Summary: The Ottawa Centaurs lose brutally to Vancouver, and Ilya Rozanov is interrupted during a nighttime walk by a little girl asking for an autograph.
In case you want to read it on AO3
"Mr Rozanov?"
Ilya turned at the small, timid voice to see a little girl of no more than seven looking up at him with wide blue eyes.
"It's you, isn't it? Mr Rozanov?"
He'd left the hotel this late into the night to clear his head more than anything. However, he had still found himself at the harbour with a cigarette in his hand—rolling it between his fingers, hesitating a moment before lighting it.
Ilya had texted Shane immediately after the match, just to get a reply, any reply, really. He missed his boyfriend so much it hurt in his bones. He needed to know Shane was around and that Shane cared. But he would probably be asleep. Of course, he would be asleep, given the time in Montreal. The thoughts were pelting his head like unrelenting rain against glass. If he lit the cigarette now, Shane wouldn't know. No one would know except him, and he would have to live with disappointing himself.
But then again, what else was new? Ilya should be used to disappointing himself by now. The match against Vancouver had been brutal, but the team's reaction had been worse. They'd expected the loss, just as they'd expected a defeat in Tampa, New York and Boston. Ilya usually didn't mind the booing of the home crowd, but something about Boston's home crowd's reaction...
That had decided for him as he'd raised the cigarette to his lips when the sweet voice had interrupted him. He'd hastily shoved the cigarette in his pocket and turned around.
The girl's face brightened. "I thought it was you!"
It was well past eleven, and Ilya looked around for the girl's mother, who was standing hesitantly a few feet away. She had an apologetic expression on her face, but also a wariness that Ilya understood well by now. She didn't want him to break her daughter's heart.
"I love watching you play!" the girl said, shuffling her foot. Now that Ilya was looking at her, she couldn't seem to meet his eyes. A flush was creeping up her face as she pulled something out of the small bag slung across her torso. “Can I please have your autograph?”
“Of course.” Ilya crouched to take a closer look at the object, which turned out to be a Funko Pop doll; black eyes from his own inflated head stared back at him.
“She does not leave the house without it,” the mother said, coming to stand behind her. “I can’t believe we ran into you here of all places! We were at the match earlier but could not get to you. We’ve been to every match of yours here.” She pulled out a Sharpie and handed it to a stunned Ilya.
“Ahh, so you were the one cheering for me, yes?” He said, signing the doll’s Ottawa Centaurs shirt.
She smiled. "You are one of my favourites."
"One of? That won't do. I have to be the favourite." He wiggled his eyebrows.
She giggled. “He said the same thing!”
“He!” Ilya made a show out of clutching his chest. “I have a rival now? Who do I have to fight to be your favourite?”
She pulled out another Funko doll, and Ilya recognised the signature before she shyly said, “Mr Hollander.”
“Noooo…” Ilya gasped. “It can’t be him!”
The girl laughed again. “We got to see him last year. He is also awesome to watch. But I know you don’t like him very much.”
Ilya didn’t know what to say, so he just shrugged. The mother put a hand over her daughter’s shoulders, subtly reining her in, then smiled. “Don’t mind her. She’s always pretending to be you or Shane Hollander on the ice, and her secret dream is for both of you to play on the same team one day.”
“At night, I make the two of you kiss each other so you two can be friends. See!” She demonstrated by mashing the dolls’ faces together, and Ilya laughed so suddenly that he nearly lost his balance and fell out of the crouch.
It was a while before he could stop laughing, but he managed, “Oh, Hollander should be so lucky to get to kiss my pretty face every night.”
The girl giggled again.
“We won’t take any more of your time,” said the mother. “Thank you for being so nice to my Jane.”
“Jane? Your name’s really Jane?”
She nodded as her mother guided her away after a polite thank you. “Can’t wait to see you the next time you’re in Vancouver, Mr Rozanov,” she said in parting.
Ilya couldn’t help but smile, feeling lighter than he had in days. “I can’t wait to see you, too, Jane!”
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he unlocked it to see a reply from Shane.
* I miss you. I love you. Facetime? *
Ilya hit the FaceTime button faster than lightning. Shane’s sleepy face and sleepy smile appeared on the screen, and Ilya was filled with so much love that he thought he wouldn’t have been able to draw another breath if he hadn’t seen Shane’s face.
“Hey,” said Shane.
“Hey,” Ilya breathed back.
He discarded the cigarette in his pocket in the dustbin by the railing as he started walking back to the hotel, and said, “You wouldn’t believe what just happened, moya lyubov…”
Series warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised.
Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?
A/N: We managed to put a new chapter out, guys! :)
Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23
The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist
Sam woke up first, as he always did. Sam woke up in her arms, as he had never before. He stayed that way, covered in her limbs, with her arm over his chest and one leg draped over his own. What more? If she woke up now, she wouldn’t untangle herself. She might just stay.
He savoured the moment, committing to his memory the colour of her lips, the way her lashes fluttered ever so lightly right before she was about to wake up. So many times, Sam had found himself in the same bed as her and just that many times, he’d woken up before her to see the serene expression on her face.
But unlike all those other times, today, Sam craned his neck and kissed her forehead as lightly as he could. Sometimes, looking at her when she was tucked away in her corner, sleeping or lost in her work, made the corners of his eyes sting. The quick pain in his heart that came with it made Sam wonder if this was love. Not the frenzy his brain drove itself into when he appreciated her figure, or the chemical short circuit in his body when his lips touched hers… but this incessant urge to cry when she was like this, vulnerable and open.
He kissed her cheek this time, slowly untangled himself and then rolled out of the bed. The bathroom almost always smelled like her body wash, fruity, and Sam didn’t mind as he washed the grime from yesterday, letting the water roll off his body, and he thought the day over. He hadn’t had much time to process the past few days… the kids, Y/N’s face when she realised they were with her now and her wracking sobs in the car afterwards. Sam hadn’t expected the last bit. Jubilation perhaps? But that? She’d cried as if she were grieving a loss. He wasn’t sure he understood it entirely, but he could ask her now, and Sam knew she would tell him.
Unbidden, the image of Nick came to his mind. Nick, leaning over Y/N at the base of the staircase, leering. Her face had been tight with pain. Sam should have asked her the precise cause of the pain, but he was too much of a coward to face it now that he was living in this mirage-like bliss of her attention. That kind of attention.
The thought chipped at his bliss now as the shower poured over him.
What if the pain wasn’t one of hurt… but of longing? She had loved Nick at some point; what if the pain was an echo of that longing? Of what she could no longer have? Sam knew that Y/N didn’t see their marriage as a real one because it wasn’t. Sam had known of her first love. He’d very well intended to set her free, truly, once everything was over. What if she decided to go back to him?
No. He shook his head, dispelling the thought. She cared for him and was attracted to him.
Attraction and love aren’t the same thing. Neither are care and love, a voice whispered in his head.
No. Nick was an asshole. She might have been blinded by a relationship with him once, but she must know better now.
He grabbed the towel from the hook, and his eyes fell on his reflection in the mirror–hollowed cheeks and pale lips. He didn’t know where he’d caught the infection, but he needed to do something about it before it got to him. The coughing was bad, but he felt like his head was killing him all the time– a dull, constant ache.
Absentmindedly, he exited the bathroom and then dressed quickly for work. A light knock sounded on the door of the suite, and Sam hurried to open it. He pressed a finger to his lips as soon as the door opened, and Abby nodded, understanding lighting her eyes. She carried the tray as quietly as she could to the bedroom’s side table and tiptoed back to the seating area.
“Umm, Mr Winchester?” She asked hesitantly, lingering at the door.
“Yes, Abby?”
“I was wondering if I could have my salary early this month. My sister–”
“Is Kristy alright?”
She did a double-take. “You know her name?”
Y/N had told him one day how Abby worked so hard to send money home so both her siblings could study, not just her brother. He’d never had a good reputation with Abby, but lately, they seemed to have come to an understanding that the person they cared about the most in the house needed as much support as they could muster. She’d been even civil to him.
Sam ignored her question and repeated his own.
“She’s fine,” Abby mumbled, suddenly interested in the threads of the carpet. “I need to get her fees in. This is the last week, and I am running low on balance.”
He could see how Y/N must have seen herself in Abby in the first few weeks. Their priorities were the same. Besides, Sam was eternally grateful for Abby’s presence and fierce loyalty to Y/N. So it was with a certain finality that he said, “It’ll be taken care of. Let Cas know which school Kristy is in. This doesn’t come out of your salary.”
“Mr Winchester!”
