hand over top. That's how I already know this baby is pure Sam; doesn't complain a lick while I'm being spanked, but get down on the dirty floor under a bed? Hell is raised.

It seems a lot longer than usual because I'm more sensitive to every fucking thing and the dust under here is making my skin itch. Not to mention I'm getting fucking nauseous again (c'mon baby, it's eight o'clock at night) and I hope they stop fucking talking before I puke and give myself away.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away, Cas, we were worried he'd lose the baby—I didn't want to get you all excited just in case…well I don't want to say it. The doctor thinks we're out of the danger zone."

"Since when did you become an eternal fucking optimist?"

"Believe me I haven't. I worry all the time Cas—all the time. Between him and what's going on with the company…I just…I won't think of our child dying; the baby will live. I've never seen Dean so happy."

Finally Sam's about to leave, but I hear him stop at the door. "Cas, did I leave Mother's elephant in here?"

Fuck me to hell. That's his mother's elephant? Of course it is.

"No. I don't think so, haven't seen it."

"It's strange. I thought I had it with me one night, months ago, when I came up to visit you. I remember putting it on a table outside, at least I thought I did and forgot it when I left. When I came back to get it several days later, it wasn't there. I haven't been able to find it. I asked every single one of the staff, and they haven't seen it. I wanted to give it to Dean. I learned that some cultures believe the elephant to be a symbol of longevity, luck and happiness. I figure Dean could use all of those right now. It also means loyalty, I don't know how that one ties into the pregnancy, but loyalty is good, it could say to Dean how loyal I am to him; how loyal we are to each other."

"I haven't seen it."

Fuck. I feel like my stomach's fallen out of my body. Let me tell you it doesn't help my nausea. Thankfully Sam leaves after that and I can clumsily make my way out from under the bed and puke in the closest plant. I think I've puked in almost all the plants in Campbell Manor by now.

"Jesus Christ. It's a wonder you have any esophagus left." Cas gets up from his bed and gives me his handkerchief. "You really shouldn't be diving under beds anymore."

"Then I can't come back here when Sam's home—it's too risky." I know, I know, I shouldn't have been doing it in the first place.

At least I can still make it out to the garden when Sam's busy with work. Bobby is my new chaperone. Michael's dad Ben, the head gardener, hired him back as garden staff. These decisions aren't deemed important enough for Sam to make; since it wasn't run by Sam, he doesn't know Bobby's back—yes, yet another thing Sam doesn't know. Sam never specified which staff member I have to be with when I go walking the grounds, just a staff member. Bobby is a staff member. I feel the least guilty about that one.

"Look Dean, about what I told you—"

"You loo-ove me," I make fun.

"Stop it you.

"Dean and Cas, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

"This is why I didn't want to tell you. I knew you'd behave childishly."

I laugh. "Just one of the many things you love about me," I say wistfully. "Do you and Michael talk about that in your 'I love Dean' club meetings?"

"Believe me when I say, all of that is officially over. If it wasn't already, it would be now after this display," he says disgusted. "Why, I think I'm completely cured from the strange illness that had afflicted me…it's hard to see why I even loved you at all."

"Don't be sore. I get to have a little fun—you would."

He smirks. "Probably."

"Definitely. All jokes aside, I see your point, but we are going to have to tell him."

"Michael and I really are planning on running away—it's the only solution, Dean. He'll kick me out anyway and I probably should live on my own by now."

"He won't kick you out. He'll be upset, but he'll get over it, it's not like you meant to."

"No. You bewitched me Dean Winchester…" he says putting a hand over his heart. Now he's making fun.

"If another fucking Campbell calls me a witch…"

He laughs his ass off. "Don't tease me and I won't tease you."

"If only that were true. Well look, don't run away together yet. Let's see if we can't figure something out. Maybe we start with, the 'you're not going to die' thing and he'll introduce us first. You can play off your undying love for me as strong, brotherly affection."

"You're lucky you're pregnant, or I'd punch you. And I told you, the dying thing isn't the reason he hasn't told you about me, well maybe some of the reason, but not all of it."

"But he knows I love him now—that doesn't make any sense Cas."

"He might know as in you told him, as in he can see you adore him, but he still can't believe it. He needs more time to get used to the idea. It's only been a few months since he found out about all that."

"But why you? He lets me almost-have-sex with everybody else, why would he care about you?"

"Because I'm here. It's simple as that. We could have sex without him knowing. We could have plenty of times, in fact, when he wasn't home and he would never be the wiser. We've already been keeping this from him for too long, he'll suspect us of that—I don't know Sam's and my relationship will ever recover."

"No we couldn't have. The staff…"

"You don't think I've got my own loyalty amongst the staff? How do you think we've been getting away with this so long in the first place? The staff like me. And besides, my brother thinks I'm equally as loveable as you are."

Not to mention, the staff will be in just as much trouble, if not more than Cas and I will. This is bad, this is really bad. Maybe Cas and Michael should run away. "Then he doesn't know you Cas, you're about as lovable as a cactus," I tease to lighten the fucking mood. I'm starting to feel a headache coming on.

"I can't argue with you there. But you really should go, and Dean?"


"Don't ever let him find that fucking elephant."

I've never told Cas about the elephant, he's put two and two together. Fuck. If that's what Cas thinks, I'm getting rid of the thing, first chance I get.

Chapter Text

~17 Weeks~

We put the announcement out to the press. I called my sister. She had a lot of questions, but she's overjoyed. She won't say anything about Adam and I didn't ask. He hasn't called me and I haven't called him.


"Pssst. Sam. Sammy."

"Dean?" Sam quickly checks the clock. "It's two am, is everything all right?"

"I'm okay, it's just…fuck, I'm really Jonesing for a Slurpee."

"A Slurpee? It's the middle of October."

"Yeah. I need one, like bad."

"Sweetheart, can't it wait five more hours?"

"No. I've already been laying here for thirty minutes, trying to will it away. Please, Daddy, I really need one."

Sam sighs. "All right. I'll see if someone is still awake from the staff—"

"Staff? The staff? Need I remind you Samuel Campbell, that I'm carrying your offspring, the same offspring that won't let me sleep, or eat what I want, or give me a moment's rest because either my back hurts and I have to walk around, or I have to run to the washroom every five seconds to pee? Or the likely, irreparable, damage to my esophagus, because I'm still fucking puking! The least you can do is go get me a fucking Slurpee!"

"Calm down. It's two o'clock in the fucking morning. A member of staff can go get you a Slurpee, that's what I pay them royally for. You need a good spanking and if it wasn't so early in the morning, I'd give it to you."

That does it; that's what sets me off into heart-wrenching sobs.

Sam listens for a little while, then, "Dean? Darling?"

I don't answer, I'm busy bawling my eyes out.


"I'm sorry. Sorry I'm so miserable and I didn't realize I was such an inconvenience to you," I cry. "But you just don't know what it's like to be knocked up. That was real in-fucking-sensitive, Sam. It's not like I want to feel this way. I can't believe you'd say something like that, while I suffer day and night and night and day. But don't worry, I'll shut-up. You won't hear another peep from me. I'll pretend I'm a fucking monk taking a vow of silence." I continue to sob into the pillow.

I feel the bed move beside me. "Okay, my belle. I'm sorry. I'm going. What kind would you like?"

I wipe my tears as he turns on the bedside lamp and rubs his eyes. He's naked, I made him have sex with me six times before we went to sleep, so he might be just a little bit tired. But he should still get me a Slurpee. "I want a large half watermelon, half Coca-Cola Slurpee with not too much watermelon, more like, mostly Coca-Cola with a dabble of watermelon flavor."

"Anything, else?"

"No. That's everything, Papa bear," I say sweetly. He rolls his eyes and stumbles away. "Um, Sam?"

"What now?"


~Week 18~

I think the whole world's in shock. We haven't heard a thing, yet, except from Sam's sister who's dying to come see me and Becky, who stopped by soon as she got the news, to jump around in a circle with me. We got a congratulations note from Francis who says she'll be by soon as she can. Nothing from Adam. I'm getting fucking suspicious.


Donuts dipped in fucking mustard. That's where it's at bitches. Also, crackers and bread. I don't know why I didn't do it sooner, but I consulted on some of the mommy blogs and many of the women with severe morning sickness carried around a ton of crackers and bread and nibbled on them every time they got nauseous—works like a fucking charm.

I feel so much fucking better—Jesus Christ. After weeks of misery, I'm finally able to enjoy being pregnant. The baby's already much stronger, Sam still can't feel him, but Doc Angel assures me he's growing better than he's seen in other pregnancies.

Man am I relieved.

So I've got my container of mustard, and bag of donuts and I'm looking for Sam, 'cause fuck am I horny. I need sex at least six, sometimes seven, times a day. He hides from me now. He's trying to get work done, so I do my best not to annoy him too much, but I can't help it. This baby's got my sex hormones on high.

I've got a cream colored dress on with a soft black belt around the high waist. My chest is getting softer, like the doctor said it might—but I wouldn’t consider them full on boobs. Whatever they are, Sam likes them, so I made sure to chose a dress that accentuates my chest, squishing them together, hopefully making them look attractive—I have no idea how to make not-tits attractive.

I've already checked the obvious place: His office, but he's already learned not to hide there. So I search every crevice of the manor and still can't find him. That's when it hits me: The fucker is hiding in Cas's room. Asshole.

The only place I can't find him. Fine. He wants to play dirty, so can I.

I finish off my donut, wipe off my hands and pull out my cell phone.

I type: Looked all over the house for you, guess you've gone in to work. Just wondering. I'd hate for there to be an emergency and not know where you are.

That's what we call 'check' and 'mate' mother fucker.

I get an immediate response. I'm in my office.

Lying Bastard. I was just there.

Typo. Meant, I'm on the way to my office. See you in five Darling.

Yeah, right. I ditch my mustard bowl and bag of donuts (can't be too attractive) and head down to his office.

"Hello sweetheart, see I'm here if you need me," he says looking up from his desk, like he's been here the whole time. Yeah right. I'm willing to let it go for sex.

"I do need you, baby, so fucking bad."

He looks worried. "And I want you too, baby, but Daddy's got to work."

"All right, fine. I just…thought you'd like this new dress, and well, I know, I'm bigger and…fatter…" The tears come as quick as bees to honey.

Sam sighs. "C'mere."

I tentatively make my way to him. He's up and bends me over his desk; I've got my hands, palms down and my ass is out, he flips up my skirt and pulls my panties down. I hear the sound of his zipper as he whips his cock out and slides it between my crack, as he gets some lube out. "I love you in that dress baby. You're the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Other than lube, we fuck so often, I don't need much prep and his dick can slide in. "Mmm…yeah, fuck…" I moan.

"That what you needed? A nice dose of Daddy's cock?"

"Oh, yeah. Fuck, right, there. Oh God…Oh Sam…Sammy…" Sam is well practiced at getting me off in under two minutes. Hardly any spunk spews from our dicks since they're pretty much wrung out, but it still feels fucking good.

"Thanks, Sammy. I know…I know I'm annoying you—"

He spins me around letting my dress fall over my ass that's leaking his cum. He kisses me possessively. "I must say, I didn't think anyone could out sex me, but you have achieved the impossible. Never-the-less, I will not hide from you anymore. It's not your fault; I'm sorry."

"Aha! So you were hiding from me."

"I was…but you…I didn't…" Sam sputters. "Yes I was, but only because my dick is almost broken."

I laugh. I taught him that one. "Okay, I'll try to stay away, but your cock feels so fucking good in my pussy, Daddy."

"Fuck it," he says. "I don't mind breaking my dick for you, Baby." Sweeter words were never spoken; he bends me over and sticks his cock in me again.

~19 Weeks~

I finally heard from Adam. He phoned to congratulate me. He didn't ask a single question—was fucking weird. It was a short conversation, I got off the phone stunned. Things are picking up with the media. We have a couple interviews scheduled for next week. People seem to like that I'm having a baby and Sam's noticed some turn around within the company. For weeks he couldn't find new employees and it didn’t matter much since he didn't have many clients, but yesterday, he got six calls from men and women wanting to work with him. It's not a complete turn around, but Sam's confident it's a good sign. And that's about as much as I know. He won't tell me much and he's banned me from using the internet—he thinks if I know all the drama, it will cause me 'stress.' I'm already tired of people thinking I'm fragile.


My latest craving is ice cream, mushrooms and…something, I'm trying to figure out what the fuck it is. The staff are freaking out, because I'm in the kitchen madly searching. They won't exactly kick me out, but I know I'm not wanted here—I don't give a flying fuck, I need…something.

Sam must have been notified. "What do you think you're doing in here?"

"I'm craving something, Sammy. Help me look?"

I'm wearing a green dress today, his favorite color on me, he says it matches my eyes. "All right, everybody out," he says. "Take a ten minute break while he finds his…" he looks to me.

I shrug. Fucked if I know.

"Just out, all of you."

They leave immediately. "Why'd you do that? They didn't have to leave."

"Yes they did. Start looking."

I do, but I'm fucking curious. "Sam? The curiosity's going to kill me."

Sam's smile is suddenly devious. "I'd like to tell you, I could tell you, but I think it would be more fun for you to figure out."

Asshole. "Fine, just, help me look. Please, Papa bear?"

We do. It ends up being mayonnaise. "The baby wants ice-cream, mushrooms and mayonnaise?"

"I guess so," I say taking a bite. It tastes like rainbows bursting in my mouth. "Yep. Yep he does. Mmmm…"

"That's gross," he says making bitch face.

"No way, Sammy. Here, try some." I hold out a spoon to him, he takes a small bite.

"Ew. No…God no. That's just, wrong."

"Suit yourself."

~20 Weeks~

Doc Angel is coming over today and I'm fucking excited. We get to find out the sex of the baby. Sam bought an ultra sound machine. Don't ask me how he pulled that one off, but he did. We've got a lot of shit lined up for this week—interviews, visitors, I'm exhausted just thinking about it. I miss the peace and tranquility of the garden. I haven't been down as much; Sam's has been home a lot. It's a lot colder, anyway.

I hope since work has picked up some, he'll go back to working out of his office-office. He still likes to be close by. I haven't had any problems—other than the standard pregnancy ones, but he's still terrified I'll be found bleeding in a field on the grounds somewhere.


"Dean? Come with me, I have something I want to show you before the doctor gets here."

I'm causal today, wearing a large t-shirt and a kilt. Sam had several made for me in his Grandmother's tartan. I'm really liking the kilts. Sam's casual too, more than I've ever seen him. He's wearing jeans and a long sleeved plaid shirt.

As he grabs my hand, I feel bubbles moving again, but it's not quite like fucking bubbles anymore—it's a fucking foot, or hand grazing across the length of my belly. I've never felt the baby move like that before and like the first time, it scares the shit out of me. I freeze, my eyes go wide. "Holy crap, Sam," I say doubling over and putting my hand over my belly.

"Dean? What's wrong? Do I need to call an ambulance?"

I smile. "No, here." I grab his hand and stick it up my shirt and see if I can find the baby's foot again. There's a soft pushing out right under Sam's hand. "Hello Papa," I say. His eyes are bugging out of his head.

"Was that?"

"Yep. That's your child saying hello."

"Oh my God. Dean, that's incredible." He kneels down, pushes up my t-shirt and kisses my belly. "Hello, baby. Papa loves you."

Fuck. I'm crying. I'm fucking crying again.

He's got his cheek against my bare belly now, the baby pushes against him. He looks up at me. "Was that?"


He gets up, a goofy grin on his face. "I must feel the baby everyday from now on. You'll make sure to tell me?"

"Everyday, Sammy. I'll bring him to say hi to Papa."


He brings me down to the very large garage underneath Campbell manor, there are all kinds of cars, expensive looking cars. Yeah, even if Sam's company does go belly up, I don't think we'll be starving. The money from these cars alone…

There's just one, covered in a sheet.

"I found something of yours," he says.

I squint my eyes at him confused, he chucks his head toward what's obviously a car under the sheet. As I get closer, the lines are unmistakable. "Sam? Is this…" I rip the sheet off.

The light glints off the silver trim of the '67 Chevy Impala. I'm fucking crying again, the baby shifts happily. I run over to hug him. "This is amazing, Sam. You found an Impala?"

He jingles the keys in front of my face, I take them and open her up. Everything about her is just as I remember. The black leather, the thin steering wheel, she even smells like I remember, old car smell, mixed with leather.

There's even an army man wedged in the ashtray just like… "Sam?" I pop my head out of the car, he's standing there with a very unlike Sam, impish grin on his face. "This is my dad's Impala."

"Of course. When have you known me to do something half-assed?"

"How did you find this?"

"Ah, ah, ah. A magician never reveals his secrets. You want to go for a ride?"

"Do I? Um, yeah. But the Doctor…"

"We won't miss the doctor my belle. Just a quick one." I pout when he gets in the driver's side.

"You can drive when you're not pregnant."

I want to complain about that, since, when does pregnant mean you can't drive? But I know that tone, it's one of those 'rules for my safety,' type rules. Sam's not likely to budge. In fact, it's more likely I'll be getting my first spanking on the hood of the Impala if I say anything, so I shut my pie-hole and get into the passenger side, passing Sam the keys.

We pull out into the sunny fall day; it's gorgeous. And if I didn't already know this was my dad's car, I'd know now listening to the engine, I can hear the rattle of the Legos I shoved into the vents when I was six. Makes me smile. I sit back and enjoy the stretch of road. "Happy Birthday, Darling."

"Thanks, Sam, but my birthday's not 'till January."

"I know, but I missed it the first time around, and I couldn't wait to give her to you. I also thought today was a better day, since we'll find out the sex of our child—a very memorable day."

"True." I smile and take his hand.

"The same rules apply, in case you were wondering—you may not go driving without me, even after you have the baby. Am I clear?"

"I didn't imagine I would be."

"Excuse, me?"

"Yes, Daddy. But how will it work, with the baby? Does that mean I can't take the baby anywhere, unless you're home?"

"Why would you need to?" he says with a sharp edge in his voice.

"Right, Sam. I was just asking."

"Well, don't. You are a Traditionalist husband, even if you'd rather be Progressionist. It's important to me our child is brought up with Traditionalist ideals, Dean. You need to set an example."

"I'm sorry, Sammy. You're right, of course you are." I haven't been thinking about all that; I've just been on a baby high. Of course he'll want our child raised Traditionalist, I'll have to read up on that section of the book I found. Sam's done so much for me, it's the least I can do for him.

Sam takes me for ice-cream and apologizes for the lack of mushrooms and mayonnaise. But thankfully, that craving was a one off and I'm fine with strawberry flavor today.

I get an excited shiver as we head back home. "Do you care what the baby is Sam?"

"After all this fucking worrying Dean, if that kid comes out safe and healthy and doesn't take you down, that's good enough for me. It can be a boy, or a girl, or a boy-girl, whatever the fuck it wants to be."



Doc Angel is ridiculously excited. "Time to find out what our little miracle baby is. You ready, Dean, honey?" the doc says.

"I'm freaking excited, Doc. Let's get this show on the road."

He hooks me up to our state of the art, private 'home' ultra sound machine, placing the fucking cold-ass gel (why's that shit always cold?) on my belly, it tickles when he starts moving the wand around. "Oh…oh my…"

The way he says that's, giving me a freaking heart attack, Sam looks like he wants to throttle the doctor. "What's wrong? Is something wrong with our baby?" he demands.

"No, no, no. She's just fine. I just didn't expect this, that's all. This baby truly is a miracle."

"Wait. Did you say she? Are you fucking with me Doc?" The doctor always says 'he,' since apparently there's only a twenty-five percent chance of a girl. Even I started calling him, he.

"I'm not fucking with you, Dean," he laughs. "Congratulations, you're going to have a daughter."

"A baby girl. Sam! We're going to have a baby girl."

Sam looks like he's about to faint. "Doctor, I think I…I need to sit down."

The doctor gets him a chair. He's beside himself. For a split second, I think he hates it; that maybe he really did want a boy deep down and somehow I failed him (which I know is ridiculous, since it's not like I get to pick the sex of the baby,) but then he goes on a rant. "Guns, Dean. We're going to need lots of guns. I'll have a team surrounding the house twenty-four seven. She'll go to the best schools and she'll be properly married in, of course, no Campbell is ever married off. It will be the largest wedding anyone's ever seen. Suitors. I'll have to start looking first chance I get, this will take time and what are you two looking at?"

Both Doc Angel and I are staring at him, trying to contain our laughter. She's not even born and he's the most protective Papa on Earth. "How about we start by worrying how we'll decorate the nursery, Papa bear? Huh?"

"The nursery! We haven't even started on that. Dean, why haven't you begun? What do you do with your time? I demand we begin plans this instant…"

Jesus Christ. Here we go.


Other than his intense concern over which college she should attend for her masters in rocket science, Doc angel assuaged his concern over me enough, he's back at work today. I take the opportunity to head down to the garden where I know Cas and Michael will be. There's not as much work to do but there's still lots of clean up.

There are still bushes and trees with berries and pods for Robin, not to mention, we feed him, so he's stuck around. There's a particular crabapple tree he likes as well, he sits in it and watches us.

"You ever wonder about that robin?" Cas says.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"He's always poking his head in at us. Maybe he's a spy."

"He'd make a terrible spy. This little fellow can't keep a secret, he's the one who showed us this place," Michael says and holds out his hand. Robin flitters over to Michael's finger; he likes Michael best since he's always feeding him worms.

"Yeah, but a robin, at this time of year? It's only a month away from the first of winter."

"Not all robins fly south for the winter," Michael informs us. "Some of'em stay, around in flocks. I've seen plenty of robins hopping around in the snow."

"I've never seen him with a flock," Cas says suspiciously.

"You're ridiculous," I say throwing a bun at him. "Robins can't be spies and even if he was, he'd be on our side."

I know Cas is just making small talk, we've been talking about something bigger lately. "You're still not thinking about running away, are you? I thought I had you all talked out of that," I say.

"How on Earth does that connect with robins?"

"Birds flying away; you two flying away."

"Oh. Guess that works, but no, we're not going to 'fly away' for now."

My phone dings. Shit. Sam's home early. "I gotta run guys, it's Sam." I quickly text him that I'm on my way.

"Fuck. Won't you be in trouble?" Cas says.

"Yeah, he'll just spank me or something. Least it will distract him—you'd better get back in case he decides to visit you."


Walking isn't as easy as it used to be. I'm a little slower, but I still high tail it up the hill and over pretty quick, hoping that if he does come looking for me, I'll be far enough away from the gardens. Our baby girl Samantha, or Sammy as I call her (I can have two Sammies) is quiet, only moving a little here and there. I like to think she's sleeping. I catch a break and Sam's just coming out of the house as I approach.

Wow. He isn't pleased.

"You. Inside. Now."

I hurry inside ahead of him, he's already spanking my ass and let me tell you, a kilt doesn't offer much protection, especially when we're talking about Sam's hand. After at least five of his best, he spins me around by my wrist to face him. "I've already talked to you about this once Dean, you know I don't like to repeat myself. You are supposed to have an escort."

"I know Sam, I'm sorry. Where do you want me?" I deserve this spanking.

"Oh, no. That would be too easy, since it's clear that's what you thought you could trade for your insolence. This is a big rule Dean, a big one. I understand the pregnancy is going well, that Samantha is growing better than expected, but that doesn't mean something can't happen."

I'm not sure I've ever seen him this angry and that includes the time he punished me for Darcy.

"Come with me, my belle, after I'm through with you, I'm sure you'll feel more inclined to hire yourself an escort."


There's only a small pang of guilt; the rest is pure lust and delight, watching my very pregnant husband spread his legs on our dining room table, his dress lifted, his hole exposed and his dick locked away. He's seated on the table and leaning back on one hand, while the other holds his dress up. With how I've got him set up, there will be some pain, there will be sexual torture, but there will be no release for him tonight.

I put him in a chastity device that's comfortable (well as comfortable as those things can be, since they aren't really meant for comfort) enough I can leave him in it for at least a week. Maybe more if he continues to misbehave.

I take my last bite of my steak, chew slowly, and when I'm done chewing I address him. "You're a naughty boy, aren't you? And now everyone knows it."

"Yes, Daddy." Hot tears of humiliation are running down his face. Dean may be turned on by such things, but it doesn't ever seem to decrease the level of humiliation he experiences; it's so, so lovely.

"What are you supposed to be doing?" I say to him.

"Sam, please…"

"I’m going to think you're not learning your lesson. I'd hate to have to confine you to our room for the rest of your pregnancy, just to ensure your safety, since I clearly can't rely on your obedience."

That spurs him to action. "I'm a naughty boy who needs to learn to obey my daddy, will you lick my hole for me?" he begs the first servant that comes in to check on us. I made sure that there have been plenty of servants coming in and out; more than usual. They love it when I let them play with Dean—pregnant Dean sends them over the moon.

Fredrick tisks at him and clucks his tongue. "I'm sorry to hear that young Mister Campbell, but I shall be happy to oblige if I must." He makes it sound like a hardship.

Dean's face darkens and I can just hear his thoughts of: 'Yeah, I'm sure it's a fucking hardship for you, you fucking pervert.'

I smirk at Dean as I pull out my cock, his eyes go wide. Yes. You could have been sitting on Daddy's cock, dear husband.

Dean moans and Fredrick hasn't even touched him yet. He's in for a surprise, Fredrick is particularly talented with that tongue of his. He's also good looking and young, same age as Dean I think. Combined with how randy Dean has been throughout his pregnancy, I know this will be torture, mmmmh; it's delicious.

Fredrick swirls his tongue into Dean's hole, then wets his crack thoroughly, by spitting on it and licking up and down. Dean's cock may be locked away, but his balls are free, Fredrick sucks one into his mouth, Dean's whole body shudders.

"Oh, god. Sam…please, I need to take this off…"

I bet he does. This is the sixth servant he's begged to lick his ass—though he hasn't had to beg very hard, they are too happy to partake. "Oh no. I'm not taking that off 'till you've learned your lesson. You still need fourteen more 'till I'll even consider it and I'm finished my meal, looks like we're going to have to continue this tomorrow evening. What a'll be hard. However will I endure another evening of this?" I say, as Fredrick continues to turn my husband into a writhing mess.

I made sure Dean ate first, but I waited to eat my meal, just to make the game more fun; and it has been. I make the best games.

I pull out some lube and apply it to my cock.

"Please, Daddy. I want your cock."

It must be difficult for him all locked up like that; his cock must be straining to harden, but it can't. That thought makes my hips buck upward of their own accord. "Mmmmhh, you look so fucking sexy darling, but you still don't get my cock. Daddy's cock isn't for little boys who disobey their daddies."

Dean moans again. As much as he hates this, his body loves it.

I stroke faster as Fredrick uses his tongue to fuck my husband's hole. God Dean looks good, spread wide like that, the swell of his belly just covered by his dress, his cock stuffed inside the penis shaped cage. If he wasn't pregnant, I'd have bound his wrists to the inside of his ankles…

I cry out loud as I cum into my hand, as Dean watches me envious; lost in a fog of his own lust.

"That will be all Fredrick," I say, cleaning myself up with my crisp, cloth napkin, it gets most of it, but it doesn't clean it up as much as I'd like.

Fredrick smiles his thanks at me and leaves promptly. Dean looks miserable. "Time to pull your dress down and get off the table. You've got some clean up to do down here." I point my chin to my cock.

My cock tries to harden, as he laps at it, getting the bits of cum the napkin missed.

I can't wait to spank him later…oh yes, I'm still going to spank him, but he's not going to enjoy it and he's not going to want another one like it. It won't even have to be particularly hard—I have to go easier on him because of the baby of course—but I can still make it sting and I can still make it a worthy deterrent.

Licking is all I allow him—he's not getting my cock in any of his holes tonight. I turn his chin up at me, tears are still rolling down his cheeks. "Are you going to be a good boy from now on?"

"Yes, I swear, Sam. I'm sorry. It was stupid, you're right. I shouldn't be walking around alone. I do have a member of staff I trust, I just…it was his day off."

"Do you need my help hiring another one? Someone who can be here for you all the time?" I pull him up into my lap.

"Could we…can it be Charlie? We could pay her and she could stay, just 'till the end of my pregnancy."

This isn't the first time he's brought her up; I know he misses his friend. I don't really want her here. I'm selfish and when I'm home I want Dean all to myself; he'll feel an obligation to hang out with her. But I can't resist his face when it's like that, and he really does need someone he can trust. Perhaps that's why he's been disobeying me, I don't blame him for not feeling comfortable with the staff, since I don't allow them to foster too close a relationship with Dean. I'm surprised he found one he could trust as is.

"As you wish my belle. Charlie may come stay with you."

Chapter Text

We're having a girl.

It's those four words that strike a cord in old Samuel Campbell.


That Junior would care to tell him at all he's surprised. With what he'd actively done to destroy his grandson, his grandson should hate him. Why would he bother with the hand-written note? It's not like he hasn't already heard all about it from, well, everywhere. It's all over the news and the internet. Apparently someone even began a Facebook page about the pair and list Dean's supposed pregnancy cravings on a weekly basis.

But it's the four words in his grandson's elegant script that make the empty, dark place in his chest ache just a little bit. And Sam. He curls his g's just like…well he doesn't want to think about her. He never thinks about her, and why should he? Why does this make him entertain the mere thought of thinking of her?

Something is pecking at his window. He looks up. Robin. It's that blast robin again. Something about that robin is very bothersome like déjà vu. It's not the first time this robin has annoyed him, but that does not account for the feeling of déjà vu. "Go away. Shouldn't you be South? Stupid creature."

The robin tweets at him, but it sounds like laughter.

He doesn't want to look at the robin anymore, so he shuts the curtain with a sense of victory. "There. Laugh at me now, Robin."

The robin is quiet, but Samuel knows it's still there. He continues on with his work in dissembling the company he's been part of his entire life, the company his grandfather's grandfather began, piece by piece.

24 Weeks

I'm quite certain Dean's giggle can be heard through the house. "Are you just going to tease me all night, Daddy?"

"Maybe," I whisper to his cock, which is still covered by a delectable set of purple panties. I nuzzle him and take my time and breath his scent. I don't want to take them off. I'm always at war; I've got to take them off to get to the real prize, but the wrapping is so beautiful.

Dean is laying back, propped up on pillows. I've got his dress pushed up and exposing his belly, which I know makes him blush that lovely shade of pink and his legs are wrapped loosely around my neck.

I run my finger underneath the edge and make contact with one of his balls. He giggles his husky giggle again. "That tickles."

I smile and bite down softly on his cock through his panties, he bucks upward seeking more friction. "You know what we've never played?"

"What Sammy?" he says in a 'here we go' sort of voice, skeptical we haven't played everything, but intrigued.

"Doctor," I say getting up.

He groans. "Sam, come back. You can't tease a pregnant man like that!"

I ignore him and dig through my side of the closet where I have some things. I come back wearing a special stethoscope, a doctor's coat and carrying a little bag of other things. "Not Sam, Dr. Campbell. You will address me as such, or maybe you'd like another go with the Lexan?"

Dean did not like the Lexan paddle. He won't be leaving the house alone again for the duration of his pregnancy that's for sure. "Yes, Doc Campbell," he smiles. "You know, cum to think of it, I was meaning to call the doctor and I'm glad you're here."


"Yeah. My cock has been prone to extreme hardness. It aches and leaks strange fluids. Doc, you've got to help me."


"Please," he says advertising his cock a lot more.

"By the sound of it, I'm going to have to give you a thorough evaluation." I begin using my stethoscope to listen to his cock. "Seems to have a healthy heartbeat." I listen to his ass next. "Ah, I think I know the problem, I have to take your temperature."

Dean laughs. He won't be laughing long.

"I think I need my nurse to help me with this." I get up and move the door of our bedroom.

"Sam? Sammy? What are you doing?"

I smirk at him. "Nurse," I call out to the hallway. "Nurse, I need your assistance in here."

One of the female staff walking by, jumps at the opportunity, knowing how I work. It could just as easily have been a male, I don't care which one of the staff wants to play nurse for Dean.

"Here, Dr. Campbell," she says and follows me into the bedroom.

Dean figures out what's going on; his cheeks turn a lovely shade of crimson and he closes his legs immediately, pulling down his dress.

"I don't think so. We're going to need you to spread those legs wide, so we can take your temperature. Nurse, prepare him." I hand her a set of gloves from my bag.

Dean tentatively opens his legs again and my 'nurse,' helps him lift his dress back up and remove his panties. "Put those somewhere they won't get dirty. He'll need them for later," I instruct.

Oh the image he makes sitting upright, pillows propped behind him, legs spread with his dress hiked up embarrassingly so. We can see his pucker and the heavy cock bobbing between those legs—he fights it, but he fucking loves it.

"Good, boy."

I'm just in the white doctor's coat and my underwear, it's easy for me to pull out and stroke myself as I watch nurse Betty smear lube up and down his crack. She takes more time than is necessary, rubbing it in and letting her gloved finger push inside. Dean fights it, but it's arousing him more. Eventually he's bracing with his feet on the bed and pressing down onto her finger, fucking it. "You like that baby boy? You like when I watch you fuck Nurse Betty's finger like that?"

"Y-yeah…yes, Daddy." I really should scold him for that slip in address, but I love when he calls me Daddy, so I let it go this time.

"I think it's time for the thermometer," I say and she knows to take her finger away. Dean whines at the loss of touch as I take my hand off my cock; I leave it out, so he can see it.

I pull a thermometer out of the bag. It's a glass rectal thermometer, and I clean off the tip with an alcohol wipe.

"Are you going to be a good boy for me, while I take your temperature? Remember, good boys get lollipops and I've got an extra large lollipop just for you."

Despite his utter humiliation at having his temperature taken rectally in front of my 'nurse,' he smiles. "Yes, Doc. I want my lollipop."

I slide the thermometer into his slicked up hole and leave it there. "Nurse, will you make sure his cock gets massaged? I checked it, and it seemed okay, but the patient complains of aching—aching muscles should be massaged."

Dean groans.

"Right away Doctor."

I love nurse Betty, but I don't think Dean does. He's struggling as she strokes his cock with long, steady strokes, driving him mad. I smile. I get another special image of him in pleasure hell, with a thermometer sticking out of his ass "Please Doctor…may I cum? I've got to…can't…"

"Cum, in the doctor's office? What would your daddy say? You naughty boy. You'd better stop nurse before our patient gets the wrong idea. Besides, I think it's time to read his temperature."

"No, please," he says to the nurse as she takes her hand away.

She shakes her head. "Bad boy," she says spanking his cock lightly. "That's not for doctor's offices."

"I'm pretty sure they don't take rectal temperatures on adults either," he grumbles sending her a decent glare.

"My, my," I say as I remove the thermometer. "You are a grouchy one and I think I know what your problem is, since this shows your temperature is just fine."

"I can tell you what my problem is—"

I send him a dark look. "One more comment like that and I'm sending you home to your daddy with a prescription for bedtime spankings every night until your attitude is spanked away."

"Sorry, Doc. What ails me?"

"That's better. You're clearly not getting enough sex at home, I think your daddy's cock isn't big enough; it's not satisfying you."

"But my daddy's cock is huge, that's impossible."

I shake my head. "But is it as big as this one?" I take my cock in hand and lift it for him to see better.

"You promise not to tell my daddy if I answer?"

"He'll never know."

"That's the biggest cock I've ever seen—much bigger than his, will you fuck me with it Doc? Please? I need a good, hard fucking."

"Well this goes severely against the oath I took when I became a doctor—to never fuck a patient—but this is a life or death matter. You could be dead within hours if I don't relieve your cock of the pressure building. I must do what I must do. Nurse, get behind him for the breast exam while I prepare him for treatment."

Nurse Betty slides in behind him and he accommodates her nervously. No one's really touched his half-boobs except me and his team of real doctors. His blush goes another shade darker as Betty slides the straps of his dress down and reveals the soft tissue there, she licks her fingers and begins playing with his nipples. They are very sensitive. Despite himself, he moans and leans back into her. I step out of my underwear completely, leaving the white doctor coat on, but I put the stethoscope to the side. I pull out a tongue depressor, but I don't plan on using it just for his tongue.

"How does that feel, Dean? Having your tits played with? You like that don't you?"

"Y-yeah…f-feels good."

Betty starts massaging them and tweaking the nipples. Dean closes his eyes and keens his cock upward. "Would you like to receive your treatment with, or without nurse Betty playing with those?"

"W-with," he says shyly. See? He enjoys every second. The more embarrassing it gets, the more he's turned on. This is going to be one hell of an orgasm for him.

"With it is. Nurse, keep checking, do a good job and make sure those nipples get a lot of attention."

"Yes, Doctor." Nurse Betty's turned on too. She'll be excited to tell the rest of the staff and brag about what she got to do.

As Dean enjoys Nurse Betty's massage, I take my tongue depressor and stick it in his mouth. "Looks clean enough in here. When I'm done giving your ass a good dose of my cock, you can suck on the special lollipop I have for you and drink your medicine."

He nods, unable to answer with the stick in his mouth. I remove the stick and use it to fiddle around with his balls, teasing him. I pretend to look for something. "We're all clear here too, but I've got to open you with my special tool, your ass isn't used to taking a cock the size of mine."

My ministrations combined with nurse Betty's are already making him writhe. I pull out my special, clear glass dildo. It's actually a glass dildo butt plug, with a head shaped like a penis and it's got a little handle on the end I can use to work it inside of him. I take my take time and slowly work it in, twisting it just a little. His ass still has plenty of lube left from what nurse Betty did, it's easy to slide it in and out, until his hole is gaping, hungry for the dildo. "Please…Daddy…I need your cock, so bad."

I don't let his slip go this time. I slap his ass. "I'm not your daddy, I'm Doctor Campbell."

"I-I know Doc…it's just…I'm sorry, but…"


"I know I've got to take this treatment, to save my life and all, but I wish you were my daddy. I like it when he fucks me best."

Just when I think Dean is out of ways to make me fall more in love with him, he does that, fuck.

I pull the dildo away and make a big show of removing my white coat (if Clark Kent can remove his glasses and become Superman, I can remove my jacket to become…Super Sam). "Then you'll be happy to know it is I!"

"Oh thank god it's you Daddy. I knew no one could have a bigger cock than yours. I didn't want anyone else to stick their cock inside me."

"And no one else, shall." I'm able to ram my cock into him and it doesn't take much for him to erupt like a volcano, all over his large baby belly. I pull out and move up to stuff my cock in his mouth, it doesn't take me long either. "That's it baby. Drink down all your medicine, suck Daddy's cock."

Dean doesn't miss a drop and he's smiling, hazy and sex drunk. "Thank-you nurse Betty. Your assistance was exemplary. I'm sure you can find a couple of other 'nurses' to help you out?"

"Oh! Yes, sir," she says excited. I've just given her permission to organize a threesome during her workday. I always make sure to reward my randy staff.

She leaves and it's just Dean and I. I take his dress the rest of the way off and snuggle up to him, spooning him. "Did you like that my Belle?"

"God Sammy. That was…incredible."

"Good. I know what you'll like better than you do."

He laughs. "You do. I love you, Sammy."

"I love you too my Belle."

"Do you think…would you love me no matter what?"

"That's a silly question, of course."

"But what if—"

"Don't stress yourself out with what ifs my darling. I will love you 'till the end of time, 'till the moon falls to the Earth and the stars burn out of the sky."

He nods, but I don't think he believes me. Is it so hard for him to believe anyone could just love him? I'll bet this is another 'Adam' thing. Dean was just a coin for trade to that jerk. "You're worth more to me than anything Dean. I mean it. If my company fails, we're going on the road for a bit, maybe not for life, but for awhile. You, me, and Sammy in the Impala, just like you wanted. I want you to be happy, my Belle."

He spins around to look his green eyes at me. "I am happy, Sam. Too happy. The last time I was this happy, my parents died. I'm just—"

"No. I order you not to worry. It's not good for the baby—I've read books."

"When have you had time to read baby books?" he smiles.

"I make time."

"Okay then Papa Bear. I'll stop worrying."

"And one more thing…will you paint something again? Please. For me?"

He frowns. I could make him, but I won't do that, I can see the thought of painting still causes him pain. He won't admit it, even to himself, but that night still hurts him. "I-I…I want to, but I can't yet, Sam. One day. I promise."

"Okay. One day. I'm going to hold you to that."

~28 Weeks~

I'm officially a whale. Like I'm huge. At only twenty-eights weeks, it's hard for me to do just about everything. I can't see my own dick anymore and that's terrifying. I have to get Sam to touch it for me, so I know it's still there. But at least Charlie's finally here. She told me off for expecting that she would just show up at the drop of a hat, but then she did just that. I had to introduce to her to the secret garden crew of course and she fits right in.

I'm happy Charlie's here, but I'm pretty miserable otherwise; wish I could get some fucking sleep. I read somewhere that the baby can blink; I have to picture pretty little baby Sammy's doe eyes blinking away to make the fact that she's invaded my fucking body easier.

She's fucking strong and bossy. If she doesn't like the way I'm sitting, or standing, or lying, she lets me know.

Two bits of good news. Me pregnant is very much liked. It's won Sam back some clients and employees. It's not enough, Sam says, but it's another good sign. He won't tell me what Grandfather Campbell's reaction has been, so I have to assume it's bad. Since he doesn't want me to know any of the ongoings with the company and banned me from the internet weeks ago, until this all blows over, I have to assume that's not good. Since we started being interviewed, things have really blown up in all directions.

Of course I know I can handle it, but I'm not going to argue with him, especially since he's been a bit of a stress case himself lately and we've been arguing more. Correction. I talk back to him, he punishes me. I've gotten another taste of that Lexan paddle he likes so much, but believe me, I don't; it's not nice. He's also quite fond of something called a 'silent spanking' I've learned, for when we have guests over. That's embarrassing. It's this fucking cream he applies to my ass that stings like a son of a bitch. It doesn't take much of that shit and my ass burns much like the after effects of a spanking. It's not anymore fun standing in a corner, holding my dress up, panties down, while the rest of them continue eating dinner carrying on 'normal' dinner conversation and then I have to undergo a round of teasing from Charlie since she's not all that sympathetic. Sometimes you'd think she's Sam's friend over mine—as it turns out he likes her quite a bit. They talk about me in front of me and decide things about me. Charlie's turned out to be the perfect chaperone since she's just as worried about me and the baby.

So let's just say I've suddenly become a lot better at controlling my hormones. Not that I don't want to scream at him, at both of them sometimes, but I do it in my head.

Since Sam's become busier, and I have Charlie, he's been at work more, which means I've been able to get down to the garden more often.

I'm almost on my way there now, but I have a phone call to make, so I asked Charlie to wait for me at the front door. I wanted privacy, since it's a conversation I've been building up to. The whole Adam thing's been on my mind since he called. Something didn't add up for me. Maybe it's a sixth sense, on some of the blogs I read before the internet ban, other mothers claimed to have a heightened sense of intuition. I'm not fucking sure, but my spidey senses have been tingling. I dial his office number and get his office assistant to put me through.

"Hello, Dean? Is everything all right?"

"You knew, didn't you?"

His fucking silence says it all.

"How long, Adam?"

"Since shortly after Mom and Dad died. Remember that hernia operation you had?"

"Vaguely." I actually don't remember it all that well, I probably repressed the memory. That explains why I hated going to hospitals and doctors—it couldn't have gone well.

"They had to scan you. When they showed me what they found…I was horrified. At the time, I thought it would destroy the social standing I was just beginning to build. The doctors said you would be fine, that your hormones would never support a menstrual cycle, or pregnancy. I…I asked them to remove it, but they said it was too risky, apparently since…that part of your reproductive system is tied with…the end of your digestive system, it would give you problems down there, so we left it. You were never supposed to find out. I paid the hospital staff everything we had; it set us behind drastically."

I clutch onto baby Sammy, like he's about to come take her right now. Imagining them taking my parts that helped me make her is a scary fucking thought. "You had no right to make that kind of decision for me, either decision."

"I did. I am…I was your guardian. It was my job to do what was best for you and it was my decision at the time."

"Best for me? For you and the family name, you mean." It's even hard speaking to him that way now. I'm 'grown up,' a baby of my own on the way, married and in my own home, but I'm conditioned to obey Adam. My whole body tightens waiting to be scolded, for once the baby doesn't kick me, but presses her hand against my belly like she's trying to soothe me.

"Yes Dean. That is why I did it. You wouldn't have what you have now, if not for my decisions that you deem reprehensible."

It's not a scolding, not really. It's more of a statement of fact. I suppose he's right, but it doesn't change…"Is that why you've always thought I was worthless?"

"I don't think you're worthless Dean."

"But you said it all the time." I don't let myself think about it often, because it fucking hurts. I love my brother. So much. I've always wanted him to be proud of me; sought his approval, for him to think I'm somebody, but he never did. Great. Now I'm crying. Fucking hormones. That's the last thing I wanted is to cry in front of him.

"Dean. You have to calm down, the baby."

"What do you fucking care? You didn't want me to have her in the first place! You wanted them to mutilate me!"

"Dean, calm down."

"No. I'm done listening to you."

"Let's talk later, when you're calmer."

I should tell him to fuck off, but my conditioning goes deep and I can't. All I can say is, "okay."

I wipe my tears away and just want to get out of here, I'll feel better once I get to the garden. But first, I run up to grab the little ivory elephant I've still got hidden in the closet. I thought we could smash it and sprinkle it around the garden. I can't bring myself to get rid of it-rid of it. It was Sam's mother's. Samantha's Grandmother's. I've become a sentimental sap since being pregnant.

While I'm here I decide to grab a sweater. Charlie, Bobby, Cas and Michael don't let me do much anymore, and it gets a little cold. I should probably put pants on instead of the kilt I'm wearing, but I don't want to, the kilt is much more comfortable. As I sift through my closet I pass over my wedding dress, the first dress I ever wore. Last week was our one year anniversary. Sam felt horrible, but he said he didn't want to risk taking me out with all the paparazzi and naysayers about. They had tried coming to the house, but Sam put an end to them pretty fast.

We did celebrate with a special dinner at home. We ate delicious steak, the baby fucking loved that.

I run my hand over the beautiful fabric, which is apparently ivory colored and not white as the lady who fixed my dress informed me when she dropped it off. Apparently Ivory has tints of yellow, or cream versus white, which is stark and pristine. Seriously. Who the fuck cares? It looks fucking white to me. But it was really fucking important to her I know. Stranger thing, I wasn't pregnant then, nor did I know I could get pregnant and she told me it was important I know in case my daughter wanted to wear it. She might want to know. Now that's a distinct possibility.

I still say fuck her and her ivory, off-white as I put on my white sweater. It's like size extra fucking large—they don't make men's maternity clothes—and it fits tight over my belly; it's the only sweater I've got that does fit. It's why I'm more prone to wearing dresses these days. I don't want to buy a bunch of huge stuff, I plan on ditching this baby weight fast, but Sam insisted I have some men's clothes.

Sammy's fucking foot scrapes across my belly making it look like I've got an alien inside me. She's big. Like really big. After the twentieth week hit, she began growing faster than the doctor's usually seen. Doc Angel's not worried, but he is watching me a little closer. He's got no idea how long this pregnancy might last and with the way she's growing, he's thinking it could be sooner rather than later.

I also put on a scarf and a large coat, since it's January again and winter's fucking cold in Maine and Sam will kill me if he finds out I've been trouncing around improperly attired. Not to mention, Charlie will just send me right back inside.

The ground's too hard to do anything of use, so we're building things. More picnic benches and a proper swing set. We figure we could have Samantha's first birthday in there, after we tell Sam. We're going to tell him by the way. Tomorrow. I had to go through another round of begging them not to runaway. After all, I do love them too, maybe not in the same way as they love me, but who's to say there's not a little in there? I know I can't live without them both.

We have this big plan. We've decided at this point there's no good way to tell him, so go big or go home, right?

We figure we'll get Michael to roll Cas in, in his chair, we'll both tell him a speech we've rehearsed, then Cas will stand up and voila! He'll know.

I'm safe from his wraith because I'm pregnant and Cas can walk now, so he and Michael can run out the door. Them running away can be plan B if we need it.

It makes me fucking nervous, but I'm not going to think about it today. Today, I'm just going to enjoy the garden. As Charlie and I are on our way down, I get another hard fucking kick from Sammy right up my ribs and it doesn't feel nice. I have to take a small pause—she doesn't have a lot of room these days and she's chosen now to become a fucking acrobatic octopus. Kicking and punching me all over the place.

"Fuck, Dean. You okay?" Charlie says.

"Yeah, just a hard kick," I breathe. It's not the first time she's kicked me like that.

"You don't look okay—how was the call with Adam?"

"I'd rather not explain it twice, can we just…get down there?"

She nods.

"There you two are. I was going to send a search party," Cas says when we reach the garden.

"I'm not exactly agile these days, give me a fucking break. Least Charlie's patient with me." I think Cas is jealous of the time I spend with Charlie, so I rub it in a little.

He scowls. "That's the last time you walk down here, we were all worried. We'll get you your own chair."

"Yeah, because you all look fucking worried."

Michael's eating egg salad, which I can smell from where I'm standing (going to have to add that one to the list of foods I can't eat) so I avoid him, Cas, I'm not sure what he's doing exactly but it's not work and even Bobby's sitting drinking a beer.

Sammy kicks me in the ribs a-fucking-gain. "Fuck, baby girl," I say doubling over. That gets them on their feet. Michael drops the sandwich and Cas is by my side. He's started wearing this tan colored trench coat ever since the weather turned cold; I don't see how it keeps him warm.

"You okay, Dean?" Michael asks.

"Yeah, I'm okay. This girl kicks like a ninja." I'm already righting myself by the time they make it to me.

"Still Dean. Take easy today, okay? You're…big."

"I've been trying to tell him," Charlie says. "Think he'll listen?"

"I don't think you're supposed to say that to a pregnant woman Cassy," Michael says.

"Dean's not a pregnant woman—he's a pregnant man," Cas defends.

"Doesn't make a difference Cas and I can still fucking kick your ass. Ow." My belly gets kind of hard and tight and squeezes just a bit. I've never felt that before, it's probably because Cas is fucking pissing me off.

Bobby puts his beer down. "That's enough outta yah, yah Idjit," he says to Cas. "Dean, sit down. You don't look so good."

I sit on the picnic bench. "I'm just a bit upset. I talked with my brother, turns out, he knew." I tell them everything, only minorly touching on the stuff about my brother and I in the past. I'd rather leave all the shit between us in the past. I have a new life now, one I really fucking like. It's not perfect, but no life is.

"Your brother sounds like a real class act."

"Cas," Michael warns.

"Well, it's true. Here, I know what will make you feel better." He hands me a hammer. "Time to smash an elephant."

I painstakingly rise from the bench and waddle over to a cement block that looks kinda old. If it suffers any impact from the hammer, no one will mind. I place the elephant on the block. "You're sure Cas? I mean, I couldn’t find the trunk, but maybe we could fix it somehow, maybe Sam won't care."

"You can't fix that Dean and Sam will care. It's better he just thinks he lost it. Besides, we already have one big fucking skeleton to unleash."

"Okay. Here goes nothing." I wield the hammer best I can with the lack of torso rotation from having a human growing inside me, but I'm strong, so I hit true. The elephant smashes into puzzle sized pieces, Cas and Michael cheer (just for effect), Bobby rolls his eyes at them and Charlie laughs at all of us.

My belly tightens again, becoming hard, and I have to breath deeply in and out.

"Okay, that's it, Dean. I'm officially putting you on garden rest. C'mon Michael let's make him relax."

They practically manhandle me down to a blanket they've got spread out, while Bobby gets me some water from the basket. Cas sits me against him and starts massaging my back, Michael works on my kankles.

"That feels fucking good. Did you talk about this in the I love Dean club? Is this your ploy to finally have sex with me?" I laugh loud at the two of them, Bobby joins me and so does Charlie, whose humor is just like ours.

"You caught us. Though I think it would be a lot more fun if we could actually see your cock." Now it's him and Michael laughing.

"That's the same as calling me fat, Cas. Watch out, or I might put a spell on you."

We all laugh at that. And that's exactly how he finds us: Laughing, me cuddled up to Cas, Michael massaging my feet.


We all spin around at the voice we all know well. It's Sam. Fuck. I can barely breathe. I feel that same nervous tension I did a year ago when I first came to live with him.

I pull away from the two like they're wizard fire, but I have to let them help me stand.

"It's not…It's not what it looks like, " I say out of breath. Damn. That doesn't sound good at all—why do people even use that fucking line? I mean, yes it's true, but no it's not a good defense.

"Castiel?" Sam says.

"Uh, hello brother. We're uh…fuck." Even Cas is speechless, I think the world is coming to an end.

"You're home," I say because I don't know what else to fucking say.

"Yes," he says barely containing his rage. "I got a phone call from your brother. He said you two had a fight and that you didn’t sound good. He was worried about you and the baby, but thought he'd only upset you further if he called back. I called you, but you didn't answer."

"What?" I pat around for my phone, but can't find it.

Sam holds it up. "You left it in the bedroom." His rage reaches a crescendo which climaxes with him throwing my phone across the garden and smashing against the stone wall. We all flinch, even Bobby. I want to ask why he didn't try Charlie's phone, but I don't think that's a good question right now. "Dean, do you have any idea how fucking worried I've been? No one seemed to know where you were, but finally someone told me they thought you'd come down this way, I heard the laughing. Then I come in here, my mother's garden, to find…this?" He spreads his hand out to us.

Yeah, it's bad. It's worse than I'd imagined.

"And you! You're my brother, how dare you?"

"Sam, Dean and I are just friends. He loves you."

"Loves me so much he's been lying to me. How long have you two known about the other?"

I can barely speak, but somehow I manage. "A-about a m-m-month after I moved h-here."

"Almost a year?"

"Yes," we say at the same time.

"A whole year you've been what? Doing this?"

He's referring to the garden, at least I hope he is and doesn't think we were doing other things. I can't answer, my stomach is literally flipping. Cas sees I'm freaking out and takes over. "Yes. He helped me get better Sam. It was his idea I see a new doctor and learn to walk, I'm not going to die; I'll live a long and happy life…that is, if you don't kill me for this."

Yes. That's the spirit. A good old fashioned dose of humor. Maybe humor can absolve this whole thing?

"I might, Castiel."

Or not. Sam doesn't sound like he's joking.

"Sam, we're sorry. We're so fucking sorry," I say.

"Sorry? You should have told me a long time ago."

"In our defense, you could have told him about me. You lied too."

Not helpful Cas.

"I thought you were dying. I had a good reason."

I glare at Cas, because I was right, though I doubt Cas will bring up the whole everybody loves Dean thing just to prove a point.

"If we had told you earlier, would it have made a difference?" That's Cas.

"Probably not."

"Then we were screwed either way. The when didn't matter, we should just work on moving passed this," Cas says.

Sam doesn't say anything, but he is thinking. I don't imagine 'moving forward' is going to be easy, but if he'll agree to that, it's better than we could have hoped.

I think he's actually going to take his brother's advice, until his eyes catch on something behind me and narrow. He can't see what it is he's looking at, so he moves closer, but I know. It feels like all the blood has been drained from my body.

"What is this? Is this Mother's elephant?" he says picking up the puzzle sized crumbles and letting them flitter to the ground. We hadn't had a chance to sprinkle them around yet.

I've got tears in my eyes now. "Yes, I…I knocked it over one time when I wend to visit Cas. I couldn't fix it, we knew you'd be mad and—"

"And you decided you'd rather smash it to smithereens rather than tell me?"

Sam's often told me of a look he can't stand to see in my eyes. He says it's a look of such pain and heartbreak, he'd do anything not to see it there because it hurts him just as bad as I'm probably hurting when I've got that look.

Now I know how he feels.

The look in his eyes is of such utter torture, it twists my gut and wrenches my heart. "Sam I'm sorry." It's not enough, but it's all I've got.

Sam shakes his head. "I was going to give you that elephant, because it's a sign for luck, longevity and happiness. It's also a symbol of loyalty. I didn't know what that one meant for us; I thought I did, but now I really know. It's right here, our loyalty, in pieces. Grandfather was right about you, about all of it. You've betrayed me Dean, in the worst of ways."

He swipes what's left of the elephant on the ground and storms out of the garden. "Sam! No, please!" I try running after him, but I'm hit with another one of the strange sensations I've been getting. My belly goes hard and tightens, but this time it brings me to the ground. Sam's already gone, he can't see me.

"…Doc Angel."

Bobby pulls out his cell phone and I tell him the number, but I can't stop fucking crying. Cas is there and Charlie, and Michael. They both console me while another one of the strange sensations hit me. "Dean. Dean. You've got to calm down. Think of the baby. Think of Samantha. It's too soon for her to be born," Cas says.

Right. He was born too soon. I take deep breaths as they guide me to sit on the bench.

"Doctor's on his way. He says to get Dean into the house, pronto."

I nod. As soon as the strange pains come on, they seem to go. I think I'm okay physically, but in every way else I'm a wreck.

Michael wheels Cas's chair over, least that part of our lie comes in handy now and Charlie helps me in. We leave everything else behind us and make way for the house. No wonder the garden was locked up. It might be able to bring life, but it takes, just as easily as it gives.

Chapter Text

~The Next Day~

Braxton hicks contractions. I had some fucking powerful Braxton hicks contractions. Apparently normal, but for me twice the intensity of regular Braxton hicks contractions 'cause I'm a dude. The doctor ordered two days of bed rest because Cas spilled the beans on all my 'stress,' and the doctor became concerned.

Sam won't talk to me. He's here, sitting, watching over me making sure I'm okay, but he won't fucking talk to me. He just glares between Cas and I who won't leave my side either. Both Campbell men are fucking worried about me to the power of a thousand.

We caught up quickly with Sam, since Michael drove the cart like a bat out of hell. Sam actually took over driving, telling Michael to leave before he kills him and never to touch me again.

Sam let Bobby and Charlie help us. He doesn't seem to be too mad at Bobby, nor is he pleased with him, but Bobby decided to leave us to it saying he'd be back to check we hadn't killed each other in a few days. Charlie decided to go with him, since as she said, it sounded like we needed some private time to sort things out. Her and Bobby have got to know each other well over the weeks she's been here.

For the first few hours I begged Sam to talk to me, until he asked me not to. Saying, that whether I liked it or not, he was still my husband and he ordered me to settle down so I wouldn't harm myself, or the baby. I've been doing exactly as he's asked hoping he'll see I still love and respect him. So we're in this weird sort of stand off. No one really talks to each other, except to ask how I am. We're all seriously heartbroken.

Baby Sammy's settled down. Her fucking Cirque du Soleil debut is over for now, but she still let's me know she's there, moving and pushing her hands and feet outward. I decide to chance saying one thing since it's nothing to do with him talking to me. "S-Sam…d-do you want to say hi to her? She's moving." Sam likes to talk to her everyday. Just because he's pissed at me, doesn't mean he shouldn't talk to her.

Sam already looks ragged. His tie is loosely hanging around his neck sideways, his white button up shirt untucked—only on one side, his eyes are puffy from lack of sleep since he slept in that fucking chair all night. Cas doesn't look much better, he wouldn't leave his chair either.

Sam sits next to me on the bed and I move to pull my dress up (I'm used to being pretty free with myself in front of Cas; I've lifted my dress so he could feel the baby plenty of times) but Sam firmly pulls it back down. I don't argue and take his hands and move them to where she's most active, she greets her Papa with a foot against his hand. I still think it looks fucking weird, but I know Sam loves it. He smiles at her. He also looks up to smile at me forgetting for a second just how mad he is. Cas sensing we're having a little moment, quietly slips out of the room.

"Hello, Princess," he says and waits for her to do something else. He looks up at me again when my stomach jumps in rhythmic intervals. "What's going on?"

"She's got hiccups. They scared me the first time too, but Doc Angel assured me they are normal and a good sign." Well mostly. Sometimes it can mean the umbilical cord is compressed, but Doc says it's extremely rare and Sam is freaked as it is.

Sam's glowing. I think he's actually proud of her for having the hiccups, he's going to be a good Papa. For a moment, I forget we're in the middle of a huge fight. But then I remember and I have to ask. "Sam, is there anyway you can…I mean…do you still love me?"

"Of course I still love you, but I have to say, I wish I didn't, then maybe this wouldn’t hurt so fucking much, Dean."

I ignore the rest and concentrate on him still loving me part. I can work with that. He's hurt, I understand him feeling that way. His phone rings, when he sees the number he says he's got to take it. After saying hello, he doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't need to, his face looks worse than it did in the first place. When he hangs up all he says is, "Dean, I have to go."

He heads out the door. "Wait, Sam!" As I move to begin my cumbersome rise from the bed, he turns to stop me with nothing but his eyes. I freeze.

"Don't you move from that bed 'till the doctor says you can. That's a firm order Dean."

I slink back onto the bed, but I'm kind of pissed he's not telling me what the fuck's going on.

I hear him talking to Cas in the hallway, but I can't make out what they're saying. They come back in the bedroom. "I have to go, I should be back in a couple of days. Cas," he says the nic I gave him sarcastically. "Is in charge, until I get back."

"Him? Why him? Shouldn't I be in charge?" Not to mention I'm surprised he'd do something like that considering.

"No Dean, you shouldn't."

Right. Even pissed as he is at Cas, Sam's still a Traditionalist to his core, following Traditionalist protocol. But if he's trusting him, that should be a good sign, right?

"Where are you going?"

He pauses, he's got that look in his eye again, the one that breaks my heart. "Castiel will fill you in. I have to leave now."

"Sam! I love…you." But he's already out the door.

Cas looks at me lying in the bed. He doesn't have to say anything. "Yes I see the irony in this situation. Where is he going?"

"Our father died, Dean. He's going to bury him."


I'm cleared the next day by the doc. "You might get more Braxton Hicks, Dean. These often come in the months before a woman has a baby, in preparation. The cervix begins to open well before due day. We've got your due date estimated for the second week of April, but I dunno Dean, she's going to come a lot sooner. She's big, but that's all I can tell. I don't know how well her organs are formed, I hope she'll stay in a bit longer at least. You're not on bed rest, but I want you to take it easier now. Maybe Castiel can push you in that chair over there for walks?"