She looked like she was about to protest, so Sam made a show of putting his finger on his lips again, pointing towards the bedroom vestibule with his other hand.
“I don’t need favours,” she hissed, but the words held none of the vitriol that Sam used to be subjected to only a month ago.
Sam shook his head and whispered. “It’s a repayment. You’ve been there for my wife when I couldn’t. I want to thank you. If I had bought you something expensive, you might have chucked it at my head–” He smiled and added– “You know you would have.”
She bit her lips, holding back her own smile.
“Just this once,” she whispered.
He raised his hands, palms facing her. “Just this once.”
She did grin this time, and Sam admired the glint in her eyes as she went out the door. If Y/N’s speculations were true, Sam couldn’t help but feel happy for Jack.
Just as he closed the door, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Unsaved number, but Sam could hazard a guess who it could be, and he was right.
“Sammy,” Dean said on the other end as soon as he picked up the call.
“Any luck?” Sam asked
Dean paused, then uttered. “Some.” A deep breath. “This all is so messed up, Sam, you have no idea. Jody’s with me, and she wants to involve the FBI. Every last cop seems dirty here.
“Where exactly are you?” Sam wondered.
“Can’t tell you. I don’t trust the line. But I can tell you that we aren’t the only ones trying to uncover this.”
“Really?”
“Y/N seems to have underestimated the love she gets.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Never mind that,” Dean said quickly. “Tell me how she’s holding up.”
Sam recalled the bliss on her face as she looked upon her siblings. “She’s doing well, I think.”
“And you?”
Sam was probably the happiest he’s been in years. “I’m… I’m okay, too.”
“Okay, huh?”
He did a double-take at the loaded tone. He hadn’t spoken to Dean that one evening they got to be with one another. Sam had been too preoccupied with Y/N and making her see that he really hadn’t known, hadn’t betrayed her, to talk to his brother. Later on, that guilt had tacked itself onto him, too. He’d finally met his brother after so long and then let him go, without one clear look at him.
“Stop doing that,” Dean reprimanded on the other end of the line.
“Doing what?”
“Going into one of your broody-Sam modes.”
Sam cracked a smile, but answered Dean’s earlier question. “Alright. I am better than okay.”
“There’s my boy,” Dean chuckled. “Called Bobby yesterday. Ol’ man wants to have a drink with you. Don’t be surprised if you find him in your office with that shit whiskey he drinks.”
Sam laughed, warmed at the thought of seeing Bobby.
“I’ll find a burner and call you in the evening,” Dean said, and the phone clicked.
He found himself back by the bed. He picked up his coffee and finished it in one go, wrinkling his nose at the taste. Maybe everyone’s whining about the coffee was getting to him. The jar was nearly empty, and Sam suspected neither Martha nor Y/N would let him refill it.
Y/N was still asleep in clothes from yesterday. Living with her, he was used to her nighttime routine. Tying her hair back up in the knot, she’d brush her teeth, not in the bathroom, but pacing around the room, a book in her hand that wasn’t holding the brush. Sometimes, he thought that she might manage to read through all the poems in his library. Then she’d wash her face and dry it on her fuzzy red towel. He’d first noticed all of this when they used to sleep on either side of the bed on the floor. Right before her head touched the pillow, she’d reach out and unhook her bra in the back under the T-shirt she wore to bed. Red in the face, Sam has quickly looked away the first time and pointedly done it every evening since.
Over time, though, he had found her slowly struggling under her blanket, and when he had thrown her an investigating look from under the frame of the bed’s legs, she had shaken her head and ducked under the blanket. Only later had it occurred to him that she’d been trying to get rid of the bra under the blanket. Maybe she couldn’t sleep with one on and didn’t want to be without one in front of Sam.
The intimate details of their daily life and Sam’s juvenile reactions to them were a case study in innocent awkwardness.
But now he could see the strap digging into her shoulder, as the thin white shirt had displaced itself at the collar. She’d fallen asleep in the car and hadn’t roused even when he’d carried her up the stairs and put her into bed. Sam hadn’t had the heart to wake her after that. The straps must be cutting into her skin, and Sam could not tolerate it. She’d been through much worse in terms of bodily harm, but this little thing made Sam lose his mind. Maybe that’s what real love was.
Yes, she was attracted to him. Yes, she cared for him. Would she come to love him, too?
He’d never wanted anything more in his life.
Y/N groaned and threw her hand over her eyes, trying to shield herself from the light, then blinked and slowly sat up.
“Morning,” Sam smiled and couldn’t stop himself from kissing her forehead.
She looked at her surroundings, seemingly confused, before understanding dawned. Her hand unconsciously went to the strap, easing it to the side, as she smiled up at him.
Sam offered his hand, and when she took it, he yanked her out of the bed and right into his arms. She looked down shyly, and Sam had to marvel at the novelty of it. Fierce as she was, he’d never imagined this side of her, nor the side of him that she brought out. So, he flattened his right hand against her back, pushing her into his body and with the tip of his left index finger, he tilted her chin up so his lips could meet hers.
“This is one way to wake up,” she laughed breathily, and Sam laughed with her.
“I’m heading to work,” he said, tracing the column of her throat with his lips now. “It’s unfortunate, but I have to go.” She nodded, seemingly dazed, as Sam let go of her. But right before he dropped his hand, with his thumb and index finger, he unclasped the catch at the back, and Y/N gasped quietly. He winked at her as he exited the room.
She would never be in pain as long as he could help it, not even the smallest kind.
*************
Red. Red and silky and outrageously skimpy. Your face burned merely looking at it, but you reached out to grab the nightwear and tug it from the hanger with shaking hands. The shiny, slippery cloth threatened to spill from your fingers, but you fisted them. The nightwear would hang quite low, barely covering the tops of your thighs, and the spaghetti straps only just held together the plunging neckline. The material wasn’t see-through, but it wouldn’t leave much to the imagination with its cling either.
You took the nightdress with you to the bathroom and submerged yourself in the bath, trying to calm your breath. There were so many things to think through– not the least pressing of them, your suspicions about Nick– yet this was what you were worried about– Sam’s touch.
His fingers had touched you, grazed your skin lovingly, but also wrapped themselves firmly over your shoulders, wound themselves in your hair, and it had felt blissful, wonderful and divine all at the same time. His lips, when they kissed yours, seemed to resuscitate long-lost breath. His eyes, when they met yours, reminded you of the reason for the world to exist.
How would last night have proceeded if you hadn’t fallen asleep?
Would he have peeled your clothes away and then touched you the way he wanted to?
Would you have torn his clothes away and touched him the way you wanted to?
Maybe. Definitely. Probably in that order.
Stepping out of the bathtub, you took your time with the body lotion, slipping the nightdress on with trepidation. Sam had mentioned he would be late, so before the bath, you’d already had dinner with Abby.
Once back in your bed, you drew the cover all the way up to your chin, glancing at the clock on the wall.
11:10.
You closed your eyes. Sam should have been back by now.
As if on cue, the door to the seating area opened, then closed, and you heard the taps of Sam’s shoes drawing closer to the bedroom. With each tap, your heart hammered against your ribs. Briefly, you closed your eyes, feeling hot in the face when the curtain drew, and then drew back. The scuffle of shoes being removed, a bag being set aside and a coat discarded. You felt the heat of a person standing so close to you that you breathed the same air.
“Y/N” Sam said, as if your name existed only to be uttered by him.
His fingers wound in your hair, and you opened your eyes to see him, hair dishevelled, lips parted and pupils so blown that his eyes seemed black.
“Y/N,” he said again, closing that little distance and parting your lips with his, thoughtlessly, ferociously, and you could taste the bitterness of whiskey in the wetness. He kissed you as if he’d done it a million times. His hands unabashedly yanked the cover away and grabbed the silk of your nightdress. The touch must’ve been jarringly soft because he pulled back and then focused just enough to look at you.
Softly, Sam gasped, fingers shivering lightly where they touched you, then he withdrew, shaking his head.
“Sam?”
He stepped back. “You’re a dream,” he said decidedly, but his otherwise crisp cadence was slightly slurred. Sam was drunk.
Feeling suddenly bereft as his heat was withdrawn, you leaned in. But he moved further away and whispered. “You can’t be real. You’re a dream.” And the way he looked at you, as if you were the last drop of water in an infinite desert, so precious that he was afraid to use it up, like his heart didn’t really reside in his body, but beat somewhere within you.
“But if you are a dream, if this is a dream,” he said, closing the distance. “You already know the things I’ve done to you, don’t you? The things that I want to do to you. How I’ve died a thousand deaths sleeping inches away from you and not getting to touch you, taste your skin.” His hands held your face in his, delicately. “But I’ve died a million times more calling you mine in front of the world, but not being yours in these four walls. I… I want to be yours, Y/N. Only yours. I want you. All of you. Always.”
“Sam…” You blinked your eyes rapidly, unable to believe his words, but how could they be anything but true when he was looking at you like that?
He didn’t give you a chance to say anything more as he clambered onto the bed and hitched the silk up to your waist, yanking you harshly against his body. The thin straps slid easily down your shoulders, revealing the tops of your breasts, and Sam’s lips traced the column of your throat, from your chin, down and down, fingers deftly sliding under in what seemed like a practised move, up your bare thigh to your hips, one hand moving up while the other moving down between your legs. You had been yanking at his shirt, desperate to see his skin, touch him the way he was touching you, but the moment he touched you there and when his lips came up again to seek yours, the smell of the whiskey, the texture of his fingers, the heat of his body, it became too much. Blood pounded in your ears, breath coming in bursts.
“S-Sam,” you whispered, vision tunnelling in, throat constricting.
His hand pushed you against him further, lips indomitable on yours.
“SAM!” You shoved with both hands, and he staggered, blinking, eyes slowly focusing on your face. Then he blinked again, the hazy, intoxicated expression slowly morphing into recognition, then apallment.
Next second, he slid to the end of the bed, hand to his mouth. You watched him climb out of the bed and put some distance between himself and you, realisation slowly dawning on his face. He stumbled once, palm rubbing his eyes. “I…” he started, but seemed ata loss to follow it up.
The back of your eyes suddenly ached, and tears pressed them. You’d wanted this. You’d chosen a particularly skimpy outfit just so it would lead to exactly this, and now Sam was staring at the floor like some kind of criminal, ashamed of something you had initiated.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, and his voice held a hollowness that made you want to slap yourself. “It’s no excuse,” he added, “of course it's no excuse… thought I was dreaming. What you’re wearing–” gulp– “and Bobby pushed down more than a few drinks.”
Sam staggered back a little, then looked up. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”
You wanted to get down and shake him out of the needless spiral he was going into, but that would only draw attention to the outfit. Instead, you adjusted the straps, pulled the cover up to your waist and put your face in your hands. “I… I wanted to try,” you whispered. “You didn’t misunderstand. I just overestimated myself. Please don’t go away. I can try again.”
At that, he looked up, eyes sharpening. He took three deliberate steps forward, so you were left staring at the third button of his rumpled white shirt. Sam looked at you for the longest time; you could feel his eyes on you, and yet you couldn’t meet his, not without tearing up. Every single second of second-guessing your presence in his life threatened to overwhelm you. How many times had you fantasised about him? And yet, you had doubted your ability to be with him physically a hundred times more. And here was the proof… You had failed. But Sam wasn’t talking still. You let out the breath you’d been holding and looked up. His face was blurry.
He regarded you a minute longer, then very slowly put his hand on top of your head. “We’ll try again, if that’s what you want, but only when you are ready.”
“What if I am not ready? Tomorrow or even a week later?”
“Then I’ll wait.”
It took some effort to make your throat work. “What if I’m not ready ev– ever?”
Another long moment. “Then we’ll have to do without that, won’t we?” He smiled a small, careful smile. “I’d say we get by fine without all that, too.”
A sob. “You think you know what you’re giving up, Sam. But you d–don’t. You think you can get by without it, but what if you come to resent me for it?”
“Don’t presume my feelings, Y/N.” Sam’s voice was gentle, but firm, alcohol’s slurriness barely there. “And don’t tell me what I can or can’t get by without, when, in fact, what I can’t get by without is right in front of me. I want you to feel safe for your sake, not for mine.”
“You don’t understand–”
“Of course, I don’t.” His voice became gentler still. “I don’t understand what you’ve been through. Only you do. If you force yourself to get intimate for my sake, eventually, you will end up resenting me.”
You gave in to the tears. “What are you made of, Sam? How can you be this… this person? This good?”
He stepped back, dropping his hand. “I am not doing this because of the goodness of my heart. I am doing this because what we have is enough for me. Because I love you.” Simple. Sam even followed it up with, “I am heading for a shower. Get some rest.”
You watched him go.
Love and Shower in the same damn breath.
Hadn’t you, once upon a time, after the gallery inauguration, planned a whole romantic date to declare your love for him? And he’d gone ahead and said it so simply, as if he were reading out from the weather column: temperature is touching 80 degrees, 90% humidity and light showers are expected, and I love you.
The shower started in the bathroom, and you tried to hold on to the sound of his voice as he’d said it.
I love you.
He hadn’t waited long enough to hear your reply, as one might… and you did not want to presume his reasons. You lay back and closed your eyes furiously against the tears, so in love that you wondered if it was possible to lose your mind in it. You concentrated on the whisper of water as the shower ran for too long, the rhythm of the pitter-patter against the floor. When the murmur of water turned into a soundless oblivion, you did not know, but it must’ve been hours later that you woke up with a jerk.
The guard must be at the grill, banging on it.
But you were in your bed, the satin sheets wrapping your silk-clad body.
Sam.
You reached out with your hand, but his side of the bed was empty and cold. With a fear more than dread, you sat upright. Only then did you notice the sleeping figure. Sam lay on his side on the floor, facing the bed, his head resting on his arm. A thin cotton sheet was draped over his body, and a book lay by his head. Your eyes must have been swollen, because painfully, tears sprang up in them again. You stepped out of bed gingerly and made your way to the bathroom. From the hamper there, you pulled out the t-shirt and slacks you had discarded to put on the nightwear and dressed in them again. Then, back in the bedroom, you yanked the duvet off the bed and carefully put it on top of Sam. He breathed out deeply, but otherwise was still. Pulling the bed covers off, you lay on the floor, on the other side of the bed, just like before, so you could see Sam’s face from under the bed.
Love probably wouldn’t make you lose your mind, but it had definitely altered your being.
*****************************
A/N 2: I am doing a new thing where I stop apologising for things that weren't in my control, such as for not being able to put out this update sooner. I couldn't have. Instead, I am practising gratitude towards each one of you for not giving up on me and this story. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!
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Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised.
Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?
A/N: Guys, I so hope you like this chapter! It was a pleasure to write :)
Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23
“You are the most frustrating thing in the world,” you said to the burner phone standing silently on the tabletop. Only one person called or messaged on the phone and it had stayed quiet for a whole week. The longer it remained silent, the sadder you became. Sam’s desperation to prove his innocence must have turned into frustration and then anger. After all, he’d done everything right and had still been accused of something heinous by you. Anger would be natural. But you were scared that maybe the anger was turning into apathy now. Sam’s silence was proof.
Abby’s mother had fallen ill, and with a tight hug, she had bid you goodbye for the weekend. You felt lonelier than ever in the house. No Abby, no Jack, and no Han to wait for you at the pier when you lit a lamp. But most of all, no Sam.
The terror that had gripped you since first seeing Nick had dissipated some, but you were still afraid that he might turn up in the mansion and you would have to face him again. So, you spent most of your days in Martha’s kitchen, reading Wordsworth and his sad poetry.
However, after a week of skulking around the house like a phantom, you decided to open the forbidden connecting door to Sam’s room. Maybe seeing his pictures, trophies and books would bring some solace. The room looked as benign as the last time you had seen it, on the day before the gallery opening. The pictures were all there on Sam’s nightstand, now with a thin film of dust over them. Sam had locked the room from outside when he’d left, so no staff could get in, not a soul… except you.
The sheets on his bed were perfectly made and you wondered if this is how he treated all the hotel rooms in the world, too, leaving them just as he had found them as if he’d never been there. But these sheets had held him close in nights, wrapping their silk around his body in a way you could only dream of. Quietly, you lifted a well-made corner and slipped underneath, hoping to envelop yourself in some trace of him. The sheets did not smell of him anymore. Despite all your efforts, the room did not seem like his at all with him gone. You remembered the line from your story of Eros and Psyche. When Psyche lost her trust in her husband, Eros, left in anger and despair… All love and beauty seemed to evaporate from the world in its entirety.
You curled up on your side, twisting in the sheets, feeling Psyche’s frustration in every bone. Everything had been going smoothly, but you had let doubt corrupt your head and now Sam was gone. As you twisted on the bed, your hand touched something rough beneath the sheet. You sat up, discarding the sheets completely and reached out to find an envelope. You turned it around to see your name etched on top in Sam’s elegant handwriting.