Cas fucking smirks at me.

"Sure, Doc. I'll take it easy. Anything else?"

"No. I'll be back in a week's time with Jo and Ellen, but don't hesitate to call me if you need me."

When the doctor leaves I set eyes on Cas. "Not a word."

"I said nothing."

"I can hear your thoughts. Any word from Sam?"

"Not much, only his where abouts. It's only been twenty-four hours and all that time was probably spent travelling. Turns out, our father was in Vancouver, Canada with his family."


Cas shrugs. "I'm sure it will be a quick thing, back in a few days. I called Michael, told him to lay low for a few days. I'm sure everything will be fine when Sam gets back. This will give him time to cool down."


But we don't hear from Sam. A week passes and nothing. It rains everyday. We stay away from the garden, like it's an unlucky charm. I get more Braxton hicks, but other than that, the baby's fine. I am worried Sam will be gone and I'll have her, I don’t want to have her without him.

When Sam's gone another week, we put our feelers out and involve Jules. She hasn't heard from him either. No one has. Not even anyone from work; they're all wondering where he's gone too. Apparently, they've been calling his cell with no answer, they were afraid to call my cell, but it wouldn’t have mattered if they did, since it's smashed to pieces in the garden. We called them using Sam's office phone.

And are they glad to hear from a Campbell, even if that Campbell is Cas with no business experience whatsoever, as if just the being a Campbell imbibes Cas with some sort of godly president of a company-like powers.

They ask for his opinions; Cas loves giving his opinion, they do what he says without asking his qualifications. I do think Cas has a career in acting, even I'm not sure he's not a business exec, with the way he up and takes charge.

Cas doesn't hide as much from me about the business, like Sam had been and now I know things really aren't looking good. The only reason the company is still afloat is because Sam's been feeding it out of pocket money.

But the other strange thing, no one's heard from Samuel Senior since we last saw Sam. It doesn't seem to matter that the conductor has left the train, Samuel Senior seems to have set Sam's company, formerly his own company, on a course of devastation.

"What a dick-bag, Cas. Sorry, I know you're related to him…wish he'd paid more attention to you and all that…and to think I…well it doesn't matter now. Let's just say I foolishly thought there was some bit of mercy left in the man."

Cas just shrugs. "He's a dick-bag, that's undeniable." For a guy that worshipped the ground he walked on, he seems pretty god damned indifferent. That can't mean anything good.

I don't help Cas, not even from the sidelines, I know Sam wouldn't want me to. I want to show him I can respect his wishes even when he's not here. We do invite Michael back. That's different. He's one of us now and I think Cas is going to somehow get Sam to let him marry Michael, if he ever comes back.

Cas needs someone to watch over me, he says, since he's suddenly become very busy, so we ask Charlie to come back too. We asked her a week ago actually, and she did stop by to visit, but she wasn't sure she should be here. Now that Sam's been gone awhile, she steps in to help me again. Jules doesn't seem to want to be involved at all, she stopped by once, to make sure we were all okay and Cas walking seemed to freak her out, but she didn't seem to think the rest of it was a big deal. "My brother will come to his senses Dean, he loves you."

After only three days of 'Cas in charge,' we get the shock of our lives.

Stephen, the man that looks like Daniel Radcliffe, the man who cancelled our threesome date, shows up at our door. I'm approaching my thirty-first week of pregnancy, I'm bigger than a whale, I swear and poor Sammy's got no room. We're both uncomfortable and I get out of breath easily. She's always moving, in an irritated way like her papa, trying to find a place to put her arm or foot, only to move it again moments later. Poor girl. I think the doctor's right, I think she's going to come soon and the doctor says that even if we don't get contractions, he's only giving me another week then he's taking her out. Sam, where are you?

"Dean. I heard the news, please allow me to congratulate you in person," Stephen says.

Stephen's not alone. Behind him is a V-formation of other dudes; it reminds me a lot of the night Grandfather Campbell arrived with his own set of cavalry. The men look to be Stephen and Sam's age. Sam's quite a bit older than Cas and I, twelve years.

"Thank-you, Stephen."

"Once again, I'm sorry I had to cancel without notice on our date," he winks. "Am I ever sorry. Had an emergency I needed to deal with." He's every bit as good-looking as I thought he was when we met and I can't help, but remember him fondling my balls and stroking my cock. I still wonder what the night would have been like with him and Sam and me.

"Wait, so you didn't cancel because of all the crap Sam Senior has been spreading?"

"No, no, Dean. Remember what I told you at the party?"

"No." My brain remembers sex—I can still trace the route his hand took when it stroked my cock—but not much else, certainly not what we talked about. Besides, that party seems like it was a hundred years ago.

"I spoke about how much I admire Sam—said I'd follow him into battle; I think this counts as battle."

"You've had all this time to come to him though," I say. I'm sure his 'emergency' couldn't have lasted all these months.

He nods. "Sam's been ignoring my calls. I thought it might be something like this, that he would think I ditched you guys on account of his Grandfather; take it personally. I didn't Dean, I swear, I'm sorry. I know the company's on its last legs, I'd really like to help Dean. I know I can."

I believe the guy whether I should or not and get Cas. Cas doesn't give a shit about what happened before. "If you're willing to join forces with us, I'm not going to turn you away, in case no one's noticed, I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Not gonna lie at this point, we're desperate, we need all the help we can get and if you're here to destroy us the rest of the way, well, least it will be over sooner."

We set up a pseudo-office at the house. Cas doesn't want to be too far from me, even with Michael and Charlie here, Stephen and his group of men move in working night and day, day and night. Michael helps me organize the staff (who are more willing to follow my orders while Sam is gone) to provide for our growing number of guests and Charlie takes care of me.

We arrange more interviews for me, which have to be done at the house and with me sitting down, Cas will barely let me do anything these days since he says I sound like a dying car when I move, but they need the publicity.

But our second big break is when Frances comes by. She's been wanting to see me since our announcement (was that only eleven weeks ago?) When she stops in and sees what we're up to, she gets some of her friends involved and that's all it takes. That and that Grampa C hasn't been seen or heard from in weeks, so without him opposing us and with Frances and Stephen's help, we're able to swing things back in our favor, Campbell Inc is well on it's way to being back on top—it will still needs some months to recover, but everyone's sure it will.

The whole thing's a bit bittersweet for me, without Sam here to celebrate with. There's champagne and a small party at the house, but we are able to disband the makeshift office. Cas can't officially sign on Stephen and his crew in a formal business merger, but that's the plan when Sam comes back, if Sam comes back. No one's heard from him since he left now; it's been three weeks.

I'm at thirty-two weeks and I did not like the way Doc Angel looked at me the last check-up. "Dean, she's coming soon. Any day, I can feel it. I think we're okay to wait for her to tell us and go with emergency C-section, just in case."

"That's good, because I'm not having her without Sam."

"I'm sorry, Honey, but you may not have a choice," Doc says.

"Hang on just a little longer baby girl," I say, but she's pissed and it's painful. I have to hide how much it hurts when she kicks these days. She's fucking feisty and strong and I don't feel good at all.

And when Sam does come home, if he comes home, I'm going to fucking kill him. How dare he leave me, pregnant as I am with no word? If he thought my hormones were bad before, he should see them now. That combined with my and Sammy's discomfort is a recipe for destruction.

Despite my attempts to fake that I'm fine, Cas sees right through. He sleeps on the floor of my and Sam's bedroom, terrified something will happen to me in the night.

"Psst, Dean?" he whispers to me in the dark.

I don't answer and pretend I'm asleep, I don't feel like fucking talking.

"I know you're awake," he adds, not bothering to whisper that time.

"Well you would be too if you had a person growing in you, who tosses and turns all night. I'm hot, uncomfortable…miserable…"

"Missing your husband…"

"He should be here Cas."

"He should."

We're quiet for a few more moments.

"He's never coming back, is he Cas?"

"No Dean. He's not. I just got the text two days ago, I've been trying to figure out how to tell you. I know you're waiting on him to have the baby Dean; now you don't need too."

Suddenly, it feels hard to breathe. I knew, but I was hoping Cas would say some stupid epithet like Jules had, to make me feel better, but Cas isn't like that and he's right, I was waiting for his stupid ass. I'm laying on Sam's side of the bed, like I have been since he left, some of his scent is still there, how long 'till it fades away? Sammy settles down as best she can, maybe she knows I'm crying? I try to keep quiet, but I'm pretty sure Cas's silence is because he knows I'm crying and doesn't know what to say.

"I never told you, Dean," Cas suddenly says. "When I was younger and thought I was going to die, I used to pray that by some miracle I wouldn't, that something could make me walk. The doctor I had at the time was such a fucking downer, we all thought there was no hope for me, but not one willing to give up easily, I searched out some other methods of healing myself."

"What did you do? Resort to witchcraft?" It's an inside joke we've had going since the great bonfire, it's not even creative and I say it half-heartedly, my heart breaking in tears on my pillow.


That should make me fucking laugh, but it doesn't, I cry harder, hugging his pillow to me, in a last desperate attempt to feel him. He's gone. Gone. I don't care what fucking becomes of me for a moment, but Sammy reminds me she's there.

"Fuck it Dean. I'm coming up there."

He climbs in bed with me and wraps his arms around me…well they're not really around me since I'm as big as a fucking house. Sammy must know it's her uncle Cas, she presses a foot out to him and because we've become completely comfortable, perhaps too comfortable, he slides his hand up my nightgown (I don't fit any of my pajama pants anymore) and lets Sammy feel his hand on my bare skin. I'm not worried about Sam coming in and finding us like this; he won't now. I might as well tell Doc to take Sammy out.

Cas and I lay together and he lets me cry for a long time. He rubs my belly. "Don't worry Dean. I'll make sure you're taken care of. Michael and I both will, you'll want for nothing and neither will Sammy."

"I know you will Cas." I wipe my tears and sit up so I can see him in the moonlight. His hand slips out from my nightgown and he sits up too. "So tell me about this witchcraft hoo doo," I say. He must have been fucking with me, trying to make me laugh; I'm game for that right now.

"I had this dream of my mother. She was in what I thought was a field, surrounded by roses, but when you brought me to her garden, I realized that was the place she would visit me in my dream, or I think it was more like, I was visiting her. Every year in the spring, I'd have the same dream and thought it had to be magic making me have that dream and I wanted to figure out how it worked. As a boy, my logic was if I was imbibed with these magical powers and I could figure out how to harness them, maybe I could see my mother whenever I wanted. Maybe I could heal myself. So I decided to become a scientist who studies magic."

Okay, he's managed to get a laugh out of me. "Seriously Cas, where do you come up with this stuff?"

"This is why I never told you before. I've never told anyone, actually."

Fuck, he's not fucking around for once. "I'm sorry, but, a scientist who studies magic, Cas? Special powers you could harness? That is kinda funny."

"All right, that's enough. Can I finish?"

"Go ahead…Doctor Magic," I laugh again and I think Cas is just grateful I'm not crying, so he lets me.

"I paid off some of the staff to bring me 'special' books. I began reading about magic, and herbs and rituals. Then one night, I got brave enough to do one. It was a healing ritual. Several months later, you showed up."

"Wait a minute. Several months later, I showed up? I thought you said you were a boy when you believed in all this crap?"

"I said I was a boy when I began investing in the knowledge of this crap, not that I stopped believing."

I think I see where he's going with this. "Let's say we do the ritual and let's say it does work, I need Sam here yesterday, not months from now."

"I've thought about that, you see and I think if we perform the ritual in the garden it will strengthen it. The healing magic of this place is somehow connected to the garden…and my mother."

"What? Like she's a ghost haunting this place?"

"Jules thinks so. I've never shared my theories with her, but she could never wait to leave and I always wondered…haven't you noticed she doesn't come by here much? Sam left me in charge, because he knew she wouldn't stay here for more than a few hours."

"You think she had dreams of your mother too?"

"Dreams…visions…perhaps she even saw her, I'm not sure. Talking about Mother made her nervous in ways I suspect have nothing to do with Grandfather."

"Let's say you have dreams and so did Jules, what about Sam? Do you think he has them too?"

Cas shrugs. "I don't know for sure, but my guess is no. I think we have to send her to him, get her to bring him back. You can make fun of me all you want, but I believe she healed me Dean, in part by sending you and with the magic from her garden. I think if we can get him to the garden…get him to spend time in the garden, she can heal him too."

I don't know if I'm convinced, but it can't hurt, right? "I'm desperate, Cas. I'll do anything. Unleash your hoo doo scientific magic crap."

~Next Night~

"Why are we here again?" Charlie asks.

"Some kinda hoo doo witchcraft 'parently, but I just think it's a couple of idjits 'round a fire," Bobby says.

"Why does it have to be in the dark?" Michael asks. "Robin can't be here."

"Shh. Quiet everyone, quit complaining," Cas says. He's got his khaki trench coat off, the sleeves of his white long sleeve rolled up. He tosses another log into the fire making the flames roar. We're in the middle of the garden and the whole thing looks fucking eerie. "We're all here to try and bring Sam back."

"What if some of us have mixed feelings about that?"

"Shh, your opinion doesn't count, Bobby," Charlie says.

"Then why am I here? I don't got time for this."

"We need as many people as possible to make the spell work, so hush," Cas says.

They wheeled me out here, Cas said it was important I be here for the ritual and I wouldn't have missed it anyway, but with the baby coming any day, we're all on high alert.

"I'm so excited Dean! Thank-you for inviting me," says Doc Angel. Yeah he's here too and not just to watch over me—he's become part of our very strange family over these past months. We just couldn't do it without him and like Cas said, we needed bodies and we weren't sure about asking staff.

"My pleasure, Doc." I put a hand on Sammy who's restless. She wants to be part of the ritual too.

"This is how it goes everyone," bossy Cas tells everyone. "I'm going to begin a chant, we all have to move around in the circle, by jumping to the right. You'll continue, once I get you started then I'm going to say something else, the 'magic words,' while you continue the chant."

"But how will we know which part isn't the chant?" Michael asks.

"You'll know, your part isn't in English."

"We gotta stand up for this?" Bobby complains.

"Um, Cas? Do you think we could do a shuffle instead of a hop? I don't think Sammy'll like hopping," I say.

"You're not doing anything, Titanic," Cas says.

"Oh, yes I am. I'm going to be part of this in every way."

"Forget it, Dean. Doc Angel, tell him."

"Actually, the shuffle would be okay. This won't take long, will it?"

Cas is miffed, even in the dark I can feel his ire. "No. Not long," he sighs a long suffering sigh. "All right fine, thank god the Doc is here."

"If anything does happen and he goes into labor, we can get everyone here quickly. I think it better he has the baby sooner at this point. If this kick starts it, good."

So, uh, Sam had an entire medical ward build into the house, complete with its own operating room. Apparently no Campbell has ever been born in a hospital and we're not starting now. He's got hospital staff he's been paying to be on standby for the past couple months, ready to come at the drop of a hat if need be.

"Here Charlie, you can be my fire woman," he says handing her a couple of torches he's lit, we all get into place standing in circle around the fire; me with some difficulty, but both Doc Angel and Bobby help me.

Cas nods toward Michael, Michael begins playing a haunting tune on his recorder as Cas begins the chant and we try to follow along with him.

"Oh allahgora, oy, hoy abita. Oh allhgora, oy hoy abita," Cas chants and we join in, shuffle jumping to the right after each 'oh,' and I think it's fucking dorky, but I give it my all, hanging onto Sammy, getting caught up in the mystique of it all.

Because dorky as it is, it's also fucking haunting. Being in the pitch black around a bonfire tends to do that. Once Cas figures we've got the hang of the chant, he starts the next part as we continue on, I warn you though, it's even more dorky than the first part and I'm glad he didn't tell me what we'd be doing before hand, or I might not have done it.

"Oh great magic, please come to me. Send me my brother here, set his spirit free. Oh great magic please come to me, send me my brother here set his spirit free," Cas says over and over. Charlie holds the torches and I can just see everyone's faces. Michael's still playing the recorder along with the chanting, even Bobby's enthralled, tangled in a web of magic Cas is weaving. Doc Angel is having a grand time, and so is Cas, really jumping each time we're supposed to shuffle sideways and sometimes spinning, a huge smile on his face. How on Earth did he perform this from his bed?

Our chant and Cas's words combined, build up to a crescendo, 'till finally Cas shouts: "Go!" and we all intuitively know to stop, everything goes silent, even Michael's recorder and we're all holding our arms up toward the sky (for Charlie it's torches) following Cas's every move.

We stand there like that for sometime and I don't know what I expected to happen, a flash of light? Fireworks? An explosion? But none of those things happen, except something has happened. I can't see it, or hear it, but it's a feeling like a ripple in a pond. We're the rock that's been dropped and energy is moving outward and away from us. Everyone can feel it and we don't know what to say to the other.

Finally Cas says, "all right Michael, pour these fine people some Whiskey and a sparkling water for the house over there."

"Why you…if I could…I'd sit on you Castiel Campbell and I'm sure everyone would help me do it."

Everyone laughs, as Michael pours the drinks. "Here, here to that, Dean," Michael says.

"Here, here," we all agree.


After that eerie, dorky fucking séance, whatever the fuck we just did, I tell Cas I'm going up to bed and he says he'll be along shortly. I really mean to head there, but I pause just outside the bedroom door, something is beckoning me further; toward my painting studio.

I haven't even entered it since Grandfather burned all my works for the charity auction, but now, I'm overcome with the intense desire to paint. One thing is in my mind and I have to get it out, I have to create them.

I pull out some canvases—this is going to take more than one—and remove my sweater, so I'm unencumbered, in nothing but the long and flowing white dress, with cap sleeves. I don't know how long I paint, but I'm consumed. I'm not careful, my dress gets full of paint, I don't care, I keep painting 'till I'm surrounded in them. The sun starts to come up.

Cas flusters in, panicked; bewildered. "Dean! What the actual fuck? The entire house is looking for you. I can't believe no one thought to…were you here all night?"

I twist, brush and palette still in hand and smile at him wistfully. "Sorry, Cas. Yeah, I guess I have been."

"You're a naughty boy and as Campbell of the house I should spank you, and if I thought I could find your ass under all that baby, I would."

I scowl at him. "Very funny."

"In the least you owe me an explanation. What's all this?" He gestures around at my paintings.

"I'm not sure. I was compelled to paint and so I did."

"Peach roses. Huh. Looks just like the garden does in the spring."

I take a good look around. Every canvas is filled with peach roses. Big ones, small ones, some canvases have ten or twelve, some just one big one; I even look like a rose myself with the way the paint has splattered all over my dress.

I put down my tools and slowly stand to take a look around. Standing in the middle, it is exactly like being in the garden in full bloom. I smile at Cas.

And then my stomach tightens, painfully.

I have to crouch over and breath. Cas comes to my side. "Braxton hicks?" he says.

I shake my head. "I don't think so, Cas. That one was…wow, fuck am I glad she's not coming out of me…she's coming."

The pain subsides and I can only stare at him; he can read my thoughts, but I say them anyway. "He's not here, Cas. She can't come when he's not here."

"I know Dean. I'm sorry."

'Cause what the fuck else is there to say?

"C'mon Dean. Let's get you changed and some place more comfortable—you're probably exhausted. I'll call the doctor. And, uh, I should probably call off the search."

He's right I should be, but I'm not tired at all. For the first time in months, I've got the energy of a fucking house fly.

"Okay, Cas. Cas?"

"Oh no you don't Winchester. No sappy speeches. Let's have this baby, there will be plenty of time for Bro-mellow-drama afterward."

~Two Days before Cas's Hoo Doo Ritual~

It was a long time she sat there, but today her voice, raspy from over a decade of silence says to no one in particular, "it's happening."

The nurse sent to tend her morning cleanse is more than curious. She'd never heard this woman speak, in fact, all she'd ever seen, is this woman stare at the wall. Though sometimes, it's been said the woman could be heard laughing. It's so rare, and so unbelievable, most of the staff think they're hearing things. Some of the staff are more apt to believe it's a ghost.

The nurse thinks this woman was once a marvelous beauty. She's still got sweet lines on her face and bold green eyes. What the nurse doesn't know is that those same green eyes have meant the living death of so many Campbell's.

Her hair is white and grey with the odd strand of red blazing through the wild nest. They have her in a cornflower blue dress, covered in the standard issue house coat, which is weird. This woman has always been sent the finest of things.

No one comes to visit her anymore, well with the exception of her grandson some months ago, and the odd friend here and there, but it's infrequent enough the nurse feels accurate when she thinks no one.

This nurse is the curious sort, so she can't help sitting down next to the woman in the wheelchair, staring at the blank wall. "What's happening?"

The woman doesn't answer.

The nurse should have known better. She's worked with some wild cards since she came to this center, but there's nothing particularly wild about this patient. It's the opposite; she's predictable. But the nurse, because of all her experience with the 'crazies,' has quite the imagination. That combined with her pity for this woman makes her invent a story, a nice story. Maybe to make herself feel better, maybe to pass the time of her work day; we'll never know, nor will she, but that's what she does.

"You're right Ma'am. It's happening. And if it is, you'd better look the part. We can't have your prince show up with you looking like you've slept a hundred years. Let's get you dressed up."

"Thank-you," says the woman.

The nurse is a bit surprised, but she smiles and gets to work. The woman has so many pretty things, the nurse can't help digging into her fantasy that maybe this women is in fact a princess and her prince is coming to get her soon. She brushes the woman's hair carefully, one hundred times, she rubs the expensive looking lotions into her. She doesn't think the woman needs make-up, but she does accessorize her with a beautiful diamond necklace and even a tiara. Yes. Someone had given this woman a tiara. "Have I got to be in a coma, before someone buys me a tiara?" says the nurse and she thinks she hears the woman giggle, but she's not sure.

The nurse removes the standard issue housecoat and reaches into the closet for one of the woman's nicer ones; there are plenty. The nurse pulls out a pristine white housecoat. "Oh no, dear. Not that one," says the woman.

The nurse shrugs and changes it for a blue one to match her dress.

With the woman fit for her ball, the nurse feels much better. She completes all of her other tasks, the ones she was sent to do and leaves. The nurse can't help herself. It makes great gossip at lunch; no one can believe the woman in room 424 spoke a word. Everyone's curious. Everyone wants to hear her say something else, or even the same thing; her speaking is a novelty.

That day she's visited by a nurse every hour, each one hoping they'll hear her talk. She doesn't.

The next day, when a new nurse is sent, the woman says, "He'll be here. Soon."

No one wants to ruin the fantasy. It's fun in the sometimes doldrums hospital. The new nurse brushes her hair, one hundred times and replaces the tiara they had to remove for sleeping time.

"Who's coming, Miss?" the nurse asks. The woman says nothing.

But word of this new development makes life even more exciting for the nurses at Riverview Psychiatric Hospital. This new sentence from the woman has them buzzing. Sometimes two, even three nurses enter her room at once hoping they'll be the next to hear what the hospital's most silent patient will say. "Soon. Not much longer now," is what she says by dinner. The five nurses who hear that one can hardly believe their luck.

The next day the entire staff is there, gathered around her, excited, just knowing she's about to say something else. They're not disappointed. "Today. He's coming today," says she.

Everyone's quiet, all wondering the same thing, but only one nurse is brave enough, or perhaps nosey enough to ask: "Who? Who's he?"

She's never answered a question before and she's never looked away from the wall, but she turns her head now, ever so slightly, in the direction of that nurse. "Peach, rose. He'll have a peach rose."

~The Morning after Cas's Hoo Doo Ritual~

The man walks along the gardens he used to love. It's not that he doesn't love them anymore, they're filled with so much pain and anguish he can't bear to be in them. His daughter died in one of these gardens.

He shouldn't even be here now and not just because he's not wanted, but because, it still hurts, but he's punishing himself; he deserves to feel the pain. And if he were going to admit to things, he would tell you that he often walks the grounds. Nobody notices him because usually he steers clear of everyone. Even with all the staff in this place, he's still able to get by unseen and he doesn’t do it often. He much prefers his houseboat to this haunted, terrible place and only comes when he absolutely can't. But today something called him here. Or more like someone.

He dreamt of her last night, the same dream he has every year. He thought moving far away from this place would make it stop, but it hasn't. Nothing stops it.

Something catches his eye. It's a robin. The robin. "You. What are you still doing here? It's February. Shouldn't you be high up in the trees somewhere?" He says something like this to the robin, day after day, but the robin never tells him. He's been obsessive with his visits and Samuel is simply used to the strange bird.

Instead, the robin responds by hopping up to him. "Greedy little begger. I bet someone's feeding you. Is that it? You stay because you're well fed?"

The robin flitters up to a wall he recognizes and nocks his head. Curious, the man follows. He opens the door to a garden he hasn't been in for ages. He doesn't want to be here now, he didn't want any of it.

He's surprised the door opens, is already open in fact. He thought this garden had been locked. He makes his way inside. There's a picnic blanket, an open picnic basket with rotted food inside, a bench and a sense of abandonment in the form of a stench that fills the air. There's something so regretful in that stench, it sparks something awful in the man and he remembers when he had that feeling before. When his daughter fell from the swing.

This is where she died.

Well not exactly. She fell off a swing here, which led to her death, she may as well have died here, the way he sees it.

There are a few smashed pieces of ivory near a hammer on a cement block, how peculiar, but otherwise, there is nothing unremarkable about the place, it looks just as a garden should in the winter: Dead: Lonely. In the center of the garden is the remnants of a fire pit, it looks recently used.

"Is this what you wanted me to see robin?"

The bird laughs in his face as usual, and hops over to something near the ground. "Oh. Well. What sort of mischief are you up to?"

Then he sees it. A February rose. Just a single one, growing by itself. It's not unheard of, but it's not common. Sometimes a rose will bloom in the winter months, with the rarest of months being February. He thinks of her and of her. His daughter loved peach roses and wouldn't her mother love to have a peach rose.

He fetches a knife out of the picnic basket; cuts it down and removes all of the thorns. It's a pointless journey, he knows, but he'll bring it to her anyway.

Chapter Text

Suicide. My father killed himself.

Grandfather always told me that when Mother died, father awoled and Grandfather, who would have been his legal guardian considering the circumstances, didn't bother, didn't care enough to go looking for him—he became in our minds, the uncaring runaway, the one who abandoned his three children.

But none of that is true.

It was my grandfather himself, who brought my father back to his family, hoping they could heal him. He was severely depressed, after our mother died—even if he wanted to look after us, he was in no condition to. My father's family told me he was in bad shape when they received him, barely able to form a sentence; almost catatonic. They praised my grandfather for his kindness, since he could have kept Father away from them, and he continued to give him financial support all these years, funding his therapy sessions even though guardianship was transferred back to my father's older sister.

They wouldn't have called me, they admitted, but they couldn't get hold of Grandfather. Grandfather was insistent that we wouldn't want to see our father in such a state. I can't say whether that statement would have been true or not. I don't know how I feel about the situation yet, I don't know if I'll ever know what to think about it.

Even though this wasn't the first time my father attempted suicide, it came as a shock to everyone. Not only was he on a strict watch, but they believed him improved, especially over this past year since it was about a year ago, he began to perk up for the first time since Mother's death.

He managed to slip away from his attendant and was found in a park, under a swing having hit his head hard enough, he was dead before anyone found him. Two days after his death was when I got the phone call after they'd tried Grandfather several times.

That was weeks ago. We buried him, I stayed with the family a few days to help out and make sure my father's financial obligations were in order and left making empty promises to reconnect at some point…and with a new ivory elephant. My mother's always sat on her dresser and after she died, I stole it, keeping it hidden in plain sight, by leaving it in various places about the manor. I never knew my father had one too—apparently they were a treasured wedding gift.

I could barely look at the thing, but I didn't want to get into explaining how my husband smashed the other one because he couldn't stand to tell me he's a lying, thief. So I kept it in my jacket pocket.

I couldn't bring myself to go home. I had witnessed one of my worst predictions come to life: Dean with Castiel and a surprise gardener for added flavor. I wanted to believe Dean and I knew if I went home I would just lash out at him, so I thought a little time away would give me perspective, like last time. Three days had been ample time, the last time, something Earth shattering happened between Dean and I, maybe it would be again. I could sort everything out in my mind, then return to Dean, punish the hell out of him and everything would go back to normal. Be resolved.

It didn't take long for me to conclude that this problem could not be fixed that way this time. Punishing Dean wouldn't erase the betrayal I felt. How could I ever trust him again?

That's what plagued me the first week, but then I did get over it. Missing him as badly as I did, I began only to think of the good times we've shared. I missed his warm smile and even the way he stuffs his toecicles in between my legs at night to warm them up—I loved that I could do that for him, warm up his toes. I felt like his hero. I didn't even have my picture of him with me to look at, I would stay up late just trying to reconstruct his face in my mind. And the more I thought about it, I knew there was no way Dean would do anything with Cas, he loves me, even if he shouldn't. If that wasn't enough, there's the simple fact that my husband is a strong Progressionist and would consider sleeping with my brother 'cheating.' Dean would never 'cheat' on me.

Of course, they still lied to me for an entire year, but pining for someone has a strange effect on a person and I began to rationalize why they, but more Dean specifically, might lie. Dean was probably afraid of me and I wouldn't blame him. I've given him every reason to be afraid. I relished in his fear sometimes. And in the end, it boiled down to this: How many times had I hurt him and he forgave me? Countless. I've done horrible things to him, things he should never have forgiven me for, but he did anyway, all because he loves me. Don't I love him enough to do the same for him?

That made my decision. I packed up my things and was set to leave the next day; I would go home and forgive him because well, there was nothing to forgive. None of it mattered; only being with him mattered. I wanted him so bad my whole body ached.

It was in the dead of the night fear crept in to change my mind; a fear I'd had all along. I realized it wasn't just a fear, but a crushing truth: Dean deserves better than me; he deserves Castiel and the Gardner boy if he wants him too.

I recalled his laugh that day and it haunted me; so pure and effortless, absent of the edge of nervousness I still hear when he laughs with me—a huge, bubbly, sweet Dean laugh. He's still not really sure if he's safe around me, if I might beat him to a pulp, if I might say or do something so wounding (like in the instance with Darcy), he'd wish he was dead. I don't make him feel the way he felt when I heard him laughing so carefree, I don't make him bright. Instead, he makes sure I'm happy, but my happiness comes at the cost of his.

There was only one way for me to give Dean that free, sunny feeling: Let him go. So I did.

And fuck does it hurt.

I was even the biggest coward there ever was; I didn't even do him the courtesy of telling him myself because I knew if I heard his voice, I'd never be able to do it. Even one word from Castiel might have sent me flying back home.

So I'll never see him again and I'll never meet my daughter and it hurts, God, it's crushing, but it's better for Dean and so I must do it. He'll be happy with Castiel; I'll make the appropriate changes legally, so Dean will go to Castiel after my official departure. There's no way I'll let Dean go back to Adam; I know he'll be much happier with my brother. In time, he'll be glad to be rid of me. I'm nothing but poison to his soul.