You nearly tore the envelope in your hurry to get the contents out. Inside was a letter addressed to you.
Y/N,
I wanted to come clean. I wanted to tell you everything, but I’d be damned if I overstepped my boundaries and crossed the line of your consent. Not again. But if you are reading this, it means you’ve chosen to come to my room, and climbed into my bed of your own volition. It means that your consent was involved.
So, let me tell you how you ended up here in my bed, in this moment. Let me tell you everything from the very beginning.
Jo’s pie was still fresh on the table when we set out to find her, and that’s where we found it three days later when we returned. Dean took one look at it and his knees gave out. We’ve been through some tough times, Dean and I, but never had I seen him so scared in my entire life. When they found Jo’s body, Dean drove his car into a cliffside three days later. You probably don’t know this, but he loves that car and it came back wrecked, but still less wrecked than him. You told me about the days when your dad returned home between tours and he had this haunted look in his eyes, the look of witnessing death, causing it… seeing the people you love suddenly die. I might have looked that way, too. Jo was like a sister to me growing up and she was dead, and Dean wasn’t just my brother, he was my whole world. Slowly, but surely, I was watching him waste away right in front of my eyes.
I didn’t see my mother die– another person who died because of me; died for me– but I was old enough to watch my father slowly kill himself. He’d return from these long trips and I would run to him, but he never spared me a glance. After all, I was the reason his wife wasn’t with him. He’d loved that woman more than anything in the world. I believe Dean reminded him of all the good times he’d shared with his wife, but I was a reminder of the peace he’d lost. If she hadn’t run in to save me from the fire, she’d be alive and breathing with him. No, he wasn’t outright cruel, but slowly as he drowned himself in whiskey, the whiskey truly drowned him. Dean found him like that in his study one night, without a heartbeat, but a drink still in his hand.
Dean became just like that in the months after Jo’s death, always clutching a bottle, eyes red and out of his mind. I can’t count the number of times I’d picked him up from bars with bloody knuckles and a bruised face, and I felt helpless watching my brother go the same way as my father, wishing, just wishing I could go back in time to stop Jo from leaving alone. One day my life had been good, not perfect, but good, and the next day it had been dragged to hell.
The first time I saw a light in Dean’s eyes was when the sheriff, Jody Mills, came back with some definitive proof. Before Jo, two other bodies had been recovered from Lincoln lake. And though they bore signs of more heinous abuse, the MO appeared to be the same, similar disappearances, similar disposal. There had been other disappearances as well, but no trace of the bodies and more than half of those could be traced directly to the estate. It was easy to put together the story… a human trafficking ring was active in the area.
I saw my brother go from the edge of destruction to grasping at the threads of hope for justice. He threw himself into Jody’s investigation with this feverish energy. But no matter how hard he tried, or anybody tried, eventually, we all hit roadblocks. No one could get on top of the ring, and it got worse when Jody found out that even her superiors in the police were involved. She didn’t have any pull with federal law enforcement. Not then anyway. I was just starting to worry that I would lose my brother all over again when Jody came up with the plan… with this plan.
The plan was easy enough and by now I’m sure you know most of it, though, I didn’t think it would work. No one who has seen us growing up would believe I could throw him out, but Dean had a solution to that as well. ‘Just replace all staff’ he’d said. At first, I went along just in desperation to save Dean from the abyss he was in danger of falling into. Finding out who did this to Jo had become his life’s mission. I couldn’t take it away from him without losing him, too, but I didn’t really believe he and Jody would manage to implement it. But then there came a day when I had to make the decision, to be in or out.
I’d have died before letting Dean down, but that night he made me promise that I would go along. He had already transferred all his property and estate rights save for the shares, but that night he begged me to say yes… to do this abhorrent thing of paying money to own a human being. He justified it with fancy words… said I’d be saving a girl from life in hell, but I knew it for the depraved act it truly was. I don’t remember the things I said to my brother that night or the wreckage I left of the door and furniture, but in the end, I had to give in. How could I not?
And so, before the day break Dean left, and the very next day, I assumed power of the board and estate. The first to go was Dean’s portrait from the gallery, and then every last item that could be associated with him was purged from this God-forsaken house. I moved in a week later and then within a month, the staff was replaced. Being cold and detached from them was hardly even work once Dean left. I was heartbroken enough to shut myself within me. But still, selfishly, I couldn’t let go of Jack and Martha, I was scared that I would be lost to even myself without them. After all, do you even exist if no one around you knows you?
So far the plan was working, but then suddenly it worked too well. The whispers that we had planted were taking root now. The word that I was looking to buy finally reached the right ears and one day, a man accosted me outside the office, offering the deal. He handed me a card with a location and asked me to be there at eleven the next morning. There, he had a photo book ready for me to pick from. Up until then, I had never hated myself more. To even look at the pictures, as if I was some kind of God to choose which one to save… which of these women was eligible to be rescued from this prison, and put into a different one. My prison wouldn’t have the torture of this one, but a place where she would be dragged to without her own free will would be a prison nonetheless.
I had to choose. One. I closed my eyes, gulped and vowing to come back for the rest after this one, I opened that photo book. And there you were on the 5th page. I stopped there and did not flip further. The man said you were not up for sale, that you were Boss’s favourite. I doubled the price, he wouldn’t agree still, I tripled the price. He made a call, and when I offered to pay five times the amount, the man on the other end of the line must have agreed because we sealed the deal. I got to keep the photo.
And Y/N, this is what I don’t get… I could have decided to keep flipping through those horrifying pictures and picked another, but once I saw you, there was no one else. Something about the look in your eyes… At least that’s what I told myself as I signed the cheque and asked to keep the picture. But the truth was, I didn’t want another man to ever look at your picture again. I’ve never looked at it again, myself. I came back and nearly burnt it, but then decided against it. You’ll find it in a brown diary on the top of the cupboard. Do what you please with it, only you should have that right.
You accused me of not looking you in the eye because I thought less of you, but how could I? After what I had done, I could barely stand to meet my own eyes in the mirror. I keep telling myself it’s the look in your eyes in the picture that made me stop, but what if I confessed that I liked the fall of your hair. In that moment I could nearly imagine the feel of your skin, your lips. How am I any better than all those men? How could I ever face you after that? How could I stand next to you on a podium and not want to die from the guilt of it all? How could I even breathe the same air? So, yes, Y/N, I didn’t meet your eyes. At the wedding, I didn’t look at you, didn’t touch your skin, because you deserved better than a depraved person like me even existing in the same room as you.
There’s one other thing I never told you. The night after the wedding, I opened the connecting door. I had to tell you the truth, fall at your feet and apologise profusely for the dastardly act, so my conscience could know some peace. The guilt of what I had done wouldn’t let me be, and when I did push that handle, I found you curled up on the floor, clutching your body. That’s when I knew that as long as I lived, I would never forgive myself for it, never hate myself more than I did in that moment. I vowed to never open the door again. Every night following that one, I would pace to the door, stand inches away, grazing the handle but never opening it. The routine reminded me of Pandora’s story. How in the end after unleashing all kinds of pain on the world, her box only held hope. Hope remained. Opening the door felt like that, it felt like giving up the little hope that someday you might forgive me.
Meeting your eyes in the dining hall that first time might be the bravest thing I’ve ever done, Y/N. It took all the courage in the world to hand you that portfolio, when I don’t even deserve to touch the sheets on which you drew. But each time you looked at me, smiled, or said yes to my beseeching efforts to take you around the property knowing you’d had several tours already, I let that hope bloom and when you agreed to be my friend, I vowed to never be untruthful to you. Ever.
So, no, I didn’t know you had already met Dean, that he was your friend. I hope you believe me.
From the very first attempt to speak with you, my only wish has been to gain your trust. Not to elicit information, but to become worthy of your faith, to be the confidant you confided in of your own free will and not out of a trick. I can see how wrong I was. I am sorry.
You’ve barged out on me twice now and locked yourself behind the door. But you shouldn’t have to put yourself in prison again and again. This letter might be a prelude to proving that Dean and I never colluded against you, but we’ve both had our interests in play. You’re the only party here that’s entirely faultless. You shall not be bound to a prison again. I will not allow it. And if the only way of setting you free from the bars of your room is for me to be out of sight, then that’s no price to pay at all.
I won’t be back for a couple of weeks, and even when I am, I’ll make sure to be out of your way.
I made you a promise, Y/N, that you will be safe in this house. That promise stands, even if it’s me you seek safety from. I may not be what you need. But I am still a man of my word.
You WILL be safe.
-Sam
A drop fell on Sam’s name at the end and you hurriedly shirked the paper before any more drops ruined the letter. Rapidly, blinking at the wetness on your lashes, you rushed to Sam’s cupboard, throwing the doors open. Blindly, you patted the topmost drawer and found the leather-bound diary. The picture was wedged right in the middle. You stared at your own nearly naked form, kneeling with your knees splayed wide, torso bent forward and eyes staring into the camera. With a shock you realised, you barely recognised the face.
The girl in the picture did not look anything like you. She had primmed eyebrows and a thin, perfect face full of make-up. Her wide eyes held not an invitation, but almost a challenge: Come find out for yourself.
Is that what Sam saw?
You moved to the mirror in Sam’s room to check your face, with fuller, unkempt eyebrows and hair that had long outgrown the coiffed cut. The skin didn’t have the perfect complexion but held faint splashes from where the sun had touched it. There were also the hints of wrinkles at the corner of your eyes– laugh lines.
Thinking back, everything seemed abundantly clear as to why Sam’s footsteps had always sounded so close to the door. You had assumed a cupboard or a desk there, but all those nights it was just him hovering, torn between guilt and self-hate. Why when you’d had the workers move his things to your room before the renovation, Sam had panicked about who touched his things, because he was scared of someone seeing the picture you now held in your hands.
Now that it was in your hands, you didn’t know what to do with it any more than Sam did. You should be feeling pity for that girl, chaffing her bare knees on the floor, but all you felt was a strange hatred. She was your past, but she would be your future, too. The imperfect but happy girl in the mirror would soon become a memory.
One week had passed and with one more week to go until Sam returned, you vowed to the girl in the mirror, that as long as she was your present, you would do everything in your power to keep her happy.
As far as Sam was concerned, he’d had his chance to get his truth out. It was your turn now.
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A/N 2: I LOVED writing this chapter! The nuances of Sam's admission and the delicate nature of his emotions were just so damn satisfying to put into words! What did you think?
Oh, I can't wait to share what's coming with you!
Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!
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Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised.
Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?
A/N: Look who is posting regularly now ;)
Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23
The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist
“Miss, you can’t keep waiting by the door for him all day!”
“Watch me,” you muttered and Abby let out a sigh. She must be convinced of your obsessive insanity by now.
“I called Jack and he called Castiel. Mr Winchester will not be back before evening. You will fall sick in this cold.”
“It’s already five… won’t be long before evening. You go on.”
Abby gave you a look that most definitely doubted your sanity but left you at the foot of the staircase where you sat with your book, feet tapping so rapidly, that the anklet Sam had gifted you started to sting.
For the umpteenth time, you wondered what the last, engraved square charm stood for.
Abby had seen you through a week's worth of anxiety but did not know the reason behind it. You knew. Sam was to return today and he had every intention of completely avoiding you and there was no way you were giving him that chance.
Since finding it, you had read Sam’s letter so many times, that the crumpled paper had lost most of its composition and now lay flat, the words already etched in your mind. At first, the pain and sadness in his words riddled you like bullets, but the more time you spent with his words, the angrier you felt about the whole situation.
How dare he apologise for saving you? Stupid, stupid man! How dare he make you fall in love with him even more?
Admitting to the things he’d admitted to couldn’t have been easy… his childhood, how he truly thought himself to be responsible for his mother’s death and then Jo’s. How his father had treated him, and watching his brother, the only family he had known waste away right in front of his eyes just like his father.
You shuddered to yourself, thinking of your Han that way. Dean had an easy-going way about him. If bringing you into the picture had eased his anguish, how could it have been a bad thing? Sam, with his principles, couldn’t forgive himself for the act, but you, who was the one affected by it, wanted to find him and kiss his hands for signing that cheque now. He hadn’t just saved his brother, he had also saved you.
Then there were things he’d admitted to about you.
…but what if I confessed that I liked the fall of your hair…
… I could nearly imagine the feel of your skin, your lips…
A soft shiver ran through your body at the recollection.
If Sam had stripped himself naked before you, he’d have still been less vulnerable. By admitting to the shame he felt over the simple act of choosing you, he’d bared more than you in that godforsaken picture. You understood him now… understood him to the depth of his soul.
But you wished he understood that with all his principles, he was only a man. And he couldn’t keep punishing himself for having the reactions and instincts of one.
…How am I any better than all those men? How could I ever face you after that?
Reading those words? All you wanted to do was climb into his skin, dissolve into his being and hold him so tight, he’d never feel that shame again.
Footsteps echoed outside the door and you got to your feet, the book falling to the ground with a thump. Had you been less lost in thought, you would have realised those footsteps didn’t have the crispness of Sam’s.
“Hey, Honeybun!” Nick smirked. “Waiting for me?”
The air in your throat coagulated then disappeared to nothing seeing his face.
“You are as jawdroppingly gorgeous as ever.”
“And you are just as bastardly,” you heard yourself say. Any other day words might have evaded you, but living through Sam’s anguish over something he had no control over, made you livid at this asshole’s audacity, who hadn’t lost even a second of his sleep over destroying your life.
“Oh, she shows teeth now,” he said silkily.
“Get out of my house,” you hissed. “Get lost before I call the security.”
“And tell them what?” He challenged. “Why you’re kicking Sam’s cousin out? Mary was my mother’s sister, you know. I’m part of the Trust. Or do you not want the people in your house to know about us.”
“There’s no us.”
Nick took a few calculated steps close to you. “Come on now, Y/N. I know you love your secrets, you’ve always thrived in them. Secret siblings in a boarding school. Never thought I would become your dirty little secret, too.” He grinned and you shuddered. “What a privilege.”
He circled you slowly and you pressed into the balustrade, grabbing the handrail.
“Poor little Sammy, does he know how you secretly met his brother at the pier in the middle of the night? That’s right, I saw little Y/N sneaking out in the dark. Do you still have Dean’s leather jacket in your drawer?”
The blood in your vein suddenly ran cold. “S- Sam knows… Dean and I are friends… He knows.”
“Tch Tch Tch,” laughed Nick, the sound grating your brain. “Sam knows his brother thinks of you as his friend. But you tell me, which respectable wife would tiptoe out of the house in the middle of the night to meet a complete stranger? Now good Ol’ Deano knew who you were, but you didn’t know who he was, did he now? So didn’t you lie to your husband about your secret rendezvous with a man?” He sighed dramatically. “What they say is true after all. Once a slut… always a slut.”
“Don’t you…”
“Dare?” He mocked, hands in air. “Does Sammy even know everything you did with me? Did to me? That you’ve gone down on your knees for me and–
The clatter of a briefcase had you jumping out of your skin.
Sam stood over the threshold, face white as a board.
“Sammy!” Nick greeted with glee. “My man! You look ready to drop. Bad trip?”
He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and Sam shirked it away in disdain.
“I was just telling Y/N how wonderful it is to catch up with her after all these years. Did you know we used to date in college? Well, she was in college anyway. I never had time for that shit.”
Nick turned to face you with a grin. “I was telling her how… great she still looks. Doesn’t she?”
At long last Sam’s gaze slid from Nick to you, absolute disbelief etched in his expression.
You stared back helplessly.
When Nick turned back around, Sam had gathered his expression and settled into a perfectly blank face.
“Nick,” said Sam, voice composed. “I had a long flight back and I’m in no mood to see your face when I could have a much better view. I’d much rather be in bed, having dinner with my wife than stand around listening to you reminiscing about things that don’t matter anymore.”
“You knew?” Nick challenged, doubtful.
Sam picked up his briefcase and briskly crossed the distance, surpassing Nick. “I sure remember gagging when Y/N mentioned it in passing. I find it hard to believe she had such terrible taste.” He picked up your fallen book and handed it to you, beginning to take the steps. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do.”
At the top step, he turned and said, “Y/N, come on up. Find Abby and get her to send the dinner up for us. I’m starving.” With that, he disappeared into the corridor.
Shock held you in place for a few moments, but eventually, you turned your back on that grinning bastard and followed Sam up the steps. The door to his room was already closed and when you tried to push it open, the door held.
“Damn it,” you cursed, crossing to the next door and getting into your own room. Things were already as fucked as they could get and this was not how you had wanted Sam to find out about Nick.