Just because I'm doing the right thing, it doesn't mean my heart isn't breaking into a thousand pieces and I understand why Grandfather went to such great lengths to protect me from this feeling that makes me want to take my life like my father did. Grandfather's methods may have been unorthodox, but he protected me in the best way he knew how.

It's hard to say where I'll end up from here. Will I kill myself like my father? Or will I end up nearly a vegetable like my grandmother, staring at a wall, pining for Dean everyday on a loop? Watching the memories play before me, wishing I could kiss him and fuck him senseless…

Currently, I'm hiding at a bed and breakfast, just three hours outside Maine, but tomorrow I'll get in the car and go. They'll be rid of me, and ever the better for it.

~That Night~

"Sammy! Sammy!" I hear her calling as if she was on the other side of a great Moor. Her voice is far away and has a ghostly quality to it, and if I believed in ghosts, I'd say it's almost as if it's very hard for her spirit to reach me and only just does.

I'm halfway between sleep and awake, fighting to wake up but I can't. That phenomenon of sleep paralysis has me: I can't move, I can't speak other than to moan, I can't react; it's terrifying. My mother is alive and calling for me, but I can't go to her.

"Mother?" I try to say, but it comes out as a moan. I fight to pry my eyes open, but they're heavy with sand and I can't keep them open for more than a few seconds at a time; my mind cannot reconcile that I'm in a bed at the little bed and breakfast; it thinks I'm in a garden, a garden filled with peach roses.

"Sammy! Sammy! I'm in the gaaar-den…I'm in the gaaar-den…with Dean." Dean's name fades off and something about the way she says it strikes a chord in my very bones and I'm compelled.

Suddenly, I'm awake. It's three am and still dark, but I've got to get out of here. I've got to go back. I must go back. I've got to get to the garden.


Still dressed in the suit I left in (I didn't even bring clothes with me when I traveled to Vancouver, merely washing it in the bathroom of the hotels I stayed in) I finally make it home just as the sun is coming up. I don't plan on this being a long visit, I only intend on going to see the garden, my mother's garden where I found them all together, seeing what my mother wants me to see and then I'm leaving for good. I get the shock of my life, when I see who's walking out of the garden. He's carrying a peach rose.

"So now you're a thief? How dare you come here." Just because I understand why he did what he did, doesn't mean I forgive him. I'll never forgive him for what he did to Dean.

I almost think I screwed up and that it's not him, because as he gets closer, I realize it doesn't look anything like Grandfather—he's smiling so wide he's the brightest thing in this place. Unless Dean were here, Dean's the brightest thing in any place.

"Ah, Samuel. I deserve that and worse. Did you come back for the birth of your child? She's coming, now."

I don't know if it's true, or he's just fucking with me, but either way it sends a jolt through my body, oh God. Will Dean be all right? I fight the urge to run up to the house. "No. I was called here, I'm doing as bid. Nothing more."

"Ah," he nods. "Called here by the same person who called me I wager."

"For the record, I might as well tell you, you were right. Dean betrayed me. Hell, I never even had him to begin with—he wasn't meant for me. But the joke's on both of us, I forgive him anyway; I love him, always will, yet I'll never be with him, or our daughter. Isn't that what you wanted?"

He looks disappointed, but I don't know if it's with me, or with himself. "I've done some terrible things that I have to live with, that I can never undo. I've wasted time, so much time."

"Is this your grand finale speech, where you tell me how much you regret all the years you spent dwelling in hate? You can save it. I'm not interested in your tales of hate."

"I can see why you would think that, but it isn't a tale of hate; It's tale of love. Hate does not have nearly the endurance of love. One can only hate for so long—it's too exhausting to hate, it has little fuel. It's love that never dies. Love is the greatest power on Earth and the true culprit. Only love can really defeat you and that's what I allowed to happen; I let love defeat me, crush me, hurt me, rule me. I knew the same would happen to you if love got its claws into you, because whether you'd like to admit it or not, we are alike—the same even. We love deeply; too deeply. I saw how you loved your mother and I knew you were the most at risk for destruction, so I sent the life raft out to you, I tried to rescue you."

"So it's love's fault. Love is the evil monster in all this, you're not to blame at all, is that what you're saying?"

"Oh no. I'm very much to blame. I was weak and I ran away like a coward instead of standing up to the pain and owning it."

"If you couldn't handle it, what am I to do? Since according to you we're so much alike."

"Make love your bitch."

My bitch? I wasn't expecting that.

"Take what you want from love, before love takes what it wants from you. Use love for your own design. Being in love with Dean is going to hurt more than it's going to feel good, but it's worth it for those few moments of happiness. It's so much worse apart…you'll fall apart."

"Why should I listen to you? I'll never forgive you for what you did to Dean."

He sighs heavily. "I know. I don't expect it…and you don't have to listen me; the ramblings of a damaged man. But I do want to thank-you for the personal note telling me about your daughter, my granddaughter, despite your unpleasant feelings for me. I am very happy for you, Samuel."

"Personal note? I never sent you a personal note."

He looks genuinely confused. "But it's in your handwriting—I'd recognize your handwriting anywhere. Here." He pulls the small note from his pocket. He's right. Four words are written there in my handwriting.

I take it from him and look closer. I know I didn't write this note.

"Your writing is too hard to replicate. If you don't want to acknowledge this at the moment, that's fine, but the sentiments are appreciated. It fills me with hope that someday…well, that's not for today; I'll say no more on the subject."

He's right about that; my writing is hard to replicate and I don't write notes often. You'd have to be really close to me to get your hands on a piece of writing in the first place and even if the person got hold of a piece of my writing, they would have to be able to forge my writing—they'd have to be…an artist.

I don't bother arguing with him, but I keep the paper, stuffing it into the pocket of my pants. "I'd better go," he says. "Would you like your rose back? I shouldn't have taken it, but I just thought…well I was going to bring it to your grandmother."

He's probably lying, but I also like the idea of Grandmother having that rose, so I let him take it and choose to believe that maybe he will give it to her. "Take it to her. Now leave and don't come back here. Ever." After I'm gone, I don't want him poking about—bothering Dean.

"I'll be gone forever then, but you should know, I never got around to disowning you and I won't."

"You told everyone you had. It's all over the papers and social media."

"Those organizations seldom verify facts. I said many things, terrible things that they never checked into. You can check with my lawyer if you care to. I'll let him know before I leave to tell you whatever you want to know."

Leave? I almost ask him to where is he leaving, but then I remember I don't care. The company's gone now anyway. I was barely keeping it afloat and without me there, I'm sure it's six feet under. His name is worthless to me now. "Maybe. Goodbye then."

"Goodbye, Sam."

I carry on and head inside the garden.


I instantly regret coming. This place is shrouded in a sanctimonious cloak and filled with sorrow so piercing it almost takes me to my knees. It doesn't help that it's a picture of winter's death. Trees with no leaves, branches with no flowers, dry twigs scattered everywhere. Nothing but the cold, hard ground and crisp, stale air; lots of brown; no other color. There isn't even a pretty layer of snow to brighten the place up. It's ugly.

Their picnic basket still rots here, the blanket still on the ground, but now there's a fire pit in the center; freshly used. Something's jumping around at my feet. A robin. "You're the only thing alive in this place," I remark and feel a bit crazy for talking to the bird. "I am dead too."

He speaks to me, but it sounds like laughing, figures. I'm the big joke to everyone, even this red-bellied-feather-head. He scampers over to the place where my mother's elephant lies, smashed to pieces like my heart. The last omen of destruction.

Seeing it, makes me angry all over again. For a moment, I hate them and I hate myself. I wish it were in tact, so I could smash the stupid thing myself. Then I remember what's in my jacket pocket. I can have my wish. I pull out the ivory elephant, the twin to the smashed one and set it amongst the devastation of the first. I grab up the hammer and with a mighty blow, I crush it to smithereens, 'till there's nothing left but dust.

Not satisfied, I grab up pieces of the elephant, I already threw a good portion of the first elephant, but there are still remnants of it and they mix together with my father's elephant as I huck them; it looks like I'm throwing fairy dust, mostly, but a good sized hunk lands in the burnt out fire pit.

The whole place explodes with light; I have to shield my eyes. Then the impossible happens. The dead garden explodes with life in a wave. It begins there, in the center, like the dropping of a pebble in a pond, and life ripples outward in the form of grasses, flowers and leaves. The whole place fills with color, but there's more than just flora, there are bees and butterflies, little ants and more birds. When an auburn fox walks by me I decide I'm certifiably insane. This has got to be some kind of illusion, but how?

I have to reach out to touch it, running my hand along little white flowers, picking berries and chancing to eat them, just to make sure I'm not seeing things. Whether I am or not, I don't know, but it feels real as hell. And it's beautiful. Humbling. I want to stand here forever.

I turn around when I hear creaking. There's the place with the swing, the place where my mother fell and died; it's surrounded by all sorts of roses, with the majority of them the same color Grandfather was carting away: Peach. The swing is swinging, but there's no breeze. And even if there were a breeze, I couldn't attribute that to the swing's gait. It sways in a controlled cadence, as if there were a person on it; but there isn't, least not one I can see.

"M-Mother?" I whisper feeling utterly crazy. There's no answer; the swing stops swinging, but life is still happening all over this place. This magic place. And it hits me.

Love is a living dynamic thing. It has dimensions; layers. And like all living things, it grows and dies and grows again blooming then wilting then blooming again. When you have it, you're alive, and when you don't you can't breathe because you're dead.

It needs you as much as you need it. You're its host, its vessel and it lives through you an energizing force. You don't have to do anything but channel it, like this garden does with life in the spring. That's why love is so beautiful and special, that's why when it's in you, you feel like you can fly.

My first thought upon this discovery is Dean. He breathes life into me; without him I might as well be dead.

My decision is made and it's time for me to leave this place, but before I do, I pick up the knife on the picnic table and cut two roses, peach roses. I remove all the thorns. On my way to the garden door, I feel a sudden chill and an otherworldly laughter fills the air, tinkling like bells; prickling my skin. It fills me with both happiness and dread; but that's okay, I'm comfortable with that sensation now.


"What a dork. My brother looked like a dork when he was younger," Cas says.

I'm leaning against him on the couch in the family room. We've just called Doc Angel and are waiting for him and the rest of the crew to arrive. We've been timing my contractions, they're still pretty far apart, but fuck me sideways when they come. It's the most pain I've ever felt and I think it's worse than being kicked in the nuts, though I haven't been kicked in the nuts in a long time and I'm not about to ask someone to remind me of the sensation just to compare the two, so sorry, the verdict is still out on that one, but right now the win goes to the contractions.

Cas helped me change out of my paint covered dress and we decided on a housecoat since I'll probably just have to take it off for the surgery. But while we were in the bedroom, I grabbed out the journal of their mother's I'd found and hid. I'm showing Cas the pictures that were inside. I laugh at his comments of Sam and try not to think about how much I miss him. He's not here; the ritual didn't work in time…he's not going to see our baby born. I don't think he intends on seeing our baby ever.

"And Jules, she looks much different without her bitch shield."

"Your sister does not have a bitch shield."

"Maybe not to you, she likes you."

"Stop being such a grouchy asshole and maybe you'll make more friends."

"I don't need friends, they're too much work, take you for example."

"Don't get me started on you."

He smirks. "I'm lovely, but seriously, this hair do of Sam's, it's like: The civil war called, we'd like our hairstyle back."

I laugh at that because it's fucking funny.

"Look, here's one of both your parents. I'm sorry your father died Cas."

He shrugs. "I never knew him. I never knew either of them really, but I've seen my mother in so many dreams I feel a connection to her, for him it's nothing."

"Well we are going to love the shit out of this kid. She's going to have so many parents, she'll be sick of parents."

"That's the spirit Dean, but tell me something. If Sam ever came back, what would you do?"

There's no doubt what I would do. "Well I'd be fucking pissed at him for fucking off without a word, he'd feel my wraith for sure, but God Cas, I'd give anything for him to come back and I'm a fucking love sick fool because yeah, I'd take him back in a second, there's no question."

"That's good, because he's behind us."

"Fuck you Cas. That's a mean fucking joke. As if you can see what's behind us."

"Um, mirror." He looks his eyes to the mirror hanging over the fireplace. "And I'm not fucking joking. He's standing behind us, second guessing his decision to come back here."

Fuck. My whole body prickles with a buzzing sensation and I can't turn around. I can't look. I still don't believe it's true and if Sam's not there, I wouldn't survive that. If I don't look, I can pretend it's true and that's a nice thought to hold onto even if just for a moment.

Cas gets up carefully. "You're a dick, Sam. A Big. Fat. Dick. He shouldn't take you back, but he will because he's a fool and you're the fucking luckiest asshole in the world to have a husband like Dean, so don't screw this up more than you already have. Dean, I'll be in the other room if you need me and I'll check how far away the doctor is."

Wait. He's leaving me alone, with Sam?

Sam still hasn't said anything and I still haven't looked. Suddenly, my stomach's hardening and the strength of the fucking contraction is debilitating. I can't breathe for a second, all I can do is hold my large belly with one and hand and grip the side of the couch with the other. Sam's there in a heartbeat.

"Dean! What is it? You need me to call Castiel?"

"No…con…contract..tion…" I grab his hand and fucking squeeze it hard enough he winces, but he doesn't complain. I get my breath back and I breathe through the rest of the pain like Jo taught me. I don't know how long it takes, but the pain subsides and the tension around my stomach relaxes. "She's coming Sam. The doctor will be here soon."

"Can I…can I get you anything?" He's crouching between my knees, looking up at me with eyes that say he knows he's in the doghouse with me and that he also knows to tread carefully with me.

"Yes, I need you to come up here a second, can you do that for me?" I say calm and steady. A lot more fucking calm and steady than I feel.

"Yes, my Belle. Anything."

He sits beside me on the couch, but he's too far away. My belly's too fucking big for me to maneuver like I want to. "Closer Sammy," I say and I can see fear in his eyes—he should be scared—but he fucking moves closer anyway.

"Open your pants."

"Dean, now's not the time for sex, I'm not even hard, don't know if I could if I tried—"

"Open your pants now, Sam."

Now he looks terrified, which is funny if you think about it, because I'm big as a house and am virtually trapped on this couch unless I have assistance off of it, I can't run after him and it's not like I a have a fucking shot gun between the cushions.

His hands are trembling as he reaches to the waistband of his pants, unbuttons them and pulls the zipper down. "Good. Now pull out your cock and balls."

By this point, he knows I'm not fucking around, he doesn't bother arguing and obeys, pulling his cock and balls out of his boxer shorts, when he's done his flaccid cock hangs limply over the swell of his nut sack then I pounce as much as I can pounce and put his nuts in a vice otherwise known as my fist. I squeeze hard, knowing how fucking much it would hurt, then twist just enough for him to let out a strangled, "fuck."

"You feel these? These are fucking mine and if you ever leave me like that again, no word, no phone call, a fucking text message break-up, I will hunt you down and I will find you and rip these off with my bare hand, because they don't belong to you, do they?" When he doesn't answer I twist them just a fraction more than they're already twisted. "Do they?"

"Ow, fuck! No. No they don't."

"That's right. Who do they belong to?"

"You! You! They belong to you."

"What's mine?"

"My nuts are yours. They belong to you."

"And what else is mine?"

"My cock," he guesses correctly.

"Good, boy. I can't reach your dick with my other hand and I'm not ready to let go of these yet with this one, so you're going to have to whack your dick for me."

"Dean, please—"

"Make it a good one."

Gritting his teeth, he whacks his own dick, hard, while I continue to squeeze his nuts with enough force that it fucking hurts, but not so hard that I'll do any permanent damage. There are tears in his eyes.


"Dean, I'm sorry I—"

"Now, Sammy."

He hits his own dick again screaming.


I make him whack his own dick ten times, each hit eliciting a scream. When I feel somewhat satisfied, I finally let go and he's instantly fucking relieved, panting. Tears are streaming down his face, but I don't think they're all due to the cock spanking I made him give himself. My hormones are at an all time high and seeing him cry like that makes me start fucking sobbing. My whole body moves and shakes with hurt and pain as I breakdown and wail. He pulls me to him and I go to him willingly, letting him rub my back and tell me over and over how sorry he is.

"I'm sorry too Sam, I…we…"

"Forget about it, my belle. What I did was way worse."

"It was bad, but what we did wasn't any better."

"I forgive you. I forgave you weeks ago."

"Then where the hell were you?"

He heaves in a big breath of air then releases it. "Being an absolute, fucking idiot." He's shaking too, crying just as hard as I am. We're both squeezing the life out of each other as best we can with Sammy between us.

"Let me know if you decide to be an idiot again in the near future and I'll set you straight."

"Believe me, not only do I not feel like beating my own cock again while my husband turns my balls into hamburger meat, I'm not leaving you again Dean. You're stuck with me whether you like it or not."

"You've said that before."

"I know, but it's different now. You see, my mother came to me in this dream."

"She did?" Holy fuck. The magic worked.

He nods. "She told me to come to the garden and that she was there with you. I came immediately."

Another fucking contractions hits me like a tidal wave. "C'mon, breathe Baby. Daddy's got you. Where is the fucking doctor?" Sam growls.

"Tell me…more. Need…distraction."

He's worried, but he keeps going. "The whole place bloomed Dean, right before my very eyes, like it might in the spring. Flowers and little creatures everywhere. And so many roses, I brought one for you and Sammy. And…she was there Dean. I couldn't see her, but I could feel her. She did something and I think, well this will sound crazy, but I think the garden blooming was more of a side effect to what she did to me. I suddenly felt at peace. I understood love and I know I can do this; good and bad—because there will be bad Dean. There's always bad, but you and me were made for each other, Baby. And I'm going to love the shit out of you everyday."

That makes me smile despite the pain, he learned that from me. He rubs my back and breathes with me until the pain subsides again. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, fine. I'm just so glad you're back, Sam. I thought you were going to miss her being born."

"I was going to miss her being born and you should have me beat my cock again for that alone, but I, uh, I hope you don't," he says with a small, timid smile.

Fucking charmer. "For that I have something worse planned."

"I think my dick is bruised, what could be worse?"

"Me walking around in lingerie for a month and you not being allowed to touch me."

"You can't do that! The baby!"

"The baby will have no idea what's going on, she'll be an infant. Besides, she might as well get used to her Traditionalist parents," I tease, but I'm dead serious about the lingerie thing.

"You wouldn't want to punish yourself like that, would you? If I can't touch you, how will you get off?"

"Oh I will. Our rule is no cock, but yours in my ass and I will abide that, but I've made a few allies amongst the servants while you were gone, I'm sure they'll be more than willing to jack me off in front of you. Some of them aren't too pleased with you either."

Sam actually fucking blushes—and I thought I'd seen everything. "Does your no touching rule include kissing? Because I'd really fucking like to kiss you, Baby."

"Um, okay. You can kiss me." Because I really want to kiss him too.

I blink up at him and he stares at me like he can't believe I exist. He grabs my face in both hands; his lips touch mine and then his tongue slides in deepening the kiss, pouring himself into me. He pulls away, pressing his lips to mine once more. "I fucking love you, Dean," he smiles.

"I fucking love you too, Sammy." Then I'm hit with another contraction. "Shit. They're getting closer together."

"That doctor better get here—"

"Right here," Doc Angel says coming into the living room, Cas in his wake. "Sam, put your dick back in your pants," he orders, not looking surprised to see Sam at all. "C'mon. Let's get our patient to the Campbell OR. Dr. Harvelle's already up there. We're going to have ourselves a baby Campbell."


"Archie! Archie!" she calls laughing, and throwing her long dark hair over her shoulder. She hides behind a tree, then, when he passes by, she runs to the next giggling.


He sees her this time and he runs after her, when he catches up, he grabs her around the waist and pulls her to the ground onto the plush spring grass. It's always spring here.

He kisses her neck as she wiggles into him. "I was calling you and calling you. I thought you were never going to come."

"I could hear you my love and I tired. So many times I tried to come to you."

"What stopped you?"

He scratches his head, having to think about that a moment. "Well I…that's odd…I can't remember."

"It doesn't matter. Push me on the swing?"

That sounds like a bad idea for some reason, but he doesn't know why it is. Ever since he got here, he's been forgetting things, but he doesn't forget her, he never could forget her. She runs to the swing and sits, he starts to push her and as he does, he admires her. She's beautiful and all he can remember now. He's not sure how he got to this place, or of anything before that. He could worry about it, but he doesn't see the point. He's with her now. It all begins and ends with her anyway.

He pushes her for a little while, until she wants to stop, then he sits with her on the swing; it's big enough for two. When they're still and looking at nothing but each other, the little robin, the only one that seems to be able to see them, perches on the branch above them.

"I think that robin is a spy," he says.

"A spy? Don't be ridiculous," she laughs, her green eyes twinkling.

"He was talking to that person earlier, the one who couldn't see us."

"Do you remember who that person is?"

"No. Do you?"

"No. I don't remember any of them, not by name, but I know they're important to us and we must always be here for them. I like watching them. It's fun."

"Okay then," he says pushing a hand through her hair and kissing her lips. She laughs as she pulls away. "Stop that. Why are you laughing?"

"Because I'm happy," she says.

"Oh, well I suppose that's all right then."

The pair sit with their foreheads together, swaying ever, so gently on the swing, until they both fade away and spring in the garden fades away and all that's left is the keeper of this place. With his job done for the mean time, he thinks he'll see if he was left any worms by the nice boy who's friends with the fox.

Chapter Text

It's the weirdest fucking thing. The baby's like, in you, so you can't help but feel like it's you. You know? Like an organ, but with consciousness. Then she's out of you and it feels both right and wrong at the same time—'cause you're not supposed to remove organs, right? You see her outside of you, but you still feel like she's in you, or maybe like a piece of you running around outside your body. And that's the best way I can describe it.

My baby girl was born this morning. It didn't take Doc Harvelle long, since she's a fucking pro and everything went flawlessly. Of course I had to wait to officially meet her, because I had to get sewn all back up, but Sam brought the blood, mucus drenched baby over to me. I was a bit out of it though, so I don't feel like that's when I officially met her for the first time. Everyone told me later, Sam was the proudest Papa ever.

It was shortly after I was all back together, I got to meet her. Sam was holding the twelve pound, eight ounce, miracle baby beside me. All was quiet and I was exhausted, but I couldn't for the life of me stop staring at her. They were trying to let me rest, but I just wanted to hold her and she wanted me to hold her too. She was restless and looking around everywhere, 'till finally she spun her head to look at me and it was like she knew I was her mama and that she had found what she was looking for. She stared and stared at me, 'till Sam decided to screw the doctor's orders and give me my daughter.

Sammy looked up at me with pretty eyes that were just like Sam's and I stared back. She relaxed before she started to cry and I knew what she was looking for. Even though I had never planned on it, because the idea was too fucking weird for me, I pulled out my half-breast and awkwardly, between her and I, we figured out how to latch her on.

My medical team was impressed. Apparently many mothers have trouble, but Sammy and I got it figured out pretty much right away. So I just stared at her as she ate, stared and stared and marvelled: I have a daughter, Sam and I have a daughter; we made her and she's the prettiest thing I've ever seen.


I was cleared by both Doc Angel and Doc Harvelle within forty eight hours and am all set up in my and Sam's bedroom with Sammy. I pretty much only get up to go for short walks at the moment and both Sam and Cas help me by carrying the baby to me, since a C-section is still a surgery and I'm recovering from that. And yes, you heard that right: Cas. Sam hasn't kicked him out yet. Hell, Sam being back is still a new phenomenon we're digesting. We're hoping if we're quiet about it, he'll never kick Cas out.

Sam is in love, again. The smile on his face…I'd be jealous if I wasn't so god damned happy. "She looks just like you, Sammy," I tell him when he comes in to check on us.

"I don't know, I see my mother," Sam says.

"Listen to you two," Cas says coming in just behind Sam. "How can you possibly tell who she looks like at this point? Come here my love." He snatches Sammy away from me. "Your parents are crazy."

I smirk at him as he walks out of the room with her. I feel completely comfortable with Cas taking Sammy—he's been infatuated with her from the first minute too.

"What are you smirking at?" Sam asks.

"I just fed her, she'll probably puke all over him with the way he likes to bounce her around."

Sam laughs. "Serves him right." Sam sits down on the bed with me. "How are you my belle?"

"Tired. But I don't think I'm getting any sleep for the next decade or so, I'd better get used to that."

Sam nibbles on my neck. "Cas and I worked things out."

"You did?"

He nods into my neck. "He wants to marry Michael."

"And you said…?"

"I said I'd think about it, just to make him squirm for a bit, but I'll say yes. It will buy us a few days of good behavior out of him."

I doubt that. "So you really do have guardianship of Cas?"

He nods. "I decided it would be wise to call Grandfather's lawyer, to see what the fuck was going on. I figured it was all a lie, that he wouldn't have called, but he did. The lawyer came by the house yesterday while you were sleeping and informed me of the financial and legal status of everything and everyone."

I smile. "So will Cas be married in or…?"

"A Campbell is never married off, but I am going to put a stipulation on the marriage."

"You are?"

"They must remain here and under my guardianship for a minimum of ten years."

"You want them here?"

"Not particularly, least not at the moment, but I know how much you need them, darling. They've become part of your life. I can't give you everything you want, Dean, I accept that now, but I can give you this."

"But if they want to go, I don't want to keep them here, Sam."

"I have it on good authority they'll want to stay and you know how Cas works, far better for him to be 'coerced' than for it to look like he was doing something out of the kindness of his heart."

"True," I smile. "How exactly did you two 'work things out?'"

"We talked a long time last night. We decided our whole family's been fucked up a while now and this was just one more fucked up thing on the list that we should move past. It'll take time, but we've been through worse, we're certain we can do it."

"And what about the company?"

"I have to go back to work to see exactly what the fuck they did, but from the sounds of it, there's going to be a merger. What's the matter? I thought that would make you happy. I thought you quite liked Stephen?" he says when he sees my expression fall ever so slightly.

"I do but…but…no mixing business with pleasure, ya know?"

He laughs, brighter than I've ever heard Sam laugh—I think he's going to be laughing like that from now on—and he pulls me tighter to him. "That is very, very Progressionist, my dear sweet husband. We run a Traditionalist home, and that extends to business. It's encouraged to mix business with fucking. Would you like Stephen to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, while I stuff your other hole with my fat cock?"

I fucking shiver. "Yeah, Daddy."

"We missed out on that one, didn't we? I'll make sure that's a wrong that's righted, along with many, many others."


Later, Cas helps me get situated downstairs, for Charlie's visit. She's been dying to meet Sammy and I've been dying to show her off. Sam couldn't stay, having to go into work, since he hasn't been there in weeks, but I'm actually a bit glad for it. I'd rather have a sort of private visit with Charlie. Even Cas senses to leave us be.

Sammy is quiet in my arms when Charlie comes in. "Oh Dean! I'm so glad everything went well. Look at her? She's the prettiest thing."

"I know," I say proudly. I'm wearing a comfortable, but stylish, blue baby doll dress. It's a maternity dress, even though I've come way down since delivering my twelve pound, eight ounce monster baby—no wonder we were both so uncomfortable. Next time, if there is a next time, Doc Harvelle isn't waiting 'till standard 'term,' deciding that term for male pregnancy is roughly, thirty-two weeks, since baby Sammy had none of the challenges common in preemies. But god do I love being not pregnant. I've got a little baby weight to lose, but I'm no longer the size of Jupiter's moon.

"Can I hold her?"

"Uh-huh." I pass Sammy off to her, remaining on the couch as she bounces her. "She'll uh, need to be fed soon, but I think she'll be okay for a little while."

"Look at you Dean. Best Mama there ever was."

I blush and fucking start to tear up, so I'm wiping frantically in hopes she doesn't see them, but it's Charlie, so of course she does. "God damned hormones," I say before she can make fun.

"Sure, Dean."

The staff brings us some tea and scones. "So how you holding up, Winchester?"

"I've become a freaking cow. It's just my luck my fucking not boobs work and I'm able to produce milk. It feels weird I tell you, and my nipples fucking hurt and this girl eats like I do. I can't wait 'till she onto burgers. But she's so pretty, I forgive her."

"She is Dean, but with you and Sam, how could she not be? You two have got to be two of the hottest men on the planet," she winks. "You going to have anymore?"

"Whoa! Hold your horses there girlie. Let's deal with this one first and we'll think about it later."

"Well if my vote counts, you should, because she's special."

"Your vote doesn't count, but she is special—though I'm a biased Mama."

"That's, like, every Mama's right."

"So how much longer you staying? You want to move back in here?"

"I'd like to Dean, but I've got to get back. My parents okayed this because it was you, but they stressed I should return after the baby was born. They want me to get married Dean. I've been wanting to tell you, but with everything going on, there just never seemed to be the right time…they said I could marry Dorothy."

"Charlie! That's great!" I open my arms so she can come sort of hug me with the baby in her arms. I don't bother asking who the HOH in their case will be, I know it will be Charlie and I'm glad for that—then she'll be able to come see me whenever she wants.

"Look, I know you're a dude who doesn't like to talk about his feelings, but I gotta know before I leave you—you okay? You and Sam I mean."

I know what she means. "We're going to be fine Charlie. I set him straight."


We get swamped with cards and gifts and flowers and if I see anymore god damned pink...

My sister is over joyed and I let her meet Sammy over Skype. Becky stops by and calls dibs on getting her ready for all major events (as if we'd choose anyone else) and Jules and Perry even come for dinner wanting to meet their niece. They have no desire to know what the fuck has been going on. They're just happy we seem to be doing okay now. And we are…we're working at it anyway. Doc Angel has stopped by several times, with the pretense of checking on me, but I know better. He just wants to see Sammy. He's in love with her too.

There's still something I have to do, but I'm not ready for it yet. I don't know if I'll ever be ready.


Adam is a Brother and a Father to me, so of course I forgive him, I forgive everybody no matter the cost to myself. It's both a redeeming trait and a flaw—I know it. But just because I forgive him, it doesn't mean I can talk to him. I can't for the life of me figure out what my brother feels about me.

It's not something I like to think about—thinking about it makes me sad, but it's time to face the truth; whatever that truth might be. I've got to know, so I can move on. If my brother doesn't want me; I've got plenty of new family now, it's not quite as devastating as it would have been before, but there's an unexplainable need to have your parent, or parent figure accept you. I don't know if that's ever going to happen with Adam; I don't know how I'll feel if he tells me he doesn't, so I've never asked. It's been a lifetime of me testing him, misbehaving, but also pleasing him and begging his forgiveness.

Sammy's asleep—she sleeps a lot—so I decide on now to call Adam. Sam's at work. I don't think I can wrap up a lifetime of whatever the fuck ('cause I don't know what to call it) has gone on between Adam and I in one phone call, but it's the beginning of Sammy's life and it feels like it should be the beginning, or the end of other big life events. This is one.

I call.

"Hello, Adam. Sir?"

"Dean…how are you?"

"I'm good. Tired."

"Little ones will do that to you."

"Look Adam, I'm just going to cut to the quick here, I'm calling because—"

"You want an apology for me hiding your biology from you? You're not going to get it Dean. I'm not sorry. I believed that was what was best for you at the time. I am sorry it hurt you, but not for my actions." It's all said in that stern voice of his, the one I know well from my childhood.