Horrifyingly, Sam and Dean now had one-half of the story. Dean knew your boyfriend had sold you to the boss and now Sam knew Nick had been the boyfriend. Only you knew the whole truth and had known it for a while. The mole on the estate that the brothers were searching for had to be none other than Nick. After all how many such assholes could be around? And it made perfect sense now. Nick was part of the Estate Trust, someone who could have easily offered Rosalie a new job, and lured all these women associated with the estate into the flesh trade. Even Jo, who might have just stopped the car to acknowledge Dean’s cousin had paid for that mistake with her life.
The true horror of the situation was how you could tell neither brother the truth because if Dean found out that Nick was the reason his fiance was dead, he would kill Nick and the boss would know. And if Sam found out what your Ex-boyfriend had done… you still remembered the murderous rage in his eyes when he’d found out about Michael inserting hot pins in your heels. If he confronted Nick, the boss would still know. Then what would happen to Jamie and Danny? You’d never see them again.
The sheer helplessness of holding the Ace that Sam and Dean so desperately sought in your hand, and yet unable to hand it to them.
Now, Sam knew and you felt ashamed of what he must be thinking.
Rushing inside the bedroom vestibule, you pushed at the connecting door, but for the first time, found it locked… from the other side.
“Sam!” you banged on the wood. “Open the door.”
Nothing.
“Open the damn door! Let me explain.”
Oh, how the tables had turned. What a wretched feeling to be on the other side, locked out. The medicine did not taste sweet.
“Open the door,” you tried again. “P-L-E-A-S-E”
Except the last word came out as knocks and pats on the wood.
You were about to give up when the door opened and you were only a couple feet away from Sam. Being away from him for an extended amount of time always made you forget just how tall he was and right now the buttons of his shirt appeared more appealing than meeting his eyes.
“What?” Sam asked, point blank, his voice without inflection.
All you wanted to do was close the little distance and hug him, but the two steps in between felt like miles.
“Won’t you invite me in?”
A second passed, and then Sam moved aside. “It’s your house as much as mine. You’re welcome to any part of it.”
Tears pricked your eyes. Sam’s words and tone were polite, but each detached syllable stung like a pin in your heel.
“So this is how it’s going to be?” You remained resolutely at the threshold.
“How?”
Something about Sam’s quiet rage rankled you from the inside. Despite his absence, you felt like you had uncovered more of Sam from Dean’s words and then his letter. Sam had always seemed like an ocean on the verge of breaking into a cyclone, that something always simmered under it, barely restrained, but dangerous all the same. Seeing him now, face cast out of stone, you finally understood how he could have fooled all the staff into thinking of him as a cold man. The truth was that whatever darkness he restrained within him, whether it was anger, fear or hatred, all of that was at its thinnest now. If you pushed, that unhinged darkness, for better or for worse, would come unleashed.
You decided to push it.
Crossing into the room you walked past Sam and took a seat at the edge of the bed. He stared at you. Sam had gone from bad to worse… his skin was shallow and his eyes sunken, looking nearly black in their intensity.
“What do you want, Y/N?”He asked once more, not moving an inch.
“I want to talk.”
“Yeah?” He walked to the bed, towering over you. “Now you want to talk?”
You ignored the question and countered with your own.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
“How much, Sam?”
“Nick’s your college boyfriend.” He took a deep breath and let it out. Calming the sea, keeping the cyclone at bay. “It’s alright. You don’t owe me answers.”
But you weren’t having any of it. “Yeah, he’s the one I told you about on our walk into the forest. My boyfriend from back home. We used to go on long rides on his Harley, cruising through the streets of California on hot nights. He was shacking up in a friend’s place in LA and he’d take me there on Friday evenings all the way to Sunday morning. Just the two of us–”
“That’s.. That’s enough. I don’t want to hear it.” His fists were clenched, tendons standing out white against his skin.
“Why?” You shouted, getting to your feet. “You’re my friend and you told me I can share anything with you. So why not?”
He twisted his body and grasped your shoulder with both his hands, fingers digging into your skin. “You know why!” His sunken eyes were watery, the white tinged with red. “You know why, Y/N. Don’t do this to me, don’t break me like this.”
You finally closed the distance, snaking your arms around his thin waist. “He is nothing but a person from my past. Nothing. Do you understand?”
“Why didn’t you tell me then? You locked yourself for days when you saw him at the inauguration. It’s been a month since and you never said a word.”
Stepping back, you looked up at Sam and admitted part of the truth. “I was ashamed. Seeing him reminded me of my past in the most jarring way, and you’ve been so kind to me, I suppose I needed time to wrap my head around it all.”
Sam peered into your face, scrutinising.
“Believe me, please.”
He deflated just a little, then nodded.
“But him? Really?” His incredulity nearly broke you, but you held your own. “Of all people, Nick?”
Oh, if only Sam knew.
“I was naive and daddy issues are a thing.” You shrugged. “C’mon, let's go to our room. All your clothes are there and you need a shower.”
Taking his hand in yours, you led Sam back over the threshold into your bedroom and closed the connecting door behind you.
He took the room in for a minute then dragged his feet to the walk-in-wardrobe. “I’m not hungry,” he said passing you. “Just call for some coffee.”
You still had Abby bring in some fruits along with the coffee. She sat by you, nibbling on a piece of apple as Sam finished in the shower, then waited long enough to wish Sam a good night when he returned. Sam had stepped out in a thin wet tshirt, hair dripping water into the neckline, and a towel wrapped around his waist. The way Abby averted her gaze, face flaming, gave you an idea.
She left quickly after and you watched Sam put on his drawstring pants and then remove the towel from around his waist. He got on his side of the bed, pulled the covers over his legs and reached for the cup of coffee.
“How do you expect to sleep if you drink coffee right before?” You asked, but then couldn’t help adding. “Not that the thing in the cup is remotely close to coffee. Stop doing business in Bali if this is what they give you in return.”
Sam rolled his eyes while taking a sip. “Enough with the coffee already.”
“It’s such a shame that you came out of the bathroom wearing the t-shirt today. Remember that time you came out with just the towel wrapped around your waist? Short towel, too.”
He drained his cup, put it back on the side table and faced you, brow furrowed. “When?”
“Last time you were here. Great abs. Guess all that working out helps, huh?” You put your fingers on his arm. “And that time we were all wet in the shed? I slipped and fell on you, I could feel the bulk of your muscles. Made my throat go dry.”
Sam gulped. “Why are you telling me this now?”
Very slowly, holding his gaze, you moved to straddle his hips and Sam flattened himself against the headboard, a deer caught in headlight.
“The first time I saw you, Sam Winchester, even through the veil, I knew you were an attractive man and I can’t count the number of times I have found myself staring at your body— the shoulders, the chest, arms, all of it. If you want me to go into details about what seeing you shirtless does to me, you are welcome to be my guest, but the point is, I don’t feel ashamed about it. I don’t feel ashamed about a natural reaction.”
“You read the letter…”
Raising your hand, you gently skimmed the side of his face with the back of it and he closed his eyes at the touch.
“I did, and now you know how I feel. What are you going to do now?”
“It’s different,” he said finally. “You didn’t pay money–”
“You said yourself that you paid the price for my freedom, for a chance to know the truth about Jo and not for my body.”
“You don’t understand–”
“Don’t complicate emotions to the point of no return, Sam. I’ve wanted to kiss you, and I took both of those chances.” You leaned it, face inches away from his now, lips only a whisper away from his. “But you didn’t answer my question. What are you going to do now?”
He opened his eyes, and they smouldered. Sam’s fingers found your hair and fisted in them. He crushed his lips to yours, devouring your mouth. His other hand slid from the base of your throat, down your body, decidedly feeling the shape of you. You followed his lead, rejoicing in it… in the following. His self-control had cracked at last and he was finally staking the claim, he should have staked a long time ago… making the first move, claiming what was his… you.
Maybe it was seeing you with Nick, knowing about your past, or hearing your admission, that had caused the careful wall of self-control that Sam always held around you to crumble. Some of that self-control must have survived because he broke off, breathing hard.
“I’m not going to apologise,” he said.
“You better not.”
Sam smiled, skin stretching over his cheekbones, but it still lit his eyes. “Yes, Ma’am.”
When he slid into the bed, he grabbed your hand and pulled you against his side instead of restricting himself to his end of the bed. “Sleep, Y/N. We have to be up early tomorrow.”
“Yeah?”
“Humour me,” he said. “I have the day planned.”
“Okay,” you agreed readily, then wound your hand around his waist, snuggling as close as you could. Between the two of you much had been said, and even more implied, yet a lot was yet to to be put into words. But Sam was here now and you had all of tomorrow. Right now you simply wanted to savour the feeling of holding the man you loved in your arms and being held by him.