You know? For the first time I fucking get that. I'd do anything I thought was right for Sammy, even if it turned out to be fucking wrong. "I'm not calling for an apology. I just, look, I get you were looking out for my best interest, but in doing so, all my life I felt…" I fucking suck at saying my feelings. "I felt like you didn't love me, okay? Like I was just an inconvenience you had to get rid of. Nothing I ever did was good enough."

Great. Now I just sound like a whiney brat who never got 'Daddy's' approval. "You know what? This is stupid. I'm just gonna go."

"Dean wait. I did some thinking after our last phone call and I can see how my methods may have led you to believe I didn’t care for you, how they might have looked to a child, how they may have damaged your self esteem, but I was barely past being a child myself Dean. I know it's no excuse, but that's what happened. I can only say I'm sorry and hope you'll let me make it up to you."

"But it's there now, Adam. Always simmering beneath the surface, always making me question. I don't know how to get rid of it."

"To be honest, I'm not sure what to do about that Dean, but for what it's worth, I do love you like a son, and very much."

It actually means the world to me, because I'm a fucking sap (and also high on hormones) but it doesn't erase the years of hurt. Adam was, and perhaps still is a hard-nosed, no nonsense sort of man. I don't do well with that and if Sam hadn't opened his heart to me, I wouldn't have done well here either.

I decide this is as good as it's going to get between my brother and I for now. His methods aren't all that different with his own son, perhaps we both just have to accept him for who he is and in time, maybe I can stop putting so much stock into my brother's opinion of me.


"You'll come for Thanksgiving?" I ask spontaneously even though Thanksgiving is a long fucking ways off.

"Did you ask your husband if that would be all right?"

Fuck. No I didn’t, but I know he'll say yes. "Um, I'll ask him, sir and get back to you."

"You do that Dean. If it's all right with him, we'll be there."

~Mid-July: 20 Weeks After Sammy's Birth~

"How fucking long does it take to dress an infant Dean?"

"Cas!" I hiss at him. "Don't swear in front of her." I'm dressing her in the prettiest, pinkest dress I could find (and yes, I do remember I said I never want to see pink again, but it's so fucking cute on her, I see why they drown little girls in pink). And we totally Kate Holmes and Suri Cruise it up, by dressing similar—I'm also wearing a pink dress that looks like the adult compliment to hers.

"She's a five month old Dean. She doesn't know what I'm saying."

"It's Sam's rule—no swearing in front of the baby." I don't fuck with Sam's rules, but Cas is a lot more reckless; it gets him in a lot of trouble. Besides, I already know this child will swear like her mama, but I don't want her first word to be fuck, thank-you very much.

"All right, all right. Goody-two-shoes. You two ready yet?"

"Yeah. Grab the diaper bag, jerk."

"Hey! No swearing in front of the baby," he says, mimicking me.

"Jerk isn't a swear word—not in our house anyway."

We head downstairs, and Michael meets up with us. "You need a hand?"

"No we got it, dear," Cas says sarcastically, but he's smiling. Michael kisses him.

Sammy's looking around, she loves being outside as much as I do. She looks at me and lets out a happy squeal. "You like that baby, girl?" She pats my face in response suddenly interested in Mama. The dark hair she was born with is longer, starting to reach down her ears and her eyes have reached Sam's level of darkness. She's going to be quite the beauty, the Progressionist in me wants to buy a gun and sleep by her crib at night in case some guy, or girl comes along to try and marry her in the night. Sam is delighted that she'll have many suitors to choose from, but he's not ready to give her up just yet either.

When we reach the garden, Michael's fox joins us as well as a few other animals that like hanging out with us. We don't know where they come from; it's part of the garden's magic. Sam is already there, setting up a picnic for us. Today is a little bit of a goodbye.

"There she is, come see Papa sweetheart," Sam takes Sammy and kisses her cheek, she smiles and grabs his nose. "Wow. You look so pretty, just like Mama."

I blush, Sam grabs my wrist and pulls me to his side. "You look hot, Mama." He kisses me and I can't help myself, my dick hardens.

"Okay, give her to me," Cas says stealing the baby from Sam. "Jesus Christ you two. If only I'd known you were like this, I would have stayed locked up in my bed."

Sam gives him a half-hearted glower as he relinquishes our daughter, since he's not able to relinquish me. "Just please don't fuck where we're going to eat."

"I've warned you not to swear in front of Samantha, Castiel."

"And I'll let you wash my mouth out, so long as you don't fuck where we eat."

"Cassy, c'mere," Michael says wisely dragging Cas and the baby away. Those two can really bicker—as brothers do—at least they've been able to come to this place in their relationship. They always have bickered and that they feel comfortable enough to do so again is both good and bad. Bad only because Michael and I have to play constant referee. But we don't mind so much. We're a family, a kind of fucked up one, but it's what floats our boat.

"C'mere, Daddy," I say pulling Sam away with me. But that's all the leading I do, Sam takes over pulling the top of my dress down and using his tongue to tease my engorged, sore, nipples. My dress is short, like Sammy's, with a crinoline skirt that only reaches mid-thigh. Sam's easily able to reach up and grab my cock through the pink panties I'm wearing. He slams me up against a tall tree: I'm already panting.

Sam removes his shirt quickly, so all he's wearing is the low slung jeans, he's worn through. He's got his own gardening jeans now you see. Sam still works like a mad man, but now that Stephen and him have become partners, he takes more time off to spend with us in the garden.

He spins me around and lifts my skirt; pulling down my panties just enough to reveal my red, swollen ass. Let's just say I've gotten kind of bossy since becoming a Mommy. Sam decided it was enough, so he gave me a nice reminder of who's the Head of House in our home. It's sore to the touch, but I'm so fucking horny, it just makes my trapped dick jump, he pulls out the plug that's there, keeping me prepared just for him. He's able to slip his cock in right away…if he wants to, but instead he fucking teases me, positioning his cock at my entrance, but not pushing in.

"You want Daddy's cock, baby girl?"

"Yeah, god, please."

"Oh no. I don't think they can hear you way over there. You're going to have to do better than that."

"Please, Daddy! Can I have your cock?" I say and hope to Christ I'm loud enough. My face cheeks are probably as red as my ass ones. I still get fucking embarrassed begging for his cock like this, especially in front of Cas and Michael; he knows it too, the sadist in him likes to torment me—he also likes marking his territory in front of them specifically.

"That's a good slut. Let everyone know what a filthy whore you are baby. Tell them how much you want your ass to eat my cock."

And I can feel said cock, poking into me, I want to keen back and sink onto it so bad. "Please Daddy. Let me eat your cock."

"Believe me, we can hear you!" Cas shouts from across the garden. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"Good job, Baby. Now let's see that ass eat up Daddy's cock."

Knowing what he wants me to do, I bare down, and feed his cock into my ass by pressing backward, while he does nothing to assist other than hold his dick by the base. I moan long and loud.

"Hold on, Baby. Daddy's going to take you for a ride."

Sam pounds into me hard and frantic. You'd think we hadn't had sex in a long time, but we get to have sex fairly regularly. We have lots of help with Sammy, enough, I've even been able to workout in the home gym we have. Since I'm a dude, it hasn't taken me long to get back into my pre-baby condition. I mean, still another month to go before you can see my rippling abs again, but I'm fucking close.

It doesn't take either of us long and we're coming hard, Sam in my ass and me all over the tree bark. I laugh when Sam puts his mouth on my over-stimulated dick to clean it off, but start to get worked up again when he works on my ass. When he's finished, he doesn't replace the plug. We're not quite ready for another little one yet.

He pulls my dress down and fixes me up, but leaves his shirt off. Sam is already so much different in some ways, while in others completely the same. But now, he's who he wants to be, instead of who his grandfather wanted him to be. It hasn't made him any less strict; Sam's a Traditionalist to his core, but he's a light-hearted man now, who smiles more. You can see the happy written on his aura. It shines through him.

We make our way back to Cas, Michael and Sammy. Cas wastes no time divesting himself of his baby niece. "Our turn." The two scamper off to see if they can out do us and Sam and I make ourselves comfortable on the blanket with our baby. I lie her on her back, since she loves looking up at the sky and practicing rolling to her belly then lifting her arms and legs off the ground like she's a baby airplane. Both of us keep an eye on her. She's at that stage where fucking everything goes into her little mouth.

I start pulling out some food—I'm fucking starved, breast-feeding makes me hungrier than usual and I've already got an appetite to rival gods. "What will they do without us for two months?" I say.

"Probably have sex in every room and garden we own and with every staff member. Don't tell them I said this, but they're worse than us, and from what I hear, Michael's the kinky sod, coming up with most of their sexual escapades."

I realize something. "You like him."

"What? I do not."

"You do. You wish you could sleep with Michael."

"He is attractive, but that is all."

I can see he doesn't want to talk about it, so I leave it for now. "I feel bad that they'll miss some of her firsts. Maybe we should wait 'till she's older to take this trip."

"We're going. It will be good for us. Besides, when I told you I was able to take two months away to go travelling in the Impala, you cried."

"That's not fair, that was hormones." Sammy's managed to capture a little flower stem in her hand and it's on its way to her mouth. I stop her and she gets pissed at me. "Here, have a soother baby girl."

"It's only two months, I doubt they'll miss us much. They've got a big wedding to plan anyway."

I smile, but it's a bit of a sad smile. I'm happy for them, but…

"What's the matter my belle?"

"Nothing. Nothing important anyway."

"Nothing wouldn't make your face fall like that and that's not your sunny Dean smile; it's a fake. I do pay attention, to you most of all."

"I just don't want things to change. I like what we have, I…I'm being so selfish, I know. They can't put off their wedding forever." Great. Now I'm fucking crying.

"They've agreed to my stipulation in the marriage contract, they'll still be here, my belle. Don't cry. Please?"

"Okay," I say wiping at tears. Sammy's looking at me, like she can sense my upset. Sometimes I feel like she thinks she takes care of me, which is silly, I know…she's an infant. But that she might be worried helps me to stop crying. "I just feel like once they're married, everything's going to change."

"You're not going to be the center of their universe anymore you mean?"


"I know that you are, I've come to terms with it Dean. I know you're mine at the end of the day. It reminds me of that first song we danced to, about saving the last dance for me? That's us, and I like it. We know we're each others, it's why I'm always reminding them by leaving pretty marks on you," he says. "And you're not selfish. You never ask for anything Dean—it's okay to want something. You have the family you wanted, you want to keep them. I get it—I'd never want to let you and Samantha go. I might have to make her stay here a little while into her marriage contract as well."

We both laugh when we're interrupted with the sounds of Michael and Cas doing sex and I can't fucking help it, my dick hardens again. I don't want Sam to know, at least not today, and lucky for me Sammy starts fussing again, so I get to move past that moment with the excuse that our baby needs feeding.


We're home from our two month excursion and I couldn't be happier. Why did I think I'd want to live on the road? It's way more fun in theory than it's cracked up to be. Not that we didn't have fun, we did, but I've gotten used to my life as Prince Campbell.

Sam's still out at the car grabbing stuff, while I offered to put our sleeping daughter down in her crib. She liked our road trip least of all and will be happy to not have to drive all the live long day in a stuffy Impala. I'm accosted at the front door by one of the servants who's pissed at me for taking the baby away from her for so long. The staff have really come to love our baby girl. She insists that she be the one to take her upstairs. "Okay, well, uh, come get me if she needs to be fed." After two months of her being with just Sam and I, it's a bit weird having someone take her from me.

Since I'm left with no baby, I decide to try and find Cas. Two months was a fucking long time without them. I fucking missed them both and the garden. But it looks like those assholes didn't fucking miss me at all—they're nowhere to be found. It's mid-September now, they could be down in the garden, but they knew we were coming home today. I kind of expected a fucking welcome home party. After looking around for them and coming up with nothing I decide: 'Who needs those dicks anyway,' and go see if I can find a snack.

I'm on my way to the kitchen, when suddenly Cas is there. "Fuck, Cas. You scared me—I was looking for you."

"I didn't need to look for you—you're fucking predictable."

"Well you two are dicks. You should have been waiting for me." Pissed, I walk past him and into the kitchen. He follows.

It all happens suddenly, so suddenly, I couldn't have stopped it if I wanted to. Cas grabs my wrist and slams me up against the fridge. He traps me there with one hand on the fridge by my head and the other has my wrist pinned over my head. Hey wait a minute, there are no fucking staff in here—that should have been my first clue.

Cas's lips are on mine and fuck, they feel good there, I want them there. I didn’t even know how much until they suddenly were there. He pulls away and smirks. "Welcome home."

"Fuck…Cas…we shouldn't have—"

"Oh? Have you already started, Cassy?" Michael says walking into the room. "Sorry I'm a bit late Dean, I had to get the rope."

Rope? That's the only thought I have time for. The two each grab under an armpit and drag me onto one of the kitchen islands. I'm thrashing and fighting and yelling, "what the fuck are you two doing?" And, "this isn't fucking funny, assholes!" But they win and in the end I'm tied to the kitchen island spread eagle.

I struggle in my bonds when I see Cas appear with scissors. "What the? Cas, what are you going to do with those?"

There's a gleam in his eye and a cockiness in is brow. "Hold still."

I do as he starts fucking cutting my jeans off. I don't want him slicing through anything important like my nut sac. I've pretty much got that he's just de-clothing me and not trying to hurt me, so I let him—it's not like he hasn't seen me naked before. I know Sam's going to be in from the car soon; he'll save me from whatever madness has overtaken the pair.

Michael has his own set of scissors and he's working on my shirt. They don't stop until I'm completely naked, spread in a very vulnerable position on the kitchen island and no, I can't help that my dick is trained to stand-up in these kinds of situations; it's already fucking leaking. This is humiliating as hell, which is why my cock fucking loves it.

"Seriously, Cas, what the fuck are you doing? Sam's going to kill you."

He ignores me. Maybe being without me for two months was too much and they had more of their 'I love Dean' clubhouse meetings and they decided if they couldn't have me, they'd rather be dead anyway, so they'd fuck me once before their death. Their deaths occurring post-coitally because Sam is going to walk in and murder them. I realize that's a fucked up theory, but it's all I've got at the moment.

Cas pours lube on my willing cock and begins to stroke it—it's fucking torture and I'm doing my damnedest not to come. For some reason it seems less wrong if I don't come. "You can't say you've never thought about this—I see the way you look at me, Dean. How you look at Michael, you want us."

"Mmmhh, fuck, Cas. Stop, please."

He slows down, but he doesn't stop. "I don’t really think you want me to stop."

That's when Sam fucking walks in. "What's this? What's going on here, Dean?"

Cas doesn't stop stroking my cock and I have to try and explain myself as I'm building toward a slow, sensual, orgasm. "N-not my fault! They fucking grabbed me…they…they…Oh God, oh God." I fucking come all over Cas's hand and I can't deny how good it feels, since the humiliation factor has gone up a thousand percent—I can usually last way longer than that; that was barely a minute from a fucking handy.

"It looked like you enjoyed that, Dean. I don't think you fought them very hard. You're a bad boy and I'm going to punish you for this. Michael, clean him up."

Michael moves to grab something to clean me up with. Sam stops him. "No. Uh-uh. Use, your tongue."

Wait. What the?

"Castiel, remove my belt for me please."

Cas finally gives them away by smirking at me, because he can't fucking resist anymore, as Sam lifts his arms and he undoes his belt. "You, assholes! You planned this."

Sam lets go a decent whack to my stomach with his belt. I curl up off the island. "Fuck!" but Michael's licking the come off my crotch and the two sensations are already waking up my cock.

"No complaining while you're being punished. You clearly did nothing to stop them, naughty boy." There's no malice in Sam's voice, only excitement. As Michael finishes cleaning me, Sam marks me with more welts from his belt, careful not to touch my tender not-breasts, when he's finished, I'm already hard again. He leans down kissing my lips, and I smile, still panting as he kisses the life out of me.

"You like, my belle?"


"I think that says you do," he nods to my cock.

"Sammy, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be. I'm happy. You've managed to develop some sense of Traditionalism." Sam really does look happy—this is just a new sexual adventure for him and for me. So far I've liked all of the adventures he's taken me on…

I give him a nod, not able to speak. "Good," he says. "Because Cas needs you to wet his dick for him, while Michael sits on your cock, but you're not coming again, 'till my cock is inside that pretty little hole of yours, are you, baby?"

"No, Daddy. And please…I only want your cock in there."

"As you wish my love."


Music plays in the background as they drift out to sea. "Are you enjoying the ocean, my belle?"

She remembers that. He always used to call her that, but it was a long time ago. "Why yes. I think I am Mr…?"



She doesn't know how long she's been with this man, or how she came to be with him in the first place, but he's just so familiar, so it calms her. This man could have kidnapped her for all she knows, but he's awfully nice to her, so she's not concerned.

"Could I trouble you for another glass of wine, Mr. Campbell?"

"You can trouble me for anything you want, and it's no trouble at all." He pours her a glass and she sips it, it's a crisp white. It tastes very fancy, he always made sure she had the fanciest of things.

"Thanks, that's nice. Would you mind very much if I told you a story?"

"A story?"

"Yes. I feel as if I've been thinking about things for a very long time and now it's come time to say those things."

"I'll listen for as long as you'll talk."

"Well that's good because I might be here forever."

"Then I'll be here, forever and a day."


Chapter Text


"Mama. Mama! He's wearin' my dresses and he's not supposed to be," Sammy, or as she'd prefer to be called, Samantha says. Mama's the only one who can call her Sammy now, Sam never really did—except for sometimes.

"Can wear dresses if'n I want to! Dresses isn't just for girls! Mama wears them too!" her little brother Dean shouts back at her.

When we found out we were having a boy, Sam decided we were having ourselves a sweet baby Dean whether I wanted to or not. I guess it was only fitting that we literally did, since Sam's namesake turned out to be so much like him. God. Those two—it's like she's barely got any of my DNA at all. But like her papa, she loves Mama to pieces, so she's got quite the soft spot for me, even if she tells everyone else how it's going to go. Except Papa of course, both our children know who the boss of everything is.

Not only did little Dean end up being a mini-me, he wants to be just like me doing whatever I do, going wherever I go. I pick up my little three-year-old monster and set him on my hip, just above my belly. We decided to have another one, it's another boy. "You tell her, Mama," he says rubbing his eyes; he's tired and needs a nap.

"I didn't say boys couldn't wear dresses. I mean he's not supposed to be wearin' my dresses," Sammy explains exasperated.

"Don't have none, Mama," he cries heartbreakingly into my shoulder. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at him.

"Papa will get you some dresses, my love. You just have to ask," I say.

"He will?" I don't know why he's shocked. Papa lets his sweet baby Dean do just about whatever he wants, and get away with murder.

"'Course," I say pressing his nose. "That one's too big anyway. How about we get it off of you, so you can have naptime, huh?"

I set him down, but he takes off. "No! Ine wearin' a dress!" He's too fast for me to even hope I could catch up with him at my size.

"You come back here, Dean Jonathan Campbell," I call, but he's gone into the living room; his cute little giggle trailing behind him.

"You want me to get him for you Mama?" My Sammy asks.

"That's okay sweetheart. Can you just let him wear that one for a little bit? Mama promises we'll get him his own dresses and he won't wear yours anymore."

"Okay, Mama," she says with a sad little down turn in her voice that she somehow seems to have inherited from Sam even though Sam is seldom 'sad' these days.

"Thank-you sweet girl." I grab her up by under her armpits and nuzzle my face into her belly making her laugh, then settle her onto my hip where Dean was.

"Mama! Papa, says you're not supposed to lift me. I'm too big when you're carrying the baby."

I keep her on my hip anyway. "I can hack it. Your papa is a worry wart."

"A worry wart am I?"

Sammy scrambles to get down—carefully—and runs to her papa. "I tried to tell him, Father. He wouldn't listen."

Sammy tries so hard to be 'proper' for her father. Sam picks her up and kisses her cheek. "It's okay Princess. I'll sort your mother out." He walks over to me and kisses me too. "Hello, my belle. Good day?"

"Great day. You're home early?"

"It's too nice a day for working," Sam says.

Cas comes in from behind. He took a permanent position with the company, learning on the job rather than going to school—that's the perk of being the owner's little brother. But Cas was a natural anyway. Much as he'll deny it, it was his innate business sense that helped save the company all those years ago. He couldn’t have done it without Stephen and Frances of course, but what he did, was enough to keep things going 'till they could step in. No one else could have done that.

"Honey, we're home," he says and kisses my lips after Sam, as little Dean comes running back in the room.

"Hey! I want a kiss too, Uncle Cas!" he demands needing everything just like me. I shake my head.

Cas picks him up. "Coming right up Dean's minion." He kisses Dean on the cheek.

Little Dean beams. "Are you causing trouble?" Cas asks him.

Dean ignores Cas in favor of his papa. "Papa!" he says diving toward him. Cas and Sam trade kids.

"What'cha got on sweet baby boy?" Sam says.

"Is a dress, Papa, like Mama. We's can get me some?"

"Of course. Where did this one come from?"

"It's mine, Papa. He took it," Sammy says.

It must have upset her more than she's letting on if she's calling him Papa like that. "Aw, sweet girl."

I run my hand through her hair, and she reaches for me even though she's not supposed to.

"And we're going to have a third rug rat around here? Where's my husband? I'm going to take him to get scanned and make sure he hasn't caught whatever it is you have that makes you get pregnant."

"He's in the garden," I say rolling my eyes at him. "Why don't you go out there? Maybe it will cheer you up? In the least it will get you out of our hair."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Grumpy Cas makes a quick escape.

"You know, five years has been long enough. What say you, we let them out of the contract?" I say to Sam.

"You don't mean that, Baby."

"No. I don't."

"So? What's to be done about these two? Dean, how about we take you out right now and get you your own dresses, on the condition you give Samantha back her dress."

"But, Mama says I's hasta have a nap and don't want to Papa."

Sam looks at me and winces, cause that was a bit of a fuck up, but at this point I'm not picky about what time he takes a nap, since I am pretty exhausted being a month away from my delivery date and all. As it turned out, we did have to open up my other 'entry' for health reasons I won't go into at this time; trust me when I say too much information and that you'd be sorry you'd asked, but I won't be delivering naturally. It will be a third cesarian. "Take him. He'll fall asleep in the car anyway."

"You're not going to come?"

I shake my head and look down at my little girl. Sam doesn't even chastise me for holding her, he knows it will make her feel bad and he can see she needs me.

"Okay. C'mon Mr. Dress-up. Let's get you changed into your own clothes." Dean lets Sam take Sammy's dress off of him and hands it to Sammy who hugs it to her, Dean's still got his shorts on underneath; he giggles at being half naked.

Sam carts away everyone's favorite little monster and I'm left swaying my baby girl. "Mama," she says after a few minutes.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I…don't hate me, but I…"

"I'll never hate you. Ever. What's the matter?"

"I don't want you to have another baby."

"You don't?"

She shakes her head.

"Don't you love your brother? I know he's a pain sometimes. He even drives Mama up the wall, but I thought you adored him?"

"I do. I love him Mama, but…he's lots of work."

I laugh and kiss her head. "He is. But you don't have to worry about him, that's my job."

"But I do, Mama, I worry about everyone. And I'm supposed to look after you. I'm not doin' a good job."

Sammy's almost six now, but I've always sensed she's felt like the whole world's on her shoulders, like how I feel sometimes. Included in that for her, is me. There are times I don't want anyone to know I'm upset and I keep to myself, but like she's got some kind of radar for her mama, she catches on and just quietly walks over and demands to be picked up, so it stays between her and me; but I always know what she's doing when she's doing it and it's fucking sweet, but it breaks my heart.

"Samantha? Mama's supposed to take care of you." I tell her that lots; I hope someday she'll believe me. Her constant worry about me's going to consume her one day. "Haven't you seen my big strong muscles." I give her a little tickle and I do get a laugh out of her.

"But right here Mama. You hurt right here sometimes." Her little hand is over my heart.

"I'm going to tell you a secret and it's just between you and me, okay?"

She nods as I continue to sway her. "Mama sometimes believes that he's not worth anything. I came to believe that because of someone a long time ago, and it still makes me sad sometimes."

"Mama! Papa should spank you for that."

I laugh. "He should."

"You still think that?"



"Because you're all so wonderful, I can scarcely believe you're for me."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"You're right. It doesn't. But I promise, you don't have to worry about me anymore. I'm not going to let my heart hurt like that again, I swear it."

"How do you know?"

"Because love is a healing force too and I have lots and lots of love to make me all better. Okay?"

"Okay, Mama."

"Okay! Let's go paint a picture for Papa and one for Dean."

"And one for the new baby too?"

"Yep. And I'm going to paint one for your uncle Cas of Oscar the Grouch."

She laughs. "I'm gonna…I'm gonna do one of Uncle Michael like Snow White," she says between laughing.

"'Cause of all his animals?"

"Yeah," her giggles get louder. "And 'cause Uncle Cas is like his Grumpy Dwarf sometimes."

Now I'm laughing. Least my baby girl's got my sense of humor. I hope she says that to him later.

"C'mon then sweet girl, we've got work to do."

Chapter Text

I spread the blue satin of the gown around me and turn side-to-side, trying to look at myself from all angles in the long mirror. I look like freaking Cinderella. "This is a bit much Sam, don't you think?"

My husband, who is loitering on the bed, watching me get ready zeros his eyes in like a hawk, a monster-hawk, about to swoop down, pluck me up and take me to his lair. He doesn't like being spoken to like that by anyone, least of all me. "You're the one complaining that we never go anywhere. I'm taking you out."

"I didn't realize out meant dressing like I'm late for prom," I say. Usually he chooses dresses that are far more elegant—yeah I like fucking elegant sometimes, okay? "Is this because you think I'd look fat in the black one?" It's fitted.

Growing angrier, because I'm still not simply obeying him, he rises from the bed like a black swan, his long hair falling perfectly into place at his shoulders. He grabs my wrist and I don't fight him, just tense the slightest. I've come to realize that much of the thrill in being with Sam is in his unpredictability. I never know just what he'll do.

He smiles his long row of white teeth at me, but it's not his pleased smile—he doesn't like insolence. I'm being insolent. Predictably, I'm spun around and the layers of my dress are flipped up to expose the white satin panties. Knowing I'm getting a spanking, I stick my ass out for him, my cheeks clench in preparation as he pulls my panties down to my thighs.

The smacks are meant to punish and they hurt. I can feel my ass become red, as it heats. Tears track down my cheeks. It's not a particularly long spanking (Sam has taught me the meaning of endurance) but it doesn't need to be, the solvency of Sam's smacks are enough to get his point across. When he's finished, my lip is wobbling and I'm ready to behave.

"You don't look fat my belle," he says as he replaces my panties, which feel tight now, against the swollen skin of my ass. "You've lost all the weight you put on with our most recent child," that's Anderson for those who want to know, he's our fifth, "and even if you hadn't, that's not the reason I wouldn't want you wearing the black one—though I have no idea as to which black one you're referring to, you've got over a hundred black ones."

"Not a hundred," I pout, "eighty-nine, max."

His eyes darken more. "Whatever number you have. You are wearing this one, because I want you to wear this one, there's no other reason than that. Now, you can be a good boy and stop whining about it, or you can take a trip over my knee where I'll tan your hide pretty with my belt and you can sit on that all night, in this dress to remember who makes the rules and who follows them."

Fuck. Yeah, I don't want that, even if hearing him talk like that makes my cock twitch. I don't get it. "You know I'll wear the dress Sam," I say, wiping at my face. I'm going to have to fix my damn make up now.

He softens his smile; I feel like flying. "There, that's better. Almost perfect. Say yes, Daddy."

"Yes, Daddy." I smile back then nuzzle into his neck. And grind at his leg in a manner not becoming of a person in a dress. "You know, my cunt could use a good dose of your cock, Daddy. To make sure I know who to obey."

That widens Sam's smile like Christmas Day, he lifts me, easily and I wrap my legs and fucking satin and crinoline around him. He carries me to the bed. In short order, his belt buckle is undone, pants down and I'm seated with his cock up my ass, white satin panties pushed to the side, riding him slow. He stops me, frozen, looking at me in a way that still makes me self-conscious even with all the years between us. It's a look that tells me how much he loves to drink me in. An adoring look, an I can't believe you're all mine look. He doesn't need to say it, but he does: "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, I can't believe you'd even think I didn't find you attractive enough. The thought makes me want to spank you more." He's hurt. I've hurt him.

I lean over him and kiss him deeply, pulling away just enough for us to look at each other. "I'm sorry. I know. I shouldn't have said that, I just get worried. I've had five babies now, my body isn't what it used to be." I complained and groaned about my first pregnancy and while the last four weeks are never fun, I seem to forget and actually enjoy being pregnant enough to keep wanting to get pregnant. I'll have ten more if Sam's on board, but despite my love of having babies, I don't like what it does to my body.

I get a hefty smack for that. My ass is mostly covered by layers upon layers of ridiculous crinoline and satin, but I still get the message. "Don't talk like that Dean, I mean it. You're more beautiful than ever. End of story. Now get to work, we have to get going," he smiles.

I work myself on his cock as he spreads my sore cheeks apart with his hands making my panties pull tighter on my cock. I feel that tinge of embarrassment, my hole so exposed, his fat cock drilling me, even knowing I was being mouthy and got spanked for it, the evidence of that on display for anyone who should walk by… "Fuck! Can I, can I come Daddy?"

"Oh no, I don't think it should be easy for you."

Fuck. That could mean anything. It doesn't matter though, Sam's got me so worked up, I'll do anything to come.

Sam puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles loud, a signal for any member of staff in the vicinity of the doorway (which our children know to steer clear of unless invited) to come in. Of course, my luck, it's one of the older members of staff, Vivian—it's somehow worse when it's an older staff member versus a younger one.

"Ah, Vivian. Thanks for coming. Do you see what I have here?"

"I do, sir."

"Don't you dare stop," he says to me when I begin to slow down. "You're going to show Vivian what a dirty little boy you are. If you keep fucking me, I will allow you to come, but no holding back."

Fuck. Fucker. I both hate and love how much I'm turned on. Vivian standing there, knowing she can see my red ass swallowing Sam's cock, the girly panties pressed to the side of my left cheek, blue satin and crinoline everywhere makes my cock like hot ice. It leaks and wets the front of the white satin as I continue to fuck Sam. I feel thoroughly disgraced, I doubt I'll be able to look her in the eyes for a week (in the beginning I'd go months without looking at some of the staff members after the things Sam would get me to do). But I keep impaling myself on Sam's cock.

"That's it. Show Vivian here what a depraved little boy you are."

And I do. I'm shameless. I moan and grind. My ass slaps down on his hips. I beg. "Please Sammy. Please."

"You hear that Vivian? Do you think I should let the little whore come?"

Fuck. That makes it worse. I have to fight my impending orgasm.

"No, sir. I think you should keep him on edge all night long, maybe even for days."

Fucking Vivian. Sam loves keeping me on edge—it's one of his favorite things to do. He doesn't need fucking encouragement for that. He's good at it and has been known to blue ball me for a week while teasing the ever loving fuck out of me. It's torture.

"That's what I like about you Vivian, your ingenuity."

I keep fucking him like my life depends on it. "Please, please Sam. Please let me come." It's embarrassing as fuck, begging in front of Vivian like that. Some things aren't as embarrassing as they once were, but Sam has a special talent for devising ways to mortify me. He claims it's all for me—humiliation is a kink of mine, though I wish it weren't—and he does it to give me the orgasms of my life (which he does). But I know how much he likes it too. It's not a selfless endeavor. He gets off on watching me get flustered, but still doing as he commands, just for the sweet reward of release.

"Only because this night is for you—aren't you lucky? But first show Vivian how you make your daddy come."

I know that can change if I don't do a good job and I'm coming dammit! I slam down on Sam's cock as I make more noises both with my body slapping against his and my mouth almost screaming. I can feel Vivian's eyes on me the whole time and I think about what she must be able to see: my swollen red ass, panties and hole. Sam's cock splitting me wide. That's enough to make my cock strain in my white panties. Jesus Christ. Even after all these years and all the shit Sam's got me to do, having someone watch still makes me flush hot with humiliation. I do feel like a dirty, dirty boy. And if I didn't already, I would with all of Sam's dialogue. "That's right dirty girl, show Miss Vivian how much your hungry hole likes my cock. Tell her how I had to spank you for mouthing me off."

Fuck. "Daddy had to spank me. I was…I was naughty."

"I can see that. Like I said, I wouldn't let you come at all. You're lucky he's your daddy and I'm not your mommy."

I don't want a "Mommy" just a "Daddy" but it doesn't stop it being just the right amounts hot and demeaning that I have to squeeze my cock to keep from coming. "Sam, Sammy, please!" Fucking come, asshole.

I work his cock as he pulls and squeezes my sore ass cheeks and I finally hear the sweetest words. "I'm going to fill you up, darling." And he does. He comes like a fountain in my ass and I'm not far behind him, filling my panties with sticky, hot come.

I collapse on top of Sam.

"Thank you Vivian. That will be all."

I can't move and lie boneless on top of him as Vivian walks out the door, Sam wipes tears from my cheeks, ones I didn't know I was crying. "Did you like that my belle?"

"You know I did, Sam," I say smiling into his chest.

"She was right you know, I should have kept you wanting all night, should have kept your cock hard, so I could show it to all the guests at tonight's function. Let them take turns spanking you, 'till you begged me to let you come, even if it was right in front of everyone like the dirty whore you are."

"Jesus, Sam. You already broke my penis, you trying to give it a stroke too?"

He laughs. "Well, I'll just have to think of something else for later."

"You say that like you haven't already—I know you have. I've been married to you a long time."

"Guess I'm going to have to work on being less predictable," he says.

There's a brief moment of silence, then, "I love you Sammy." I feel content. I love these moments, especially after sex, where I get to be pressed against him, feeling him.

"I love you my belle." He pushes us up and kisses the life out of me. "Now we're really behind. We need to go. I still have to get dressed."


My outfit is completed with a crown, not surprising, but what is, is Sam dressed like the prince from the movie Cinderella. So I am fucking Cinderella and it looks like he's Prince Charming. "Where are you taking me, Sam?"

"You'll see."

At the door, Samantha's got the baby (well not quite a baby anymore, since he's just had his first birthday, but he is the baby of our family) and Dean junior, appraising us both with his arms crossed. Thomas (four) has got his blanket and bear and soother with tears in his eyes, but Leigh, my fiery little three-year-old is equipped with a toy archery set on her back and wearing some kind of outfit she must have got someone to help her make. She looks like the little girl version of dark Robin Hood.

"You look beautiful, Mama," Sammy says.

"Thanks baby, girl. Where did she get that?" I ask picking up Thomas (and all his stuff) who cuddles into me. He's very attached to me still and doesn't like it when I go out. I don't go out often, we spend a lot of time together.

Leigh knows I'm talking about her. "I'm gonna protect'em for you Mama, while you go out."

"Yeah?" I say trying not to laugh. She's dead serious. "From what, honey?"

"From the bad man."

I look at Sam, worried. She does have a creative imagination, but I know my little girl and I know when she's making stuff up. She isn't now. Sam steps in, lifting her up, careful of her, er, weapons. "What bad man is that, my love?"

"The bad one," she repeats, like we're the idiots for not knowing.

"Sam maybe we shouldn't—"

"Dean," he says in the voice I know better than to argue with. It also means he's taking care of it. "Nothing bad is going to happen and no bad men are getting in. There are over seventy-five staff members here watching out for the lot of you, I'll ensure that there will be security for tonight. If anyone dare shows their face here, they will be in big trouble with me. Do you believe me Miss Leigh?"

"I do Papa," she says with her big green eyes, nodding her head which shakes her shiny blonde curls. Her porcelain skin glows in all the right places, making her look like a dolled up mini-beauty pageant queen. Her papa doesn't stand a chance with her. Already, she knows just how to handle him. Sam can't even bring himself to spank her, yet. I'm sure that will change at some point, but for now, he's wrapped around her fingers. Yeah, all of them. "But I better look out for ev'ryone, jus' to be sure. Kay, Papa?"

He kisses her forehead. "Of course you will. Did you make this outfit yourself?"

"I thought it up, ev'ryone helped me, Papa."

I'm proud of my kids. They all get along well and love each other. Of course there are the standard sibling-type fights and bickering, but they play nicely most of the time and they all help out with the baby. Especially Sammy. I worry about her. Her sense of duty is strong. She feels responsible for everyone, something I've not been able to convince her otherwise. Tonight, I know she'll make sure everyone is in bed, even though we've got plenty of adults around to do that for her. Those same adults know she won't allow them to and they wouldn't dare cross her anymore than they would cross Sam.

In fact, the pair, Sam and Samantha have an unspoken understanding (they're too much alike). He treats her like an adult, within reason (she is only nine) and she is unfathomably obedient. Like she wouldn't be anyway, she yearns for her papa's approval, but as she's gotten older, she's collected the courage to speak up to him if he should dare think to get in the way of her responsibilities. It's earned her punishment, more than once, but somehow that always brings them closer and earns her yet more respect from her papa and doting. He also works hard to keep her respect. It's a complicated relationship, but it's one they built between the two of them. They're happy with it, I don't interfere.

"It's very nice. Frightening," Sam says.

"That's what I thought, Papa. I wanted a cape, but Dean said it would get in the way," she says, making sure that's true.

"Your brother is right I'm afraid," Sam says. Dean beams. Dean, my mini-me (not just in name) got away with murder when he was Leigh's age, but as he's gotten older, Sam's gotten harder on him. He's still got a special place in his papa's heart, but Sam senses how much Dean needs structure, like me, so he gives him plenty. Dean works hard to receive his papa's praise and basks in it.

"But wouldn’t I look nice?" Leigh says.

"You would look nice, but capes can get caught. What if the bad man latched onto it and dragged you backward?"

"Sam," I say. I don't want him feeding her 'bad man' idea. Tough as she acts, she's three. She's doing all this because she's scared.

"Should I cut all my hair off too, Papa? What if he catches that?"

Sam adores her hair. I have to try not to laugh. He got himself into this mess. "Cut off your hair little girl and I will give you a spanking." He's never said that before, she looks up at him like he's larger than life. We're all waiting to see what she'll say to that.

"You must really like my hair, don't you Papa?"

I have to turn away to hide my big smile. "I do, very much," Sam tells her.

"I won't cut it then Papa, not if you like it so much. I'll ask Sammy to tie it back for me instead, okay?"

Maybe she'll never be spanked. Sam looks at her both pleased and astounded. "That is a brilliant plan. Samantha is very good at braids." He kisses Leigh's forehead again and puts her down.

Sammy's facial expression doesn't change, but I know that any compliment from Papa means the world to her. She shifts the baby on her hip, bouncing him abstractedly when he starts to fuss. "Oh Mama, I'm so excited for you," she says.

I look at Sam. "You told our daughter, but not me?"

"She's not the one I'm surprising," he says.

"He didn't tell me, Mama," Dean says.

"That's because you tell Mama everything the moment you know it," Sammy says.

"Not everything," he says. Except yeah, it is everything.

Thomas is sniffling in my shoulder, he pulls back to look at me. He's smaller, smaller in some ways than Leigh even though he's older. I had a hard time during his pregnancy and was on bed rest for the majority of it. (You can imagine the hay day Cas had with that one.) I almost got Sam to send him away. Alone. I wanted to keep Michael as punishment.

"Mama," he croaks. "Don' want you to go. Please."

"Aw, baby boy. Sammy's going to take good care of you and you like Chef Anthony. Bet he'll let you help him make something in the kitchen." Thomas likes to cook. Sam was completely opposed to it at first. We all worked on him though and little by little he came around to it. Thomas also likes the garden and cars equally as much as cooking. He and I tinker on the Impala sometimes.

He nods, but the silent tears are killing me. "You look real pretty, Mama."

"Thank you, Tommy." I wipe his tears away, my large hand dwarfing his face and look at Sam helplessly. He's getting irritated, because everything seems to be hindering whatever surprise he has planned for me, but he's taken surprisingly well to being a Papa and he's good at it. He knows when we have to give up things for the kids. Not that he would give into every little whimper from our children, but Tommy's usually weepy. Sam's worry increases mine some, but I try not to let it show.

"Dean, grab a pair of pajamas for your brother." Sam looks to me. "We'll take him with us my belle."

My whole body sighs relief, but I'm almost shocked to death. Children aren't brought out to the 'adult night-life.' It's just not done. But this is Sam. He does what he does. He is still very much concerned with Traditional life etiquette, but he makes exceptions strategically. However, the fact that children are not allowed to attend and he's chosen one to bring along anyway poses a new problem. Everyone will be upset. Everyone means three of our other children. They are upset. I can feel it in the room.

"You four are staying here. This was meant to be a night for your mother, but if he's thinking about Thomas, he won't have fun. You know that. I know you all want to come and it feels unfair, but I promise to hold a family party very soon, so long as there's not a word about this," Sam says.

No one wants to ruin their chance at Papa throwing a family party. They're all quiet as mice. "Thank you. Dean, the pajamas?"

"Yes, sir."

As Dean runs off, Leigh does finally speak up. "I wouldn't come even if you invited me, Papa."

"You wouldn't?" he quirks a brow at her.

She shakes her head, jostling her long curls for him. "I have 'portant stuff to do here."

We all laugh. Sammy, unable to help herself, walks over with the baby and runs a hand through Thomas's hair. "What's wrong Tommy?" I know she feels like she's failed her father and if only she could get him to stay here, wouldn't Papa be proud? But also genuine worry for her brother.

"Don't want Mama to go 'way," he says.

"Come here, Thomas," Sam says pulling him out of my arms. "You're wrinkling your mama's pretty dress." Yeah, because he wasn't doing any wrinkling of the dress himself moments before. I know what he's really doing. I'm getting all wound up, he wants me to calm down. Thomas looks at me with longing, but goes to Sam not willing to disobey Papa. I know he'll be back in my arms soon as we're out in the car.

"Make sure everyone's in bed by eight, I want you in bed by nine little Miss," I tell Sammy.

"But Mama, I wanted to read a few chapters in my book." Sammy's the only one who's been moved out of the nursery. It was a hard decision for Sam to make. She is getting older, but she does prefer to be close to the younger ones. She's only across the hall. Sam wanted to give her status, but also privacy, since she's already begun growing into a young woman. Samantha's always been advanced. Her moving out was bittersweet. She's proud Papa thought highly of her, she told me she felt like Wendy from Peter Pan; she knew it meant growing up and she wanted to, but she hated leaving her siblings. She does like that she can stay up an hour later than everyone else to read whereas she couldn't before, since her reading light kept everyone up.

"Plenty of time for that. You know you can get help from the adults," I say.

She looks at me like I've just insulted her, but doesn't say so. "Fine, you won't need help from the adults, but an hour is lots of time to read, understand?" I say.

"Yes, Mama."

I kiss her crown and Anderson's bald little head. It's not completely bald, but I think of it that way. All my other children had plentiful heads of hair by his age. He's the only one who has thin, light-brown wisps spiraling out from the center like a Peanuts character. My Charlie Brown. It suits him. His head is perfectly rounded. "Mama," he says. Mama and Papa are about all he says really well, but he's catching up with his siblings fast and trying out a bunch of shit. Most of it hard to understand. "I left him some of my milk with the kitchen staff." She knows to call for one of them and they'll bring it to her.

I crouch down to give my little warrior a hug. She looks so much like my mother. Most of our kids look like me, except for Samantha and Anderson. Anderson is practically a clone of Sam, other than his lack of hair, which I'm sure will grow full and lavish as he grows. "Hey Lee-lee, do I get some lovin' before I go, or are you too tough?"

"Never Mama," she says and brings her little self over to me, squeezing tight. "You're pretty, Mama. Ev'ryone will think so. Papa's gonna be so mad."

I laugh and poke her belly so she giggles. "Naw. He won't be mad, know why? He likes them to look, knowing I come home with him."

"Okay and Mama, I like being a tough girl, but I like being a princess too sometimes. Do you think Papa would buy me a dress like that, for my very own?" She's tentative and whispering so her papa won't hear (even though he's close enough to hear every word), like there's every possibility I'm going to say no. It's actually the opposite.

Dean did a similar thing at her age. Foolishly, we got rid of all Sammy's little girl stuff when she deemed herself too old for it. Dean had worn floofy dresses for a while too, but eventually grew out of playing with them. Not that he never wears them, he does, but he's got a particular style that doesn't include 'princess.' He likes long skirts with slightly masculine shirts. Any dresses he does decide on are usually black and he often puts a t-shirt or sweatshirt overtop, though he will wear something more extravagant, like gowns for parties. In any case, Doc Angel convinced us our likelihood of another girl was 'nil. When Thomas, the occurrence of yet another boy convinced us. Thomas also came with complications; we didn't even try to have another one; somehow, Leigh came along, fighting her way through—we were fucking shocked to learn she was a girl. Her pregnancy was so smooth I was able to convince Sam into having yet one more. And truth be told, I wouldn't mind continuing. Each one's just so fucking cool. Who knew I'd like being a baby-making factory after all?

I chuckle and smooth back her hair. "Your papa would buy you the moon," I tell her.

"Will you ask him for me, Mama? He does whatever you say."

That makes us all laugh. That's not exactly true, but it's not exactly not-true. "What do you say Papa? Should Lee-lee have her own princess dress?" I say looking up to Sam who's rocking Thomas. He's really not doing well. I see why Sam relented, he's as concerned as I am. Much as Thomas would prefer me, he is comforted by Sam's firmness.

"I say you can have as many princess dresses as you want, my Leigh," Sam tells her, half distracted with Thomas, but she doesn't notice.

"Oh no Papa, I couldn't. Just one. Else what will the other little girls wear when they want to play princess?"

She's serious, so we all have to try not to laugh again. "Okay, but may I at least you buy you shoes? And maybe a crown?" he asks fiddling with Thomas's hair. Sam likes his children well-groomed and presentable.

She looks at me and squeals excited clapping her hands. "That would be fine, Papa."

Sammy rolls her eyes, but I know how much she adores her little sister. Especially because finally there's another girl in the family besides Cas. Damn. That's a good one and he's not even here to be insulted by it. Speaking of, "where are the chuckleheads? I thought they were coming?"

"They're meeting us there on account we can have alone time."

"Ha! Right." I think they wanted the alone time. How do you have alone time with five children? Sam knows.

"I'm happy to have alone time from them anyway," he says. He doesn't mean it. He's a bit sore at them of late though. In their marriage contract, they agreed to a ten-year term with us. It's almost up and they're already talking about moving out. Sam doesn't want them to leave, so he of course makes it out like he can't wait for them to leave.

Dean returns with the pajamas for Thomas and Sam changes him with Dean's help. Just before we're about to walk out the door, Sammy stops Sam. "Papa, wait. No one's told you how handsome you look."

"That's 'cause he knows, Sammy," Leigh says exasperated.

Sammy's nose wrinkles a little at the nickname. She doesn't do that all the time anymore, she's given up trying to get her family to call her Samantha, but once in a while it annoys her. "We should still tell him," she informs her sister.

"Father's don't need to be told things like that," Dean says, but there's the slightest bit of hesitancy. He looks at his father. I know he'll feel really bad if he's to find out just how much a papa needs to hear that.

"Though I would not be opposed, your mother has told me several times how handsome he thinks I am. Therefore all of you are correct; I know and I need to be told, but I also don't need to be told because knowing I have your mother is enough." Sam shines his drop-dead gorgeous smile on all of them.

All they hear is that he likes it, so there's a round of "you're handsomes" from all of them, including Thomas. Even Anderson points and says "Papa" in an awed voice. He doesn't know exactly what's going on, but he's damn smart and I wouldn't doubt he at least knows we're talking about his Papa.

This elicits a sappy, too-good-to-be-true group hug from all of us and Sam and I walk out with Thomas feeling like a million bucks. As predicted, I get Thomas back (now outfitted in cream pajamas and little crocheted slippers with leather soles, plus his wool sweater.) It's spring, but it's cool at night. Thomas falls asleep on the way there, against me, with his blanket and bear tucked between my not-boobs and him, soother in mouth.

Sam looks me over. I don't know how he figures it out, but he does. "Oh my god, you want another one already," he says. I haven't brought it up to him yet.

"Well not right now, but eventually, yeah. You don't?"

"I do, but Baby, I worry every time. What if something happens to you one of these times? It was so close with Thomas."

"I thought you were over that?"

"I'll never be over that," he says, voice hard.

"I know, Sam, but our kids, we have such cool kids."

"I agree and we already have five. "

I get what he's saying. Five times we've taken a chance, five times we been lucky and I haven't died. "Perhaps it's time we focus on being grateful for what we have."

He's saying no. Sam's saying no. It's not like he's never said no about things, but this one's like a punch in the gut. I expected some push back from him, but not rejection. Then he makes it worse. "In fact, I think it's time we talk about getting one of us fixed, just to make sure." He must recognize the look of abject horror on my face because he adds, "not tonight though. Another time. Tonight is for you—forget I said it."

"But you did say it, Sam." I hug sleeping Tommy tighter and lean in to smell his still baby-scented hair. No more? I'm not ready for "no more."

"We could adopt," he suggests.

"Yeah, I guess." I've got nothing against adopting, but I, well I like making them, okay? That's gotta be okay too, right?

"Please Darling, let's talk about this another time. I, dammit!"

His loud voice jars Thomas and he wakes a little scared. "Mama?"

"Shhh. Go back to sleep, Tommy." He listens, closing his eyes. I focus on Sam. "I'll forget about it if you promise we can at least talk about this, Sam."

"You're not a freaking toy vending machine, insert coin, twist knob and see what pops out!" he whisper-yells.

"That's not what I think, Sam."

Heated silence smokes up the limo for the next five minutes. Sam stares out the window and I admire his resolute jaw, it's so fucking sexy. Even when I'm pissed at him, I still see his beauty and ache for it. With the moonlight glinting off him like that, he looks all the more fascinating, like the greatest mystery ever told. I wish I knew what he was thinking. Finally he looks at me. "We can talk about it later, darling, but please remember, I am Head of House, I have to make the decision best for everyone, not just you, Dean. I'm not the only one who stands to lose you anymore."

That doesn't sound promising, but I'll take it. I don't argue with him further. For now.

Chapter Text

"What the shit was that, Sammy?" Dean says. "You made the rest of us look bad in front of Father."

"Watch your language. You wanna get on Papa's bad side? Teach Lee-Lee how to swear."

Sammy may not be so fond of her own nickname, but she's prone to use them as well. Everyone else uses them in her family anyway. Anderson is chewing on his thumb again, both Dean and Leigh watch her pull it out and replace it with the soother she has in her dress pocket.

Leigh is the youngest, other than Ander, but she doesn't need one of those things, Tommy does and that's fine, but still they fascinate her. She likes them for a reason she can't place, but she likes not having one herself. She's mostly thinking about what kind of princess dress she would get at the moment.

Dean hates being embarrassed in front of their father. He likes being on his bad-side even less. "Uh, don't say that stuff, Lee-Lee. It's bad for some reason." Mama swears lots when he thinks the littler ones aren't paying attention, but he doesn't seem to mind if Dean hears. Dean knows better than to say "bad" words in front of his father and so does Mama in front of them.

"I wouldn't say bad words Dean," Lee-Lee scolds. "Papa doesn't like that and he's going to buy me a princess dress."

"I thought you liked being a warrior? What's with all this princess dress crap?"

"Dean," Sammy warns.

"Since when is crap a swear word?"

"I doubt Papa sees the difference," Sammy says.

"She said she's not gonna say it."

"I'm not. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!" Leigh's voice gets louder and louder.

"Christ, calm down," Dean says. "So tell me, why you suddenly want to be a princess?"

"I can be both if I want. I can be anythin' I want." Leigh give her brother a glare. There, that should fix him.

Sammy laughs. "You're an idiot, Dean. Princesses can be warriors and warriors can be Princesses. Stop pestering her."

"Oh, and idiot's not a swear word? Miss I like to suck up to Papa and make my brother and sister look like mud."

"Papa would agree," Sammy says. She's right. Sammy's usually right about what Papa likes and doesn't like and also about how he thinks.

"But Mama would kick your ass," Dean smirks. He's right, he knows he's right. Mama's more strict about name calling. Papa doesn't like it either, but Mama's anal about it.

Sammy, ever dutiful, ever pleasing and also usually quite mature, sees through her brother's cocky anger. She didn't mean to make anyone look bad. Soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized what she'd done. Her only intent had been to put a smile on Father's face because everyone complimented Mama (of course they would, their mother is the most beautiful thing anyone gets to see) but their father was forgotten. She didn't want to forget him. "Okay, you're right on both counts. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you look bad."

"And Mama would kick your ass for calling me an idiot, say it."

"Yes, he would," she says. Dean smiles satisfied. "He also wouldn't be pleased to hear how you're talking in front of Lee-Lee."

"All right, true," Dean agrees. Mama might let the odd curse word pass when Papa's not around, but certainly not in front of Lee-Lee, Thomas, or even Ander.

"Are you guys done? I wanna check over the house, but I'm so little I need help. Help me!" Leigh demands.

"Leigh Campbell, you'd better learn to ask nicely," Sammy says.

She didn't mean to be so demanding, she's just excited. Papa'd actually said she could protect the house. It's a big job and she wants to make sure all goes smoothly. "Please, Sammy? Please help me, oh and you're gonna do my hair too, like Papa said?"

"Yes, I will. You really saw someone?"

"Yeah. Tommy saw him too," Leigh says.

"You'd better not be making stuff up," Dean says.

"I'm not making it up, Dean," her earnest little voice says.

Dean notices for the first time how worried she really is. She's such a strange mixture of stoic, animated, wise and naïve, it's hard to tell just what she's feeling. "Okay, Lee-Lee. Don't worry though. Big brother Dean will protect you."

"Maybe I'm gonna protect you?" she says in return, but she's secretly grateful for her brother's protection. She crosses her arms and does a perfect imitation of him.

Dean's impressed. "Okay Striker. Where should we look first?"

"Let's check all the rooms then the gardens," Leigh says.

"Oh no you're not. We're not allowed to leave the house," Sammy says. "We can do that when Mother and Father get home."

"It has to be tonight, Sammy. Right now," Leigh says, her green eyes serious.

This is a tough call for Samantha. Her sister could be making a big deal out of nothing. But, especially if there is something, they shouldn't leave the house. Either way, best to follow the rules. "No. I'm looking after you, you're not going out there. Let's go check the rooms, as many as we can before bedtime, but we're staying inside." And that was final.


It's a ball. A fancy, Cinderella style ball. Everyone's here, all our friends, Sam's employees and colleagues. We get stared at, not because I'm still the only man within our circles that wears a dress, but because we brought one of our kids. As seems to be our luck, no one mob and pitch forks us. There are a couple of indignant glances. I hear a few "I hope he doesn't think we're not fucking… I've heard what he's like…"

Thomas is young anyway. He'll forget if he does see anything, which I doubt. I bet he'll fall asleep—hope he will. Cas and Michael spy us immediately, Cas is scandalized. "What's the kid doing here?" he says.

"Hello to you too," I say as Thomas wakes up.

"Well? What's wrong with you two? Bringing a kid here. I'm supposed to be the black sheep of the family, slash attention seeking playwright."

"You don't write plays," I say. "You work for Campbell Corp."

"Yeah, but doesn't that sound more exciting? Here, give me the little biscuit."

But Thomas does not want to leave Mama. He latches on and's about to scream before Sam stops him. "Something's wrong with him."

"Is he sick?" Cas asks feeling his forehead.

"Don't know. He was all teary-eyed when we were leaving out the door," I say.

"That's not unusual," Michael says. "He is quite attached to you."

"That's what I thought at first too, but Sam thought it was more than that, something's up."

Cas reaches across the table to one of the full wine glasses that are there and takes a big swig. "I don't think so, Castiel. How many have you had already?" Sam asks.

We can all see the 'it's none of your business' in his eyes, except that it is. Cas can't seem to get used to having his brother run his life. Cas is okay with some things but not others. It's only got worse since the upcoming move talk.

Cas knows it's better to do as Sam says, but sometimes, he just doesn't care. "I've had one Sam."

"It's true," Michael back him up.

"Fine, but don't over do it," Sam says with added glare-factor. He's in a bad mood for a few reasons (namely having to say no to me before my party) I hope Cas just shuts it. "If you all will excuse me a moment."

When Sam gets up, I scold Cas. "Did you have to be a dickhead?" I say.

"You swore and called me a name, I'm telling."

"Stop being a child, Cas. I'm not calling names, I stating facts."

He sips his wine and pouts, slumping into a chair. Michael stands behind him and massages his shoulders. "You sure you don't want to run away with us and ditch bossy-pants?"

"And leave my children?"

"They can come too."

"No, Cas."

"Oh right, you lo-ove him." Sip.

I laugh. "He's my husband and the father of my children, yeah I love him. C'mon. You don't really have to go, do you?"

"I'd stay if he'd let up some."

"He's not unreasonable, Cas. Last time he cracked down on you, it was because you were singing It's Raining Men in your underwear."

"I was livening up the party."

"It was a business meeting."

"Potaytoe, potawtoe."

"The children and I spent weeks calming him down after that."

"I was sorry about that and I was punished, it should be over."

"It was four weeks ago and he's not over it yet, deal."

"Okay, so I'm wrong, you're right. Happy?" He chugs the rest of his wine. "Alcohol seems to make everything so much better these days."

Michael winces.

"Which is why he's worried about you. Alcoholism, kinda runs in your family, remember?"

"Oh for the love of… not you too," Cas says.

"Sorry for caring about you, Cas," I say.

"So does Michael and you don't see him nagging me."

Michael's hand stops massaging for just a moment too long, Cas catches on. "You too Michael? My own fucking husband? Fuck this. I'm out."

Cas pushes away from the table and storms away. I can't stop him because I've got Thomas in my arms and Michael's too stunned, probably a bit hurt.

"I don't know whether to go after him or let him pout. You're right, he's turned into an over-grown child," Michael says.

"Being locked away in a room will do that to you, I guess. He'll get over it, I'll talk to him later," I promise Michael.

"Sam's going to be furious," Michael says and he's not wrong.

"No more than he already is." This night's turning into a total bust.

"Mama, I'm firsty," Thomas says.

"Okay, baby. I'll get you something."

That's when Sam returns with juice for Thomas and a beer for me. "Thanks, Sam. How'd you know we were thirsty?" I ask taking the beer.

"I didn't, I just had to get away from Castiel before I throttled him."

Sam has no compunctions "throttling" Cas here, as we all know, but I'm sure he's trying not to have to do that on my… whatever this is. "Well, you don't have to worry about him anymore, he left."

"He what?" Sam balls his hands into fists.

"Just let him go, Sammy. Let's have a good time. What's this night all about anyway?"

"Michael, tell him. I'm going to drag my brother's sorry hide back here and spank it." Sam storms off toward the entrance. Michael and I let them go. They're too stubborn when they're this irate.

"Mama? Is Papa mad?"

"He's upset baby. Uncle Cas is being silly."

"Uncle Cas is funny," he says.

"Sometimes," I agree. Just not right now. "So, what's this all about, Michael?"

"Sam wanted to give you a princess night, sorta recreate the first time he took you out, but better. This is Rita Rickman's place, it's over three hundred years old. Some of the biggest, fanciest Traditionalist balls were held here once upon a time. It's special. He's been wanting to do this awhile now, but there's always been something."

"Yeah, like me pregnant," I say.

"Wait a minute, you want another one already!"

"How does everyone know?"

"Because of how wistfully you say that."

"Yeah, well Sam's not keen. He's worried about me."

"I know Dean. We all know how he worries about you. Between you and Cas—did you have to talk about babies tonight? " Michael runs a hand through his hair. "Guess this night was over before it started."

I'm not ready to give up on this night just yet. Michael's uncharacteristically dressed up. He looks sexier than usual. "You know, we can still salvage this night."

"Not with Thomas here—and that's your rule. We did have something planned for you."

I was able to get Sam to abide some Progressionist rules; one being, no sex-stuffs in front of our kids. I couldn't get the same on punishments. Sometimes you're spanked in front of everyone else in our home, depending. It's simple though, don't misbehave, don't get spanked. Sam is always fair.

"The kids'll be in bed when we get home." I raise my brows, but Michael's just not into it. Man, everyone sucks tonight.

"Sorry Dean. Things have been hard lately."

"Yeah, I get it. But Sam hasn't been easy to live with."

Thomas starts to get cranky. It's way past his bedtime and he's uncomfortable, getting hot with all his layers plus being holed up against my ridiculous dress. I take off a few of his layers and he's finally secure enough in my presence that he sits on a chair between me and Michael; we both entertain him, but it's not enough. The night's getting on and Sam and Cas haven't returned. Various guests have come up to talk to us, food's going to be served soon. "Maybe you should go look for them, Michael?"

"Yeah, you think they've killed each other?"

"I hope not."

Michael leaves and I'm left with Thomas who's getting tired. "Want to go home Mama," he whispers. He's uneasy around all these people and I don't blame him. Several magazines have tried to get pictures—at least they asked. We don't allow pictures of our kids and the photographers are educated in Campbell trivia enough to know that Sam will ruin the magazines they work for if he comes across any.

"I know. Soon love, very soon."

He crawls back in my lap and pats at my half-boobs, still full of milk for Anderson. Unbeknownst to Sam, Thomas is not officially weaned, he just thinks I give him milk sometimes, to help with full breasts—which is not entirely untrue, but not exactly true either if you feel me. Leigh weaned herself at a year and a half and even Anderson doesn't drink as much as he used to. I had to make Sammy drink 'till a year. Dean was about the same as Leigh, but Thomas, he's… well he just seems to need me more and I can't bring myself to deny him. I've known some mothers to feed 'till six years. I can't help but think, given the behaviors of my other children that if Thomas is still asking, he needs it, right?

I shimmy one side of my dress's top down for him, thankfully, it's strapless. "Here, quick, before Papa comes back." Though at this point, I'm seriously doubting anyone's coming back. Thomas latches on and I smile at him while he drinks happily. How could Sam not want another one?