*****************************
A/N 2: I LOVED writing this chapter! The nuances of Sam’s admission and the delicate nature of his emotions were just so damn satisfying to put into words! What did you think?
Oh, I can’t wait to share what’s coming with you!
Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!
If you want to be tagged, you can send me an ask or you can add yourself to the taglist here.
Or here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.
Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised. This chapter has fluff and feels though ;)
Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?
A/N: Slightly delayed, but hope you find the chapter worth it ;)
Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23
The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist
“Where are we going?” Y/N asked for the fifth time, but with a smile on her face, as if she knew she wouldn’t get an answer
And she wouldn’t.
Sam simply smirked and pressed on the pedal, hitting the gas. The Impala purred underneath him, and Y/N sighed contentedly beside him.
“This is a sweet fucking ride,” she said.
“That it is,” Sam agreed. “But don’t get used to it. Dean usually doesn’t let his Baby out of sight.”
“So how come we’re riding in it now?”
Sam could have pointed out the obvious– that Dean adored her, that he wanted his Chewie to meet his Baby– but instead, he found himself saying, “Dean’s travelling to a different state. Hates flying, but it’s better this way. I bet he’s sleeping uneasily somewhere knowing I’m behind the wheel.”
Y/N leaned against the side. “You were right, he is a brave man.”
“Mhmm…” Sam voiced a curiosity that he had kept to himself for a while. “How did you even become friends with him?”
She bit her bottom lip, softly, guiltily. Sam had to kill the urge to reach out and bite it himself. Y/N must know she was gorgeous, and she most certainly knew now that Sam was attracted to her… but if only she guessed that a simple smile from her could derange Sam. That he had writhed in hotel beds for hours over how she looked in that one violet, fitted gown.
He’d kissed her, more than once now, but each time he so much as remembered her taste, he lost the ability to think.
“I… I sneaked out of the house one night,” she admitted. “I saw our picture in the papers and… I wanted to get out. He found me in the forest. We’ve been friends since. I light a lantern and put it on the sill. He says he can see it from the cabin he’d lodged in.”
“The one up the stream?” Sam remembered going there once or twice when Dean taught him fishing. The place was broken, damp and plain uninhabitable.
“I wouldn’t know,” she shrugged. Y/N wore the same three blouses in rotation. Sam remembered this one from their evening in the old horse shed, when he’d first felt her body against his. Her eyes dipped down to her entwined fingers. “You aren’t mad at me?”
“Mad at you? Why?”
“I sneaked out to meet a man in the middle of the night? Like some Harlot?”
Sam had to laugh at that, and then some more.
“You’re laughing!” But some of the guilt had left her face.
“Of course I am!” He eased on the pedal. “It’s not infidelity if you’re not in a relationship. And in any case, if you ran out, that would be on me… because I had done something to upset you. Now, if you had run into someone else, that would’ve been a problem. Can’t trust anyone around here.”
“I wouldn’t have made friends with anyone else,” she muttered, eyes narrowed.
Sam laughed once more.
“What now?” She was biting her lip again, amused. Sam looked away.
“You called yourself a harlot,” he said, a smile cracking. “You weren’t even a harlot for me when you were supposed to be.” Oh, Sam remembered very clearly how she always held her own, wielding her dignity like a blade but also donning it like an armour. She’d never given Sam leeway with how he treated her.
Y/N got a speculative look in her eyes, and Sam realised he really should be paying more attention to the road, but then she said, “I kissed you first.”
Sam slammed the breaks, and the car cruised to the shoulder of the road. He took his time, turning the engine off and then turned to look at her. “I have wanted to kiss you from the second I saw that picture… before you even knew I existed. And I’ve wanted to do a lot more things to you than just kiss you.”
It felt great to finally admit it… to her, to himself and to the universe. The words had been cutting his throat, leaving him bleeding on the inside. But after saying them out loud, it barely made any sense to keep his hands to himself and so Sam touched her… he touched her face, her lips, fingers trailing down to her shoulders over the thin white fabric and further down to her waist, then slipping under the fabric to feel her smooth skin. His other hand still held her face, and he gently bit on her lower lip. She wanted this, she wanted him… why on earth would he not do what he wanted?
Y/N kissed him back furiously, bracing herself against the Impala’s door to hold on to him, taste him like she would never get to kiss him again.
“Remind me why we are parked along a road in the middle of nowhere when we could be in bed right now?” She whispered throatily against his cheek, catching her breath, and Sam was reminded of the reason with an excitement in his gut.
He pulled back reluctantly, but grinning all the same. “Because I’ve got something better.”
As Sam pulled the car back on the road, he almost missed her sigh and murmured ‘doubtful’, but then again he didn’t and it made all the difference. But Sam knew that she was to be proven wrong, and in less than half an hour, the Impala cruised through the open gates of Hill-Mount Academy.
Sam ushered her into the waiting area, a sheltered, three-sided courtyard opening to the grounds. She followed, both confused and reluctant. Sam understood her predicament very well– wanting something desperately versus being scared of the bone-crushing disappointment. A few minutes later, when he came back to her with two kids by his side, he watched her slide down from the stone bench of the courtyard onto her knees and simply gape as tears followed unbounded down her cheeks.
James and Daniella– the kids were nothing like he had seen before. People had called what he Dean had hopelessly codependent. Sam believed it to be something similar for these two. He knew Y/N thought all his trips, especially the last one, was to get away from her… either because he wanted to be away, or he believed her to be angry with him. But in all honesty, Sam would have trashed the business to remain by her door and beg for her to listen to him, to give him a chance to explain. However, Sam knew that more than forgiving him, what Y/N needed were these kids. He could bear her anger as long as he knew he was striving for what she needed more than anything in the world. Because then he would get something better than her forgiveness. He would get her happiness.
Ironically, the kids had been stashed in a boarding school in Colorado of all places– the place where Sam had supposedly met Y/N in all their fake meet-cute stories. Sam had used his best resources to track the admission of two kids in the same week as Y/N’s kidnapping in the snowy states. The uniform from the picture Y/N had and the fact that the kids' admission was under their birth names helped a ton. It took less than a month for the kids to be found, after three false alarms for which he had flown to three different states. Sam had arrived at the academy dejected and hopeless, expecting to be disappointed yet again, but there they were– Y/N’s Jamie and Danny.
The little girl looked like Y/N when she frowned, and the boy definitely had her stubborn glare. Sam had knelt before the boy and offered his hand, introducing himself as Y/N’s friend, and James hadn't taken it, wrapping his arm around his sister and pushing her behind him.
Sam had felt the earth slip underneath his feet at the words, the vision of Y/N floating in the Lincoln lake from Ellen’s curse coming to his mind.
“Y/N’s alright…” he had managed.
“Then why didn’t she come to see us? We know our sister… she had promised to never leave us. Either she’s dead, or she’s abandoned us.”
It had taken some effort to make the boy understand that his sister had been in trouble… terrible trouble, and if she could have, she would’ve come to see them, that she’s been searching for them all along, which was why she had sent him to find them.
When James still hadn’t looked convinced, Sam pulled out his phone to show them his picture with Y/N from one of the functions. The boy’s eyes softened.
Sam hadn’t let the kids out of his sight after that, driving all the way back with them and admitting them to a school that was less than an hour’s drive from the Winchester Estate. He’d admitted them under false names here and installed private security to make sure they were safe and untouchable. Somewhere along the day-long ride, he had grown surprisingly attached to the kids. Danielle spoke very little, choosing to tag along with her brother, but when he was taking a shower in the motel room, she had quietly tugged at Sam’s sleeves and asked to see Y/N’s picture again, caressing the screen with her little fingers until her eyes filled up.
Afterward, James came up to him and asked for the truth upfront. One day, those kids would grow up and understand what their sister had done for them, but it wasn’t up to Sam. Neither was it up to him to reveal any ounce of truth now… that right remained with Y/N. He had told the boy with utmost honesty the only thing that mattered: “I need you to know that your sister loves you more than anything in the world.”
While taking their leave with a promise of coming back with Y/N, Danielle had let go of her brother’s hand and softly kissed the side of Sam’s face, and James had offered his hand with a sincere ‘Thank you.’
Sam– with wet eyes– had understood at last why Y/N had ruined her life to protect them.
Now, he watched as Danny let out a cry and rushed to throw her little arms around Y/N, who completely broke down, but James held back, blinking rapidly. He chanced a look at Sam, and Sam nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”
Slowly, he made his way to his sisters, and Y/N opened her arm to make way for him. He didn’t immediately go.