Thomas drinking milk, has the added bonus of him drifting off to sleep. It's in that time I hear fire trucks outside the hall and Michael comes running up to the table. He's dirty and disheveled. His shirt is ripped in places, his jacket's gone. "Dean, Dean, jeez there you are?"

"Here I am? I've been right here all night."

He looks at me funny then shakes his head. "Anyway, Sam wants you to go home with Thomas, he'll follow… soon."

"Not until you tell me what the frick is going on."

"I'm not supposed to—"

"I'll deal with the consequences, you tell me now Michael."

"Cas and Sam fell down a well."

"What? How does this place still have a well? I thought only Campbell Manor had wells?" All securely covered. My kids play outside.

"It's old Dean."

"They should be covered."

"I-it was, that's the thing, we think there's foul play involved."

Fuck. "Foul Play? I'm assuming Cas and Sam are okay?" I think he'd be more worried if they weren't.

He nods. "Thankfully, it wasn't a deep well. Not anymore. It had been mostly cemented in, but there was room enough for a decent fall. They're okay, but they think Cas hurt his shoulder and Sam broke his foot.. The fire truck is here, they'll get them out, but Sam wants you home. I think you should go, Dean."

"But, I want to see them get out. Make sure they're all right."

Michael nods. "I knew you'd say that. You'll deal with that one too?"

"Yeah. My butt is familiar with Sam's hand—it might cheer him up."

"Okay, let's go."


Sam is first out of the well and he's not happy to see me. "I told you to go home."

Cas is next. "What are you still doing here? Sam told you to go home. You never listen."

Other than grouchy and dirty (both their suits are muddy, ripped and splattered with blood) they appear fine. "All right I'm going, but someone's going with you two to the hospital, are you okay with Michael staying?"

Thomas is awake again of course, poor guy, this hasn't been a good night for him. "Mama?"

I give Thomas a squeeze, "Everything's okay, baby," and I walk over to Sam.

"Yes, fine. Michael can stay, but you need to go home where it's safe," Sam says.

"What's going on, Sam?"

"I promise, we'll explain everything. They're insisting we go to the hospital, because I need surgery, but I'll arrange to have them move me home afterward. Doc Angel can take it from there."

"I'm worried about you Sam."

He pulls me in for a kiss. He also give Thomas a kiss to his crown. "I'm sorry tonight didn't work out, darling. I'll make it up to you. And Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"I will be dealing with you for disobeying me."

"I know, but I'd do it again."

He huffs and the harrowed crest of his eyebrow makes my heart ache. "I'll see you at home, Sammy."


I leave them, even though I don't want to, but Sam's right, he will be fine and I need to get Thomas home. It's well past ten now, so I know everyone else is in bed. I plan on checking in with them, but I'm getting out of this dress first. Thomas and I head up to my and Sam's bedroom. I put him on the bed with is blanket and bear and chat with him while I change and he sucks his soother. "Thank you for being a good boy for Mama tonight. I know it wasn't your favorite thing to do. Should we garden with everyone tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he says with a tired smile. My kids are so good. I'm fucking lucky. I've never felt I really fit anywhere, but I fit at this. I'm a good fucking parent and I've raised good kids. I'm proud of that.

"And maybe a painting too, what do you say Tommy?" I slide into a comfortable t-shirt (I refuse to wear a 'bra' unless I have to) and boxer shorts (I don't bother leaving the sexy panties on, since none of the adults will be home and sex is out for tonight) and joggers. "You staying here, or coming with Mama to check in on the others?" He won't want to sleep alone tonight and neither do I.

"Come with yooou," he whines.

That's what I thought. I pick him up again (my arms are getting fucking tired) and start with Sammy's room. The light is on. "Samantha Campbell, I told you to…" They're all piled on her bed even the baby. I put Thomas down and he crawls in with his brothers and sisters.

Dean's trying to be stoic, but his eyes give him away—he's freaked. Leigh's cuddled up to Sammy who's got the baby beside her; she's reading them all a story. Thankfully Anderson's asleep. Thomas climbs into his brother's lap. "What's going on guys?" I ask.

"Sorry Mama, I know you said to go to bed, but we were scared," Sammy says.

"You were scared and you didn't call us? Why didn't you call us?" I raise my voice slightly. I don't mean to be so hard on her, but I'm riled myself. With Sam and Cas falling down a fucking well and now this? Jesus fuck.

She wipes at tears hating disappointing either one of us, me or her father. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to ruin your princess party Mama."

I sigh. I can't be mad at her for that. I am going to have to talk to her about this, later, so she learns the right way to handle situations while we're out (especially if she wants to continue in her caretaker role), but I'm a fucking softie most of the time. I let Sam be the hard-ass. "Okay, okay." I pick up the baby. "C'mon everyone, let's go to my bed."

"Really, Mama?" Sammy says, sniffling.


"Yippee!" Leigh says too loud as I hold my hand out for Thomas who runs to it.

"Shhh!" Dean says. "You're gonna wake the baby Lee-Lee."

At least everyone's in pajamas. Leigh picks up her bow and arrow set from the floor on the way out of the room. Sammy grabs a housecoat, but abandons the book she was reading to everyone and shuts the light off behind us. She's way more responsible than I am about stuff like that and gets after me for it. "Mama, we need to save electricity." "Why? We're rich. Papa can just buy more electricity." "For the environment. Jeez Mama. Papa won't be able to buy electricity when it runs out." "Bet he could. Bet electricity wouldn't dare run out if Papa told it not to."

We pile into my bed (it's big enough) but no one's ready to go to sleep yet. "What happened? Why are you all scared?"

"W-we saw something, tonight when we went looking through all the rooms," Dean says.

"Why were you guys doing that?"

"Because I made them, Mama," Lee-Lee says.

"Oh really?" I say laying the baby down beside me. It's amazing he's managed to stay asleep with all the ruckus. "What did you see?"

"We saw a shadow, in Uncle Cas's old room," Dean finishes.

"We told an adult right away, Mama," Sammy says trying to redeem herself for not calling.

"Thank you, Sammy. Who did you tell?"

"Mrs. Medlock, sir. I, we, it—"

"It's okay," I say pulling her to me. Even I forget she's only a little girl sometimes. "My brave Samantha Mary." She finally does what's hard for her to do, let go and let me handle things. Myself and her papa are included on her list of people she needs to look after, she hates to worry us; it's hard for her to surrender. She cries into my chest. "You did what you thought was the right thing. You're not in trouble. I'm not disappointed."

"You seem it."

"I'm not, I'm just riled. Something else happened tonight, but I want to hear the rest of your story first. Dean?" I say, my voice gruff.

"Um, yes sir. We told Mrs. Medlock, but I don't think she really believed us. I think she thought we were playing a game. She told us to go to bed and that she'd have Father's men check the place out."

"Okay, thank Dean." I smooth Samantha's hair and shoosh her.

"Sammy's crying?" Leigh says.

"Yeah, she'll be okay." I squeeze Sammy and rock her a bit. And if you think giving her less responsibility would be good for her, we tried that. Once. She flipped. It felt like punishment to her. It's better to just let her have these moments and go back to her regular routine. "She just needs a Papa hug I bet."

"Papa's hurt," Thomas says giving it away.

"What?" All three of them say and loud. Anderson stirs this time, but doesn't wake up. It's hard for them to believe that anything can hurt Sam. He does come across as indestructible.

That does make the infallible Lee-Lee cry, Dean moves to comfort her as he looks to me for an explanation. "He's going to be fine," I say. "He broke his foot. He and Uncle Cas fell down a well."

"A well?" Dean says.

"Yeah. Uncle Cas is hurt too, his shoulder they think, but he'll be fine too."

Sammy pulls away sniffling and wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her housecoat. Now that Sammy's okay, Dean passes Leigh to me. Leigh's got one of those breath-gulping cries, there's the odd whimper, but it's mostly air, sniffles and moans. Poor Dean has Thomas now. I start rocking Leigh. "How are you, Dean?"

"Fine, sir."

"Don't give me that bullcrap."

"Well, there's not e-enough room for me too Mama."

"There is. Plenty of room for all of you, I have big arms. C'mon, gather 'round."

I lay down and place Leigh on my chest. Sammy moves Anderson yet again (thank Christ that kid sleeps like me and not Sam) so he's on her and she snuggles into one side of me, Dean snuggles into the other and Thomas climbs up between my legs, latching onto my thigh. I leave the low-light from the bedside lamp on (there's already a darkness hanging in the air) because none of us want it off. "Let's close our eyes guys, everything will be okay in the morning.

"Papa will be home?" Leigh asks, calming down.

"He'll get home tomorrow," I tell her, trusting what Sam said about getting moved here. I flick my eyes to my phone. I can't reach it, but it's there in case I do get a phone call.

"Can we hear about your princess party, Mama, as we fall asleep?" Sammy asks.

"I can do that." There isn't much to tell of course, it wasn't a great night, but I think of every nice detail I can, the room, the music, the food. I list all the people I saw and recount how everyone looked. The kids were all so excited for me, I make it sound better than it was and I know by the time I'm done, they all have smiles.

"I'm gettin' a princess dress…" Lee-Lee mutters against my chest. We're all dead tired though so we all fall asleep like that, but I have thoughts. This is perfect. Five. Do I need more? Where would I have room to fit more? But even as I think that, I can't help feeling I'm two short. What if we'd stopped after Thomas? I wouldn't have my fearless Lee-Lee against my chest right now, or Anderson's little hand against my not-boob.

But for now, I fall asleep surrounded by my perfect little family and try not to think about the fact that we're down one Campbell, I'd really like with us tonight.

Chapter Text

Morning with five kids is just as busy as you'd imagine it. Sure, I have help when I want it (from actual adults), but I have my right-hand girl, Sammy. We mostly do it together, but we all help each other out. Anderson wakes us all up, him probably having slept the best. Everyone groans and blinks sleepily as Leigh rolls into Dean, Sammy hands me the baby and I take my shirt off to feed him. Everyone in the house is comfortable with me feeding the baby, it was weird with Sammy, 'cause she was first, but then it became 'usual' and I was proud to do it. Breastfeeding is nothing to be ashamed of, in front of anyone.

Also, it's nice to take my shirt off, because I'm sweating my nuts off. We didn’t need a blanket. Our combined body heats turned us into one giant family heater. I wipe my eyes as Anderson eats and ask Dean to hand me my phone. There's a message from Michael, but I don't bother listening and just call. "Dean?"

"Yeah," I say groggy and fuck-ass tired. Last night was stressful.

"I've been trying to get a hold of someone over there, everyone all right?"

"Yeah, why wouldn’t we be? I was asleep. We didn't hear the phone."

"Anyway, Sam's surgery went well, but he's in a snit. They wouldn't release him 'till Doc Angel could get here and apparently he was up the Coast on a vacation. How dare he?" Michael's sarcastic. "He just arrived."

"Don't tell me Sam had him hunted down in the middle of the night?"

"Fine I won't tell you that."

"But that's what he did. Ugh. Poor Doc Angel. Okay, so he's just got there?"

"Just. He's sorting everything out."

"How's Cas?"

"His shoulder was dislocated and he had a fracture too—the long bone in the arm, the humorous. His face is pretty banged up too, but he's okay otherwise. They fixed him up."

"How'd his face get so beat up and not Sam's?"

"Can we… tell you when we get home?"

"Sure, Michael."

"And don't leave the house."

"I wouldn't anyway. You know I'm not allowed to without Sam."

"No, I mean, don't even go outside to the gardens. Stay inside today, okay?"

"What the frick is going on Michael?"

"When we get home. Promise me, no going outside, okay?"

"Roger that. But you three have some explaining to do when you get home."

"Yeah, we will. Soon as we get home."

"How are they Mama?" Sammy asks when I'm off the phone.

"Good as new, they'll be on their way home soon."

The whole room relaxes. No one wants to leave our room though, the heaviness of last night still cloaking us, my children wanting the steadiness I provide them. When Anderson's done, I replace my shirt. "Can I have some milk, Mama?" Thomas asks.

"'Course, sweets."

Sammy gladly takes the baby as Thomas climbs over and I lift my shirt. "How about you four go get a head start? We should look nice for when Papa arrives. Wash your faces, brush your hair. Put something nice on."

"Not my hair, Mama. I gotsa braid, Sammy did for me," Leigh says.

She does, but it's frazzled. "I think we should redo that, sweetheart. I can help in a few minutes."

"Say, yes Mama, Lee-lee," Sammy prompts her.

"Yes, Mama."

"Thank you baby, girl." They head out. "It's just me and you again, Tommy-boy," I say and tickle his belly. He giggles around my not-boob.

I should get myself ready, but I don't feel like I have much time. I put on a better shirt (white V-neck) and throw on one of my kilts (Sam had a bunch made for me) and go commando (Sam'll like that and he'll need a helluva lot of cheering up). But I leave my hair, grab Thomas's hand and we head to the nursery. I take over changing Anderson's diaper, while Dean, Sammy and Leigh change their clothes. Dean decides to match me in a kilt and t-shirt of his own, but I tell him he has to wear underwear.

When Anderson's set, I put him on the floor (he can walk, but he gets carted around a lot 'cause we spoil him, and I am especially if he's going to be my last baby) as Leigh approaches me with a brush. I get her to sit in front of me on the floor (it's a long kilt) and brush out her hair. I learned how to do braids from my sister one visit when Sammy was little. I felt a bit self-conscious, like Sammy was getting ripped off having a dude as a Mother. I didn't want her missing out and I vowed to learn everything I needed to, to be a proper Mother. At the end of the day, I'm still a guy and I'm still me, but I feel I've been able to step up to the plate. I can even fucking sew—yeah, I'm bad-ass. And all of my 'mothering' may be done with a touch of Dean, but no one's complained so far. I've got kind, well-behaved kids. I'll say it again, I did fucking good.

When I'm done with a pretty French braid in Leigh's hair, I let her brush mine as the baby climbs on me. "Mama. Mum-mum-mama."

"Hello baby Anders," I say with a kiss to his cheek. He studies me. Sometimes I entertain myself by thinking what he might be thinking, 'cause I swear there are some big thoughts going on in his sweet little head. He reminds me of Sam when he thinks. He reminds me of Sam a lot, except for when he sleeps. Ander sleeps as soundly as his mama.

Sammy comes out of the adjoined washroom, looking perfect with Thomas in tow. He looks handsome in green. I check everyone over one more time to make sure we look good before heading downstairs. I expect Sam and crew to be home soon, but I have to feed the kids, now. We usually wait on Cas and Sam for dinner (Michael and I stay home while they work), and we have as many other meals together as we can, but in this case, I'm not waiting. It could be awhile before Sam and Cas are settled enough to eat, if they eat. The kids can't wait that long. Neither can I, we're having breakfast.

As we head to the dining room, I hear the doorbell ring, which is odd, I'm not expecting anyone; of course I let the house staff get it as per usual. Our dining room is still pretty stuffy with some of Grandfather Campbell's knickknacks and old family heirlooms on shelves surrounding the table; there are few ugly paintings Sam won't part from (apparently they're fancy art I don't get and I'm an artist) and the table is still long and a dark color wood. But Thomas convinced Sam to frame and hang a few of his masterpieces; there's also a high-chair for Anderson and booster-seats on two separate chairs for Leigh and Thomas. Not to mention their energy brightens this place the fuck up even if Sam likes quiet meal times.

It's when I've got everyone seated I notice how eerily quiet everything is. Other than the children, whose voices are usually drown by the vastness of the manor anyway, there isn't a whole lot of noise in our home, but there is bustle. It's not just sounds of busy, but there's a feeling in the air too. There's none of that now. I didn't notice it when we came down the stairs, but now it's the only thing I notice. "Stay here guys, I'm just going to check on breakfast."

"Yes, Mama," the two older ones say followed by two "yes Mamas" from the littler ones.

The doorbell rings again, which is odd. Someone always gets it on the first ring. I know then that something is wrong. The busy sounds I'm used to hearing aren't there because the people that usually make them aren't there. But how is that possible? We have over seventy-five staff members, some of whom are security. The doorbell rings again.

It's hard to decide what to do. Am I freaking for nothing? In the end, I decide that someone 'nefarious' wouldn't ring the doorbell, they'd barge in. At another insistent ring, I jog over to answer. I swing the door open. It's… Darcy? "Hello, Dean."

"What the fuck are you doing here? You have five seconds to get your stupid face off my property before I beat the living shit out of you."

Yeah, that's what I said. But it's the last thing I remember. That and falling to the fucking floor.


"We should go check, Sammy," Dean says quietly, trying not to rile the little ones. "He's been gone too long."

Sammy wants to do just that, it's been an hour, but she knows she's due a scolding over last night's decision already. It'll happen, but it'll be unnecessary, she knows what she should have done. She should have called Mama and Papa. But this is a different situation, least it feels different and she just isn't sure. What if they rile everyone up over nothing? She knows the answer to that too: No one will be upset over a false alarm, especially since she wouldn't be playing games, she's honestly worried. She notes Mama's phone left at his spot at the table.

Dean notices. "Just let me check the kitchen, Sammy, if no one knows where he is, we'll call." Dean admires his sister's unwavering ability to keep it cool when under duress, because she must be freaking under all that hair, but he's a 'doer' like Mama. He wants to take action. He can't just sit here.

"We're not allowed in there, Dean," she says.

"Fuck that."

"Dean. Thomas. Lee-Lee might be too worried about what Papa'll say, but Thomas—"

"I know not to say bad stuff, Sammy," Thomas answers. He knows they're talking about him. He also knows he's little and not very brave, but sometimes he gets the gumption to speak up to his other siblings. He hopes someday he'll be more like they are. He keeps trying to be, but nothing seems better than Mama and he always want to be with him. "I wanna, I wanna go look for Mama."

"See, Sammy? He agrees," Dean says.

"It's not up to him, it's up to me; I'm the oldest and in charge when Mama and Papa aren't around."

"This is different. This isn't regular stuff, Sammy. I say we vote this time."

"You're really that sure we should go check?" Much as they can bicker, Sammy knows her brother is smart (if impulsive) and she respects his opinion. "I got in trouble over the last thing you said we should do."

"No you didn't. Mama said you're not in trouble."

Sammy knows that can all change if Papa thinks differently. "He was mad."

"He was freaking 'cause of all the stuff that happened last night. How about you guys wait here and I'll check myself? That way, I take full blame. I'll say you couldn't stop me."

"Something's not right Dean. What if something did happen to Mama and it happens to you too?"

Dean waggles his eyebrows. "Not gonna happen. Just, stay here. I'll use the 'secret' passage ways."

They aren't really allowed in those either. It's not forbidden, but their mama didn't like them hanging around inside. They're old and rickety. Mama was always worried they'd impale an appendage on an old nail and they weren't lighted well—which was half the fun. Mama and Papa keep meaning to get them refinished, so they can play in them. Sometimes Mama lets them if they're careful, but he likes to know.

Dean knows the passage ways the best, because Dean sneaks around in them the most.

Sammy huffs, nervous about the whole thing, but she nods and picks up Anderson, who's getting fussy. He had milk, but he needs some food too.

Dean isn't long. He barrels through the passage way, returning, out of breath. "No one's even in the kitchen Sammy. C'mon. Grab the phone," he says grabbing Thomas's hand. "We should hide." Dean knows his instincts are good, though in this case, he doesn't need a rocket science degree to figure out something is seriously fucking wrong.

Sammy grabs the phone; she's already got the baby and heads toward the wall. Lee-Lee follows Dean and Thomas into the passage way, just ahead of Sammy and they shut the door in the wall, behind the draping. It's dark and they have no flashlight. "Here Dean. Take Mama's phone, use the flashlight app on there," Sammy whispers, but that's when they hear a voice, they all freeze and pray the baby doesn't start crying.

"I told you they were in here a minute ago." It's a man's voice nobody recognizes.

"Why didn't you grab them before?" Another man.

"Because they were sitting here nicely, not harming anything. They're just kids, Mick."

"The boss isn't paying you for your kind heart dickhead. C'mon, let's just find them before he rips our heads off. Billy and Felix are watching the others."

Dean knows who they are. The bad men. It must be and it sounds like there are a few of them. When they're gone, Dean lights up the home screen on their mama's phone, he punches in the passcode.

"How do you know Mama's passcode?" Sammy asks.

"Easy, our current ages."

"There are five of us and it's only got room for four numbers."

"Leigh and Ander's ages are added together to make the last number."

"How on Earth did you figure that out?"

"I saw him punch it in once, reasoned it out."

Sammy shakes her head. She would scold him, but the information's coming in handy now. He opens it and turns the flashlight on. They follow Dean deeper, winding down the dark, old passageways, until he feels like they've gone deep enough. Dean knows they're near one of the libraries. "Okay, I'm going to call Father," he says taking a deep breath. He doesn't know what he'll say to him when his father answers. There's something ominous about calling their father. Even when Father speaks to him, just regularly at any point during a day, he feels important. And right now, he feels extra important and also adult, having to the task of telling their father about how Mama's missing and the bad men. Sammy's an adult all the time, but he can tell when she's doubtful and in those instances, he tries to pick up the slack. He doesn't have to often, but when he does, he wants to do a good job for her. He musters the confidence to do that now.

Father picks up on the first ring. He's flustered and furious. "Dean? We're on our way home."

Papa thinks he's Mama. "P-Papa," he says quietly. "It's me Dean. Mama's… we think someone took him."

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Dean cringes. He knows it's not his fault Father's mad, but it feels like it.

"Are you guys okay? Where are you?" Papa asks.

"We're okay. We're in the wall, near the library. There's bad men here, Papa."

"Okay. Stay put. We're almost there and we're bringing help."

"Yes, sir."

"What did he say?" Sammy asks once he's hung up. She looks on at Dean with hopeful eyes wanting good news.

Dean's glad to give it to her. "Just to stay here, they're gonna be home soon."


I wake up in a garden. Not the garden, one of the many gardens on the property. I feel groggy, but that's it and my head hurts. I must have been knocked out. I take stock of my situation. I'm tied to a large slab of cement in a completely humiliating position. My wrists are tied at the center of my back with what feels like rope. I'm face down the cement slab, which is the altar of some stupid statue. Each ankle is tied to a marble post, my legs are spread obscenely wide with my dick and balls hanging for any and all to see. I'm also buck-ass fucking naked. Every muscle in my body aches, my skin burns where I've clearly been dragged across grass and dirt and rocks. I can feel all the places I've been bedazzled with said rocks.

Fuck, the kids. I panic. They're alone. If this is what that Darcy douchebag did to me, what's he having done to my kids? I wiggle and tug at the bonds, but nothing's giving. "Ah, Dean. Don't bother, you're not going to get away, I don't want you burning your pretty wrists."

It's that Darcy fucker. "Where are my kids, you asshole?"

"You mean your abominations? They're still in the house. I'd tell you not to worry, but you probably should. I didn't exactly tell my men to play nice."

I'll kill him, just for saying that, I'll fucking kill him. "I was going to tell you about how mad Sam's going to be, and how when he finds you, he's going to skin you alive, square inch by square inch, but he'll have to fight me for the opportunity. I'm going to saw your dick off with a butter knife."

"Yeah, yeah. You done?"

"What the fuck is your game douchebag?"

"Right, like in every mystery film, I'm supposed to explain to you my whole plan before I complete it, thus giving your heroes time to rescue you. Well I will because I can see why they do it. You plan and plan and plan for years and it's genius, but what's the use in all that genius-planning, if you can't share it with the one who you sprung said plan on? Besides, your 'heroes' aren't going to rescue you, they are otherwise detained."

I don't know what he did to my family, but he pissed off the wrong Mother Bear. If he's hurt one hair on their precious little heads, and fuck, even if he hasn't, I'm going to make him rue the day he set eyes on me. I just have to get free. He's right, I need time. "I bet it was a shitty plan. You're hot," he really has aged well, "but you've got the intelligence of a stick."

"I managed to confine all your staff, foil your security and disable Sam, your brother-in-law was an added bonus."

"You're why they ended up in a well."

"Now who's stupid? Duh. It was easy. Put on a floofy dress—dark as it was it didn’t have to be the same, just outrageously floofy—so people would mistake me for you, punch the shit out of Castiel, that part was fun, then push him down the well."

I'm fiddling with the knots he's tied. They're pretty good, I'll give him that, but way I figure, no one can be better than Sam at tying knots. I could be channeling my children who think Papa is perfect at everything, a master of everything, invincible, but I'm hoping not. Sam plays a game with me sometimes (yes a sex game) where he ties me up and I try to get undone as he fucks my mouth. If I'm not free by the time he comes, I don't come. He's helped me (initially I hated that game because I lost every time), and I improved to the point I became a real challenge for him, which Sam likes better than an easy win.

"You idiot! You could have killed him."

He shrugs. "Meh. Don't care."

"Are you still jealous because Sam dumped you on your ass? That what this is about? That was more than nine years ago dude." My torso is tied down, but not tightly, I have some freedom to move. I can only fathom one reason for being tied like this; he wants to fuck me, or fuck me with something.

"No. Well, not entirely. This is about you breeding evil devil children. It's unnatural for a man to have babies. And this is about the influence you've had on Sam. He's a firm Traditionalist. There's no way he chose monogamy on his own."

"If you're trying to accuse me of witchcraft, been there, done that, got the t-shirt."

"I didn't say witchcraft, I was thinking more along the lines of brainwashing via use of demonic power."

And that's different how? "Well I got news for you pal. Monogamy? We have frequent sex with several men. So nope, no monogamy, just no you."

"I don't like the way you're talking to me. I might have to spank you with this," he says producing a thick, cane, "before we begin."

Normally I'd say, puh-lease. Child's play. I've been caned numerous times in the years I've been with Sam. Hell, even my brother's caned me in the past when I lived with him, but I suspect his caning is not going to be like their canings. Both Sam and Adam get their point across, but it's never something I feel brutalized over at the end of (even if I complain about it like I have been). Darcy's got enough glee in his eyes I know he's going to wail on me with all his rage, built over nine years. I don't want him to hit me with that thing, but but him caning me would be a great way to get him to come closer. I pretend I'm more scared than I am and try the whole reverse psychology thing. "Fuck, not that, okay I'll play nice, what you planning on doing to me?"

He looks at my ass a long while, but nothing. Damn. I keep working at the rope and try to make it look like I'm not working at the rope. "I'm glad you asked. Since you seem to so fond of those little Satan's spawns, we're going to make one. Sam will be disgusted at the sight of it, you'll be out on your…well I guess it is kind nice... you'll be out on your sexy ass. I bet he'll give your kids away too."

He doesn't know Sam at all, I'm not worried about what Sam will do, but I am a bit worried he will knock me up. That's a legal mess I don't want to get into. I'm a married off so I've got practically no rights except for those Sam gives me. He's softened quite a bit since we were married, but there are still things he's firm on—though I'm happy with the compromises he's made. But me having Darcy's child, fuck, I don't know who it would go to. In the case of a woman who's married off, any children she bears go to her spouse, the laws may not have accounted for a man having a baby, but men do adopt children together, or use surrogates and in those cases, the children also 'belong' to the married in spouse; so I've always assumed that would be the same for me. If a couple decides to have a child with a third party, it's consented and approved by the married in spouse, since the married off spouse is not permitted to have sex outside the marriage without permission. In the case of such adultery, the child is (shitty as this sounds) 'up for grabs.' The married in spouse has 'first dibs,' but can refuse to acknowledge the child. If the spouse won't acknowledge the child, second dibs go to the Darcy of the situation, not me.

So if this shit show does happen, which is a very big if, there is some claim for him, however small on my kid... Sam won't let him have my kid, so long as he's alive, I know he won't, but he could be planning to kill Sam too. Who knows what's going on in his twisted little mind? Fuck. Either way I'd rather not have his babies thank you very much. "You're fucking crazy. You planning on keeping me seven months?"

"Ew. No. I won't be able to stand to look at you all fat and man-pregnant. Disgusting."

"So what? You're just planning to knock me up and go?"

"Pretty much."

"That's the dumbest plan I've ever heard."

I get an extra hard cane whack for insulting his precious, dumb-ass plan. It's a good one and I wince, just barely keeping from crying out. "It's pure genius. You're just too stupid to see. Then again, you are only a house-husband."

I'll show him only a house-husband. "Your plan is stupid, because I'll just get rid of anything you put in me."

He laughs. "I'm betting on, no. I've watched you for years with those little demons—you'd love anything you made."

Okay, he gets a point for that one. I'm going to kill him for calling my kids demons. I'm still working at the ropes, but this one's a fucking good knot. He comes closer and taps my bare ass with his cane. "You keep working on that, I'd like it if you struggled. I'd also like to see if you could Houdini your way out of that, while I do this." His taps come harder, harder, harder, whack!

"Mother fucker!" That's a real scream. Sam's rough on me, but not like that, that was fucking malicious. Obviously deciding that was a fun time, I get several more like that. And fuck if he's not right, it's difficult for me to work at the fucking knot when he's wailing on me like that. Canes are no joke. You can seriously fucking injure someone if you want to. When Sam canes me, I love-hate it, which is the best kind. What this fucker's doing is just pissing me off more. Like swatting a hornet.

When my ass is bruised to his liking, I hear the cap to a bottle pop and he's smoothing lube down my crack. "I wouldn't bother with lube, fucking you dry would be marvelous, but if I tear anything, I'm afraid the baby won't take," he says like a baby's bread he's trying to make rise. And like he has any clue as to what the fuck he's doing.

I'm not actually that worried I'll get pregnant. Sam and his Super Sperm seem to be able to pull off feats that are apparently impossible (we got pregnant with Lee-Lee, a girl which apparently is harder for us, without even performing the usual method of holding Sam's come inside me with a plug). Doc Angel said that's like performing a double back flip, single-armed cartwheel with perfect landing.

Anderson was also unplanned.

I'm more worried about the actual fucking part. I don't want this asshole inside me. Tainting me. Sure, I was no virgin when I married Sam, but since we've been married, no one but Sam has entered me. Even when I've fucked around with Cas and Michael (with Sam's permission of course) neither one of them enter me. I want to keep it that way. So when he pushes a long finger into my hole, I can't help but clench my ass cheeks together, trying to expel it. He mistakes it for interest. "That's it, look at you, enjoying this. Your hole just swallows up my finger like the slut you are."

It's true my dick is interested, a little. I'm a dude. The wind blows my cock in the right direction and it'll express interest, but I am not enjoying this. "Okay, asshole, you've had your fun. Let me go and I'll try to convince Sam not to kill you." I'm careful not to make any promises about me.

"Oh no. We've only just began sweet-ass. Huh. Didn't think I was going to enjoy this part so much, but you know? I think it's going to be all right."


"Is that them?" Dean says in a hushed voice. They're still using the light of their Mama's phone.

Thomas is scared and cries, knowing he has to be quiet, into his big sister's leg.

Lee-Lee's more scared than she thought she would be when faced with real danger, but she's not crying like her brother. Instead she pats his hair and tells him it'll be okay.

Sammy's doing her best to keep the baby quiet and try not to let anyone know how scared she is too.

"I don't know," she says.

They've heard voices twice now, since the dining room. The first time was a close call. The baby had been crying, but Sammy managed to calm him by letting him play with their mama's phone. Dean insisted they hide somewhere else for a bit then make their way back to the library. The second time, they got lucky and reached behind the wall of a room the men were leaving. Afterward, they went back to behind the library and sat on the floor, in a semi-circle, huddled together to wait.

In the dim light from the cellphone, Sammy can see the terrified faces of her siblings and that doesn't sit right with her. She's supposed to take care of them, make them feel better, take their minds off their terrible situation. Not only do they have the men to worry about, but Mama's missing. What if something bad is happening to him? That's what's playing over and over for her; it makes her sick to her stomach.

Her job is to look after the little ones, she can't think about how this makes her feel right now. She decides on a game they like to play, but she changes it a bit. "We need to do something while we wait for Papa," she says. "Let's play our Papa game, but I say we play it like this. Here, I'll go first."

Their Papa works a lot. They don't get to spend a lot of time with him, but they all treasure the time they do get to spend. Even if it's at a mealtime where they have to be very good, which means quiet and using proper manners at the table. Papa likes order, discipline and obedience. But sometimes, when they're lucky, Papa plays with them outside. To everyone's surprise, Papa's a lot of fun. Their Papa game began one day when they saw him do something amazing. They were playing a family game of hockey in their ridiculously large driveway. Anderson wasn't born yet and Lee-Lee was only a baby, Thomas was little—too little to play.

Uncle Cas refused to play, so he contended with Leigh and Thomas while Mama and Papa played hockey with Sammy and Dean. Maybe it was because they were so little, it's hard to be sure, but they know when they saw their Papa pass himself a shot off of a tree, around Mama (who's like a brick wall when he's trying to stop Papa scoring, they're extremely competitive with each other while playing sports) then finish with a spin-o-rama (a three hundred and sixty degree spin while maintaining puck control to deke out the opposition) into the net, they were forever awed.

Sammy and Dean couldn't stop talking about that moment. Even when Papa had to return to his work and even though it was a while between that time and the next time they were able to play with him, they continued to replay that one moment. Of course, like all great moments, each time they retold the story, it became more and more exaggerated, morphing into a game of what else can Papa do? Even their Mama played it with them sometimes. Sammy and Dean taught the younger kids to play as they got older. It became Campbell 'thing.' Papa became a household legend.

Sammy's not even sure Papa knows they play it.

She clears her throat and speaks softly as she can. "I think Papa's going to ride in on a dragon. One he had to convince just to let him ride, but he can do that. He can also get the dragon to breathe cotton candy, so after the dragon helps him get the bad men, he can make us cotton candy cones."

"Wo-ow," Leigh says. She's still learning how to play. She's not surprised hearing Papa's able to do these kinds of things. He's completely awesome. He can do anything. She can't wait to see what he does to the bad guys.

Sammy nudges Thomas. "C'mon Tommy, what do you think Papa can do to those guys?"

Tommy sniffles a bit, but his face sets hard, determined to think of something good Papa can do. "He, he can do ninja stuff, like throwin' stars. He'll get the bad guys like that." They're not allowed to watch T.V., but more than once, when Uncle Cas babysat them, he played a ninja cartoon for them. One with turtles. Their mama gets mad at Uncle Cas for that, but Tommy hopes he'll get to see it again.

"Good one, Tommy," Dean says. "So Papa can tame dragons and do some fancy ninja stuff to get the bad guys, but you know what else he can do?"

Before Dean can finish though, they hear definite sounds. All five children hold their breath hoping to hear Father's voice. Heck, they'll even take Uncle Cas's voice. "Kids? Sammy?"

A well of joy bubbles and overflows when Sammy hears Papa say her name. Everyone rushes out of the wall all at once. The baby starts crying, but Uncle Michael's there to take him from Sammy; Sammy's whole body feels better somehow. Normally, she'd want to keep hold of Ander, but right now she wants to feel Papa's strong arms around her.

Papa's suddenly there and he's larger than life. He's on crutches, but everyone piles around him, knowing to be careful of his foot that's in the strange grey boot. He's wearing clothes that are much more relaxed than his usual attire; jeans, a red and black flannel shirt with a jacket that's a light shade of tan. His hair's all shaggy, like it's barely been brushed—Papa must not be doing too well, he's always got his hair brushed to perfection. She wishes Mama were here to see him. Mama's always after him about relaxing and wearing more relaxed clothes, he never does. His hair looks good, partially tousled like that. Mama would like it.

"Is everyone okay?" Papa asks.

"We're fine, sir, but Mama…" Dean says.

"I've got everyone out searching for him."

"What about the bad men?" Lee-Lee asks. She hopes she gets to punch one of them right in the nose.

"They're taken care of. They're not going to hurt you, my Leigh."

Thomas is looking up at Papa with his big eyes, waiting and waiting 'till Papa looks at him. Finally he does. "D-did… Papa?"


"Did, did you have a dragon help you?"

"Dragon?" Papa says.

Sammy feels a little embarrassed, since dragon had been her addition to the game. When Papa looks at her, she shrugs.

"For the bad guys Papa," Thomas adds.

"Oh yeah," Uncle Cas chimes in. His arm is trussed up on some kind of sling, which is holding his arm against his chest and his face is all puffy. "He rode in on a dragon, all right. Won a sparring match on his way in, even on crutches—crutches don't stop the great Sam Campbell." Uncle Cas knows about their game.

"What nonsense are you talking about? The police are here and they have guns which the vagabonds somehow missed on their shopping list. The only dragon around here is going to be me if someone doesn't find Dean soon."

And because no on thought of that, Papa turning into a dragon, once again, all the children are wowed. This will be another Papa story to tell, to add to the legend that is Papa. They all stare up at him with wide eyes. Papa checks them all over. "Thank God you're all okay," Papa says, but he sounds angry when he says it. They all know, even Leigh, that it's not anger directed at them, but at whomever did this.

"We're all okay, Papa," Sammy speaks up bravely and they're all glad for it. It's hard to find your voice around Papa, but Sammy's usually the bravest and can talk to Papa. "Just hungry and worried about Mama."

Father nods. "Let's get you downstairs, back to the dining room. Maybe Uncle Cas can figure out how to feed you all."

None of them want to go back to the dining room, but they're not going to dare talk back to Papa, so they put on resolute faces. They all know Papa is not to be argued with, so they follow their uncles and father out of the library and down the halls to the main stairs, which lead to the entryway.

They all breathe relief and can't control their jubilance when they see who comes through the large, heavy wood doors. Mama!

He looks a little worse for wear, but also like warrior with the way he's shirtless, in nothing but a kilt, the front of him scraped up, bruises—even on his face—sweaty, hair wicked messy and breathing like he must have sprinted here. But it wasn't sprinting, not with his cargo. It's a man who looks far worse than Mama does. He's knocked out cold and it looks like Mama was dragging him.

"Dean?" Papa says.

Mama's still caught up in his rage. "This piece of…" he pauses and looks over to Sammy, Dean, Thomas and Leigh, then back to the man, "…garbage took me and said things, Sam. Did you know this was going to happen?"

"No darling. Not this. We…" he looks to kids, "…can we talk about this privately?"

When Anderson sees mama, he's reaching for him, wanting milk and just wanting him. He's been wondering where Mama was, but he had Sammy. He loves Sammy. He loves everyone else too, but there's something about Sammy he finds particularly soothing. "Mama," he says. Mama takes Anderson of course, knowing what he wants. He latches on right away and looks up at Mama. Anderson likes to stare at Mama while he feeds him. Anderson thinks Mama is handsome and sometimes pretty. He really likes hanging out with his brothers and sisters, but they're so much bigger than him. It's nice when he gets his moments with Mama like this.

All Mama's rage seems to die now that Mama's feeding him (Anderson knows he has a calming affect on his Mama) but Mama's crying now. Anderson doesn't like that. He keeps eating, but there's worry in his tummy. Papa crutches over to Mama as Anderson twists his head a bit. His papa's got enough rage for all of them—Anderson thinks he looks a bit scary, but he still watches as Papa thrusts his crutches down on the ground, "those things are fucking annoying," and relaxes when Papa puts his arms around Mama.

Chapter Text

I undid the fucking rope. It wasn't easy with him fucking his slimey fingers inside me, alternating with brutal whacks from his cane, but I did it. I kept thinking about my kids alone in the house with his cronies. I didn't let him know I'd freed myself of the knot, 'till he got close enough to head butt, right before he thought he was going to stick his cock in me. Thankfully, none of his stupid-sperm got anywhere near my entrance.

I had to fight him between getting the rest of me undone, but I did it and I let loose, kicking the fucking shit out of him, all while in the buck. When I eventually knocked him out, I found my kilt and dragged his ass back here. "Come. Sit," Sam says.

I want to, fuck I want to. My legs feeling like buckets of sand, I'm exhausted, but I just don't think I can actually sit on my ass. "Well, he kinda—"

Sam flips up my kilt as he spins me sideways. "He did this to you?" His teeth are clenched, he looks over to Darcy, knocked out cold; I know Sam's wishing he could destroy him right now, in the least he's planning how he'll torture him.

I nod.

He lets my kilt fall and the poor kids are looking on with something just shy of horror. "I'm okay, guys. C'mere," I say. Anderson's still suckling, worried eyes (his big, hazel Sam-eyes) doing his thing he does, studying me. I think he's concerned; it doesn't stop him eating.

Sammy tugs on Thomas's hand and Dean pulls Leigh over to where we're standing in the entry. Sammy's just barely hanging on. I can just hear her thoughts. Worrying about me and Sam and Uncle Cas, but also her siblings; what they'll feel over us hurt. What she'll do about it. Sam retrieves one of his crutches and leans on it as our children gather around us. I put a hand on Samantha's shoulder then pull her to me. Sam puts one around Dean and Lee-Lee grabs his leg.

Thomas cries those silent tears of his and tugs on my kilt wanting up, but too afraid to say so. Sammy, once again self-sacrificing, gives up her spot under my arm and lifts Thomas so he can latch onto my Anderson free side.

"How come I don't get any hugs?" Cas says.

Sammy smiles and heads over to him. "Are you okay, Uncle Cas?"

"Never better, dumpling."

Sammy squeezes him, careful not to disrupt his arm in the sling.


We found the house staff locked in a room on the third floor, yeah, all of them. Apparently, they were snatched all night as we slept soundly, which is achievable in a house this size. Most were drugged, some were hit over the head. Because Sam involved the police, we had to let them take Darcy away. He's fucking lucky. I'm glad I got to pulverize him in the garden. They also took the "bad men." Apparently there was some big show down in which my husband was the lead. I don't know how he did it on crutches, but he did. He had help and he claims it wasn't that hard since the "criminals" were unbelievably stupid.

I made the mistake of pointing out that they weren't completely stupid, they did thwart us somewhat—enough to hurt him and Cas and scare the living shit out of our kids. I shouldn't have said that though. I realized too late that Sam could take that as criticism, which he did. He considers it his job to look after and protect us. Saying that, told him how much he failed.

"He didn't get his ugly dick, anywhere inside me Doc," I tell Doc Angel.

Sam made Michael whisk everyone to the nursery, so the doctor could look me over. I was brought to the room we have reserved for baby check ups and delivery. After addressing my wounds, Doc Angel asked me to get up on the table (I'm already naked) and spread for him. Doc Angel looks over to Sam, who's looming over me. Oh. Sam wants him to check me anyway.

It shouldn't be embarrassing. This man has assisted in all five of my children's pregnancy and their births, he's family by this point. Sam has seen me in more degrading poses than I can count, but I still get that tinge of humiliation when I climb up on the table and put my feet in the stirrups. The table has good cushioning, but I still feel some pain from the welts and bruises there, courtesy of douche nozzle.

Doc Angel is quick, but it feels like he's fucking taking his time, collecting with swabs and checking around my hole with his gloved finger. "This looks red and puffy."

"Yeah. He had some fingers in there, but that's all." I've had so many fingers in there by this point, I'm not bothered by it, just pissed. I got to punch that asshole a whole lotta times and I wasn't careful when dragging him back. I would have liked to of done more to him, but I know Sam is going to make his life hell. That's good enough for me.

"How is he doctor?" Sam says in a clipped voice, talking to the doctor as if I'm not there. He only gets like this when he's surpassed his regular level of concern for me.

"He'll be fine. No penetration for twenty-four hours to be on the safe side, but you're fine Dean. I'm just going to take some blood and that will be all."

When Doc Angel is done, he assures us he will be back to check on us all, reminds Sam to take his pain medication and leaves us alone. Sam and I stare at each other for immeasurable moments. "I'm so sorry my belle. How could I let this happen?"

"You didn't Sam."

"I did and that scumbag put his fingers in you."

"I've had all kinds of fingers in there," I smirk.

"This isn't a time for jokes Dean."

"Not joking." I hop off the table, still naked and make my way over to him. He's seated on a chair with the leg of his injured extended. I kneel down between his legs and rest my head on his thigh; he cards a hand through my hair.

"You think this was my fault too. Admit it," he says.

"I don't Sam. Why would you think that?"

"You asked me if I knew this would happen."

"Because of all the secrecy. You three all knew something, no one would tell me."

"We knew someone was doing something, but not what, who or why. I had people on it. I thought you and the children would be safe here."

"Sam, you also went into surgery, not much you can do when you're knocked out. I know that. I was just freaking out. I did wish I knew what was up though—I would have taken my own precautions, that's all."

"I didn't want you to have to worry. You shouldn't have had to worry. I'm not even the one who saved you—you saved you."

"I may wear a princess dress from time to time, but I'm no damsel in distress, Sam."

"I know, but…"

I look up to him. "You wish I was?"

"Not exactly, but I wish you needed me more than you do."

"I do need you, Sam. We all need you."

"You pretend to need me," he says.

"No. I really need you."

"Just not to save you from being raped."

"Samuel Campbell, are you turning Progressionist on me, using that kind of language?" I like to tease him about that, but inside I feel cozy-warm. I nudge at his cock with my mouth under the jeans he's wearing. I'm loving this rugged look he's got going on.

"That's the problem. I am too Progressionist these days, it's attracting the crazies," he says. He's not teasing, or joking.

"Sam, that guy was a lunatic with a vendetta against you for choosing me."

"You said he thought you'd brainwashed me. Turned me Progressionist."

I sigh, long and suffering. "Sam. He's a psychopath. You don't think I've brainwashed you, do you?"

"As if you could."

"Exactly. If anything, I'm less Progressionist because of you. So what's the problem?"

"The problem is, I don't know what the fucking problem is, or how I could have prevented this, I just know that I need to." Sam tugs on my wrist and yanks me up to his lap, sitting me on his good side. He looks at me funny. "Have you lost weight?"

"Yeah, a little. I've been dieting a bit—I want to look good for you Sammy."

"I like you just the way you are. No more dieting, Dean," he says in his sternest Daddy voice.

"Yes, Daddy."

"I mean it Dean." He turns my face toward his. He's got that scary look in his eyes, the one you don't fuck with.

"It was just a little post-pregnancy weight-loss Sam. I swear. I'll even eat extra dessert after dinner. Are you going to worry over every little thing, now?"

"It's my right."

"I know, Sam. I know. Everything's going to be fine though. I promise."

He maneuvers me off his lap. "You should get yourself cleaned up for dinner. I want you in something nice, like that strapless, blue striped dress I bought you just before you were pregnant with Anderson."

Sam bought me a whole selection of dresses for my birthday that year, all nineteen fifties style with cinched waists and skirts that bell out. This particular one is white with thick blue stripes and white trim around the chest, which highlights my not-boobs. "Yes, Daddy. Any chance you could stay in this?" I say referring to his Canadian lumberjack look.

"At the dinner table? I don't think so Dean. What example would that set for the children?"

I know better. My husband. Mr. Propriety himself. "Yeah, you just look so sexy this this."

"I could be persuaded to wear this ridiculous attire for you, when I reclaim, this," he says smoothing a gentle hand over the abused skin of my ass. Doc Angel put a special calming gel on them that soaked into the skin nicely; it made them feel infinitely better, but they still throb some.

"And how could I persuade thee?"

"Behaving yourself. Go get the kids ready, you ready, we'll have a nice dinner," he says, but there's an undercurrent of anger, simmering there. It's not directed at me, but I still have to deal with it.

"Who's going to cook for us?" I say cautiously.

"Most of the staff did not want the night off. They were concerned and wanted to take care of us. They're making us a nice meal, we will all be presentable to honor that."

It's the third time he's mentioned suitable table dress and etiquette. I know what he's doing. He needs to restore control. He does this from time to time the only questions being how long will he feel the need to tighten reigns, how tight will he tighten them?

"I'll make sure, Sam."

He nods, jaw tight, teeth clenched.

"How's the pain?" I ask.

"Fine. I took the pain meds Doc Angel prescribed for me and it's under control. Everything's under control."


I snuck off to make sure I looked good before I dealt with the kids, knowing once they set eyes on me, they wouldn't want to leave my presence. I slipped on the dress a little worried it wouldn't fit and was surprised to discover how loose the waist was.

Now I'm worried Sam's going to notice and be further worried. I head to the nursery and see that Sammy's one step ahead of me. already brushing out Lee-Lee's hair, making her take out her braids. "Wow Mama, you look so pretty," she says.

"Thank you, baby girl."

"Mama, I don't want to have my hair out of the braid," Leigh says, pouting.

"Papa will like to see your hair brushed nice, Lee-Lee," Sammy says. "Don't you want to look nice for Papa?"


I laugh at her as I spy Dean dressing up his little brother—he's not doing so good, but I leave him alone. He's like me and I know I'd have to process this, but I'm not leaving him alone with whatever thoughts he's having all night. "Where did Uncle Cas and Uncle Michael go?"

"Uncle Cas is cranky and says he can't do anything with his arm in the sling," Sammy explains. "So Uncle Michael told us to clean up for dinner while he deals with him."

I can picture that. The look on Cas's face, his whiny retorts, Michael rolling his eyes skyward and dragging him out by his good arm with an apology to the kids. Since everyone else is in hand, I walk over to scoop up Anderson, who's standing up in his crib watching everyone. He greets me with a great big smile. He's still missing a few teeth, but I can see all of the ones he has. Like his father, he loves when I wear pretty dresses. "Mum-mum-mum."

"Hey, buddy." I sit him at the crest of my skirt then cart him over to the change table.

Sammy hands me an outfit for him when she's done with her sister, but once she tries to take him from me (after he's dressed) he tears up. "Mama. Mum-mum, mama."

"Okay, okay," I say wiping tears with my large hand dwarfing his face. I place him back on my torso, he clings his legs around me. I guess he had a hard day too, Anderson's not usually clingy like this, but now he's curling his sparsely haired head into my chest, digging his hand under the trim of my dress. "Mama's here, Charlie Brown," I say bouncing him.

Tommy's next for comfort and he's tugging at my skirt. "Mama can't carry us all around, Tommy," Dean tells him, trying to help me.

"No, but I can hold your hand, baby boy. You ready to go downstairs?"

"Yeah, Mama," Tommy says, reaching for my hand. I take a look at all their faces. Dean's got somber eyes, Lee-Lee looks like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop, even Sammy's shaken. I feel like I should give some kind of speech.

"C'mon guys. Everything's fine now. Papa did his thing and got the bad guys, Mama's okay, we're gonna live happily ever after, got it?"

"We know, Mama," Sammy says, but she would anyway I think. I don't believe her. Her and I will have to talk later too, but since Sam's expecting us promptly, I leave their weighty mood and hope a meal will help. They haven't eaten much today. I know Cas tried to scrounge them snacks while I was being looked over, but Cas knows nothing about kitchens. I bet he left the place a mess and my children ate cookies and other crap out of boxes.

I truck everyone down to the dining room where Sam, Cas and Michael are already waiting for us. Sam's dressed all in white and looks like an Adonis, his regal chin set firm, each strand of hair in place. His broken foot is propped up under the table. The children look at him like they often do, with the bubbly excitement in their hearts of wanting to run to him and the apprehension they'll get scolded for not being proper. They all want to impress Sam.

Sam does not look approachable at the moment. He's still turning the events over and over in his head, figuring out a new plan and likely coming up with rules—structure for preventing this ever happening again. Leigh's staring at him the most intently of the three (Anders has his head in my not-boobs wanting milk). She walks over to him, terrified, but also brave. "Papa, ev'rything's gonna be okay. We're gonna live happily ever after," she says parroting me. "I put on this nice dress and Sammy brushed my hair for you. Do you like it?"

"It's stunning, my Leigh. Please take your seat."

"Thank you, Papa." I can see the disappointment at not getting a hug from Papa on her face, but she does as she's told, climbing up her chair and into her booster seat, sitting proper in her pretty dress. No one else braves Papa if even Lee-Lee got shot down.

I notice there are a stack of pillows waiting on my chair for me. I lead Tommy over toward his seat, and he pushes his chair close enough to mine it's touching, before climbing up. I try to put Ander in his highchair, but he refuses. This is a bad time for him to pick to start being fussy. I look to Sam. "I have to feed him anyway, would it be all right for him to sit with me?"

Sam nods.

I sit with Ander and pull out my not-boob for him, the staff, who have refused to take time off, serve us. I constantly check on Sammy, Dean and Leigh. They look so fucking sad and I don't know what to do to make them better. I know one thing, if they want to sleep with us tonight, they are. Sam's rules can hang.

They're all doing their best to eat (we all know Sam's rules about eating what's on your plate) but I can see them struggling. Sam isn't helping. He's still pissed. He doesn't mean to be, but no one storms into his house, takes his husband (beat him and try to fuck him) and scare the living shit out of his children then just get 'safely' carted off by police. He's planning something, like maybe how to get Darcy back from said police. Furthermore, he's in a mood about his foot (also Darcy's fault). He must be in pain (despite what he said about the meds) and he really fucking hates the crutches, but refuses to use Cas's old chair (the one Cas so kindly offered to him).

Sam won't speak and has his fork gripped tightly, mashing it into his food and I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say, we're certain he's about to spit fire at any moment. Our children likely think he could be a dragon. Sam can be anything in their minds.

I kiss Anderson's bald head as he suckles sweetly, studying me.

I also rub Tommy's arm before trying to feed him a bite to remind him he's supposed to be eating. Samantha's looking at me, hopefully. I know she's already been working out in her head how to soften this gloom-fest, coming up with nothing. She's relying on me. Fuck. I'm a big fat fail tonight. I look over to Cas.

I know him well enough to read his facial expressions. 'What're you looking at me for? Am I this family's second-rate, clown?'

In which I use my face to say back to him, 'start juggling ass-clown,' and smile at my own joke, which I know is not that funny, but I need to laugh at something.

"May I share a story with the children, Sam?" Cas asks, knowing Sam's proclivity for silence at the dinner table. When we were a party of two, he didn't mind conversation; when we became five (him, me, Cas, Michael and Sammy) he declared we were a ruckus and he could see why his grandfather demanded silence at the table. It became a new rule, something he considered setting good example for the children. We all try to get away with as much talking as we can—another fun Campbell game, it drives Sam nuts. But tonight, even Cas isn't willing to tempt Sam's anger into the explosion it could become at any moment.

Sam grunts, which means, go ahead.

They all look to Cas with their sorrowful eyes. "I fell down the well first and your father didn't even think about the risks to himself, after calling the fire department, he took off his jacket, found some rope and began climbing down after me. There was no way he could have gotten me out like that, with my arm injured as it was, I couldn't climb by myself, we needed the harnesses; he came down just to keep me company."

"I thought Sam fell down the well? I heard he was pushed. How'd his foot get broken?" I ask Cas. Sam may have approved this story, but he's not participating.

"No, that's wrong. Someone, I think we can all guess who, cut the rope when Sam was part way down. Because it was unexpected, he landed badly on his ankle. The impact was too much."

The children are impressed, but expect nothing less of their incredible Father. Sam is a God in their eyes. They forgive him his strict rules. They feel if their Papa said so, it must be for a good reason, even if they don't like it. Most of the time. They are still kids after all.

Cas's little story works. The kids feel soothed enough to eat. Sammy and I both relax.

One of the staff helps Sam get ready for bed as I help the kids. We tried again, to insist all staff take the night off after what had happened, but they (again) refused, saying we needed them. None of us could argue that. Even one of the maids follows me to help get the kids pajamaed as I realize how tired we all are.

Michael leaves to help Cas.

"Where are we sleeping tonight, Mama?" Sammy asks when we're in the nursery and far away from Papa's ears. Anderson fell asleep at the dinner table and has been out every since, he's in his crib. Nellie is helping Thomas and Lee-Lee.

"With me. Are you scared sweetheart?"

"A little," she says so her siblings can't hear.

I pull her to me and squeeze her firmly. She cries. "Thank you for looking after everyone today. I knew you would."

"What about… What about, Mama, I should have called you before when we saw the men in the shadows. This was all my fault."

Is that what she's been sitting on? "This wasn't your fault. I heard about how you guys called Papa. I can see you know what to do now." I card fingers through her hair. "I'm proud of you baby girl. C'mon, this was nobody's fault, but douche-face," I tell her, hoping I'll get a scolding from her and make her smile.

She does neither of those things, looking up at me, the side of her head pressed into my chest. "Dean was helpful too, Mama," she says, tears streaming down her face. "I couldn't have done it without him."

When she's okay, I head straight over to Dean who's on his bed in a large shirt and boxer shorts. I sit down beside him. "Hey." I shake his bare leg. "What you thinking, dude?"

"Today sucked Mama."

I laugh. "It did. Sucked balls."

Him I get the intended reaction from. He can't believe I just said balls in front of him. "Don't say that in front of Tommy, Leigh or Papa and we're good."

I know what a filthy mouth my seven-year-old has. I only half-heartedly get after him about it, since I'm a fucking sailor. It only ticks me off when he curses in front of the littler kids, or his father. Sam does not believe kids should swear. He believes swearing is for adults. I don’t care so much as long as they're careful with the name calling. I do call Cas names, but he's special. I try not to do that in front of the kids.

"I heard you were real grown-up today. You did good. I'm proud of you, Dean."

"Thanks, Mama," he says sitting up to curl around my waist. I run a hand through his thick hair.

"You're growing up so fast. Pretty soon you'll be in charge of a family of your own."

He wrinkles his nose at that. "I liked helping Mama, but I was glad Sammy was in charge. I give her a hard time, but I don't think I want a family of my own."

I'm not surprised. I see that in Dean. Then again, he is only seven. I try not to worry too much about that kind of stuff yet. Sam is firm that Campbells are not married off, but I'm starting to think Dean would prefer that. My junior really is my junior. "Every leader needs help and you did that for your sister. She told me how grateful she was."

Dean smiles. "Thanks, Mama. Uh, so, where are we—"

"—sleeping tonight? With me. Don't worry."

"I don't think Papa's going to let us," he says.

"He'll will if I talk to him. Besides, he'd have to tie me down and he's got a weakness right now. He's not the only one who knows Ninja moves." (Tommy told me about his idea in the Papa game—he was so excited over that.)

Dean laughs, his whole body relaxes. Leigh, all ready for bed now, runs up to us and bounds onto Dean's bed. "Mama! Mama! I was brave the whole time."

"You were not," Dean says. "You were scared."

"So? Don't mean I'm not brave. Right, Mama?"

"It's true," I say. Dean's skeptical. "I was scared too," I say.

"You were?" Sammy says from across the room. She takes Thomas's hand and pulls him over to where we are on Dean's bed.

"Super scared. That's what made me brave. I was scared, but I acted anyway."

They all nod. "Believe it or not, Papa was and still is scared. It's why he's so angry."

"No way. Papa doesn't get scared, Mama," Lee-Lee says.

"Leigh," Sammy scolds.

"It's okay, baby girl," I say to Sammy. She's often more proper than I am over the way one should talk to her parents. "He does get scared, Lee-Lee. He's scared when anything threatens his family."

When I trek into our bedroom with a bundle of kids, Sam is as pleased as I think he's going to be. I know the lecture by heart. It's why he had the nursery built (they can all sleep together), there is house staff who we can ask to check on them throughout the night if needed, who could come get us in case of emergency. They need to learn to sleep on their own. And later, Sammy's just across the hall.

It's probably a good idea. I'd have never kicked any of them out of our bed and we would never have sex.

"What are we doing?" Sam asks with a false smile.

"Everyone's scared," I say. I want to do this without contradicting him in front of them if I can manage it.

I even took Anderson, who is still sleeping, out of his crib. "My foot Dean," Sam says.

"Just for tonight, Sam, please."

Sam swings his legs off the bed. "You've already decided." He picks up his crutch. "I will allow this, but tomorrow you and I are having a conversation about making these kinds of decisions. I make these decisions."

Lee-Lee runs up to Sam. "Oh Papa, you'll stay, won't you? I'll be awful careful not to hurt your owie."

You'd have to have no heart to say no to Lee-Lee when she looks at you like she's looking at her papa. Not even Sam has the power to refuse her twice. "I'll stay, but you five can curl around your mother, Papa needs his rest. I can't sleep with space heaters surrounding me."

The kids pile into the middle. Lee-Lee gets closest to Papa without touching him, Thomas tucks into Dean and Sammy's with the Baby and I. No one whines or complains about going to bed when Papa tells them all to close their eyes and go to sleep. They just do.

I wake up in the middle of the night, Sam's standing by the window, propped up against his crutch, in his housecoat, the moonlight an eerie sheen against the lines of his strong jaw and resolute brow. We've all managed to tangle limbs throughout the night, but I'm able to slip out of bed without waking anyone.

"Sam? What are you doing up?"


I don't have to ask what about. I put my hand to his back. "Are you in pain?"

"I took something for it just an hour ago."

"Have you been up that long?"

"I've been up since everyone fell asleep."

In other words, he hasn't slept. "You should be resting Sam."

He doesn't say anything to that and continues to stare out the window. "Thank you for letting the kids sleep in our bed—it means a lot to them."

"You should have asked me Dean, privately. That's not how we do things."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"You're lucky your ass is too bruised, or you would have been spanked for that in front of our children. You knew that and took advantage."

I can't deny it. "Yeah, but, Sam you needed them here too. Otherwise you'd be moving between Sammy's room and the nursery."

He stares at me then nods, not able to deny.

"C'mon Sammy, come to bed." I tug on his housecoat, but end up with a strong arm around my waist and his warm lips pushed against mine. I close my eyes and bury myself in the kiss, in Sam and picture what a silhouette we must make.

"Go to bed, Darling. I'll be there soon."

"But Sam—"

"Obey me, Dean."

I slink off to bed, but I can't sleep. Eventually, Sam does come to bed. "Dean," he says. "I promise I'm never going to let anything like this happen again."

"I know you won't Sam."

"I mean it Darling. Never. I won't fail you again."

"You didn't fail me this time."

"I did. I failed you and I failed the kids. But never again," he says and suddenly it's winter in here. I pull the baby on top of me and snuggle into Sammy. Her hand seeks me out, 'till she finds my shirt and grapples it, needing me in her sleep, like she won't admit to when she's awake. So much like her father. I don't know what trip Sam is about to go on, but I don't like the feel of it.