“Where were you for two years?” James asked, violently rubbing her eyes. “We wrote to you. We called and you never answered. Where the hell were you?”
“In misery,” she said, hand still outstretched, beckoning. “I was locked far, far away and forced to remain there. I would have died there if I hadn’t held on to the hope of seeing you two again. Don’t you believe me?”
James nodded and went into her arms, beginning to cry. “I believe you, Y/N. I believe you. Please don’t leave us again. Please.”
“Never.”
Sam watched from a distance as she sobbed and realised his own cheeks were wet. A sudden coughing fit overtook him, and he reached for the kerchief in his pocket, coughing into it. When Sam removed it, it came back with specs of red.
“Sam?” Y/N had straightened up. The kids were looking at him, too. “Everything alright?”
He hurriedly put the kercheif in his pocket, wiping his mouth. “Yeah. Just caught a viral during the travel.”
Y/N walked over to him and gently placed her head against his shoulder. “Thank you… Thank you for doing this. How am I ever going to repay you?”
“There’s nothing to repay,” he said earnestly. He’d give up everything he owned to see the smile on her face that he was seeing now.
*****
You leaned against the thick bark of the tree watching Sam play football with Jamie. The kid was good, but Sam had the advantage of his height, and he wasn’t bad either. You watched as he cut your brother no slack and with a grunt James ran to the end of the field to get the ball. Sam called out and James, grinning, kicked the ball high enough for it to soar over Sam’s head in the opposite direction. Danny giggled.
“He has pretty eyes,” she said
“That he does.”
“And he’s so tall.”
“That he is.”
Sam and James raced back to you, and in the last second, Sam slowed so James could run straight into your arms. He rolled over and lay flat on his back, sweaty head in your lap. “I won!”
“You did, buddy,” Sam said, gracefully dropping to the ground next to you.
After the reunion in the Academy courtyard, Sam took the three of you out for brunch at a small diner. You watched with hungry eyes, living your dream of seeing your family again as they dug into the cheeseburgers. Sam knew their orders, what kind of soda they liked and their habits. He sheepishly admitted to living with them for the few days it took to move them across states.
“Couldn’t risk letting them out of my sight.”
The kids, too, trusted him blindly. Danny, you could still understand, but Jamie was as sceptical as they came. It had taken him a while to warm up to you, too. But here he was already inventing secret handshakes with Sam while Danny unabashedly wiped her smoothie-covered face against Sam’s shirt-sleeve. Every second seeing them, you couldn’t help but want to start crying happy tears.
Later, back in the Academy campus, Sam had suggested playing football, and James– with a wild excitement in his eyes– had followed. As he rolled around in the grass, head still in your lap, you watched Danny pluck the daisies from the grass and skip over to Sam.
“You have such pretty hair!” She exclaimed. “Mind if I put flowers in them?”
Sam grinned. “Not at all, Sweetheart. Do as you wish.”
You must have had a dopey expression because James cleared his throat loudly. He sat up with a cocky smile and you suddenly remembered how annoying he could be when he wanted to.
“Sam and Y/N sitting in a tree…” he whistled the rest so quietly, you had the urge to smack his head. Sam and Danny were busy doing their own thing, trying to fix the problem of Sam’s hair being too silky to hold the flowers, to notice you and Jamie.
“Where’d you find this guy?”
“In a chapel. What did he tell you?”
James gave a side eye to Sam, who was now trying to weave the flowers into Danny’s hair instead. “That he’s your friend.”
You contemplated for a bit, then decided to come out with the truth. “He’s my friend, yes, but he’s also my husband.”
James’ jaw dropped. “You got married?”
“It’s a long story.”
At nine, you weren’t sure just how much James could handle, but he sure as hell could understand a lot. The kid had lived a tough life, but right now, you didn’t want to disturb his peace of mind by revealing too much.
“We had to get married to get me out of a situation, but he’s a true friend now.”
“He treat you okay?”
The question would have sounded absurd coming from any other kid but this one. You answered all the same. “He treats me… better than I’ve ever been treated.”
James nodded as if he understood. “He’s cool.”
Later, at the Impala, you hugged them both goodbye, promising to see them next weekend.
“Next weekend is too far away!” Danny whined
Sam knelt to her level and stage whispered, “I’ll see if I can whisk her here sooner than that, yeah?”
She giggled, jumping to hug his neck. “You’re the best, Sam!” He laughed gently, kissing the top of her hair. She reached out and plucked flowers from her hair, then handed them to Sam.
“For me?” He asked, surprised, and she nodded, smiling shyly. He tucked them very carefully into his jacket’s pocket.
Then, James went through the whole ritual of their secret handshake. “See you soon, man!”
Leaving them there and taking each step away from them felt like being torn away from half of your body. In a daze, you got back into the car and were still in it when the car eased onto the dirt road leading home from the Academy.
“You know this is temporary, right?” Sam said, jerking you out of your reverie. Scared, before you could ask him what he meant, Sam added. “We’ll bring them home with us when all of this is over. You can keep them with you now.”
“Keep them… with me…” His words wouldn’t sink in… wouldn’t breach your comprehension. Then there was the fact of how casually he’d said them.
“Of course. Once we’re in the clear, what’s stopping you from keeping them with you?”
When you wouldn’t say anything, he chanced a look, and then the car came to a slow halt at the side of the road.
“What’s wrong?”
How were you to tell him the magnanimity of what he had done for you? Three orphans who hadn’t known a home in years, dirt poor, living on scraps of money that barely kept a roof over their heads in schools and colleges. A long-forgotten dream, when you would be an architect in Chicago and the kids living with you, going to fancy private school teased the edges of your memory. A dream you had been living for… a dream that had been strangled so cruelly, so horrendously that even bringing it to the forefront of your thoughts hurt like a slap.
Sam’s palm came up to cradle your face. “Darling, what’s wrong?”
Oh, where would you begin? That word… “Darling.” When he said it, in that voice of his, softer than a feather, it felt like a salve on the wounds and lashes left on your soul.
“I don’t know what to think anymore… I don’t know what to feel, how to feel,” you blubbered.
“You can think whatever you want, feel whatever you want,” he said, softly. “Don’t you see? You’re free now.”
Free. The kids were safe. You were free.
Later, you didn’t remember much except the feel of Sam’s hand running up and down your back. You must have sobbed for hours in that car. Somehow, much later, you woke up with a start and found yourself in bed, still dressed in the white blouse and slacks from the day. You must have fallen asleep on the drive back. Had Sam carried you back upstairs? Right then, you were nestled in his embrace, and he was fast asleep over you, forehead smooth, without a frown line. A love so strong permeated through your body that you understood why Psyche had walked into hell and back to be with her Eros. What would have been the point of surviving without him?
Sam had given you many things– comfort, safety and now your family. But he was right; none of them would last without the freedom he had afforded you today.
Freedom to be.
Freedom to dream.
But most of all, the freedom to love him.
*****************************
A/N 2: We are slowly but surely heading towards the end. I guess less than 10 chapters are remaining now. How are you liking the story?
Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!
If you want to be tagged, you can send me an ask or you can add yourself to the taglist here.
Or here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.
Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence; reader discretion is strongly advised.
Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?
A/N: Really slowly, but we are getting there ;)
Beta: My darling @deanssweetheart23
With your back to the damp wall, you stared at the mouldy ceiling. Sick green patches had bloomed all over it, giving the appearance of an ugly, mossy carpet. A guard had thrown two blankets over your body. Amazing the difference that warmth could make to the mind’s functioning.
Thirteen men so far.
The pins had been removed from your heels, and now littered on the cell’s floor. Using the sharp point of one you made thirteen lines on the wall, then a fourteenth one. The guard from the first night should also count. But so should Nick, then.
Rage, the sort that could scorch the earth whole erupted inside you. A few days was all it took for the shock to turn into horror, then grief and finally rage. That monster was the reason Danny and Jamie were being held hostage. But they were safe. You had gathered your marbles and spent every minute since your recapture vigorously trying to understand the extent of your situation to the last detail. First: You were a commodity, with investment already put in place. If you behaved as instructed, you could avoid the worst of bodily harm, at least, from the captors’ side. The boss– a shudder ran through your body, in cold fear– wouldn’t let his men touch you… only the clients and him. The first assault from a guard was a one-time thing and would never be repeated, now that you knew all the rules. So, as an investment, you would be taken care of. Physical injuries would obviously reduce the value of the goods.
Second: The kids were safe for now. The business didn’t deal with murdering children for fun, they were only a security and not a purposeful target. No one would ever go out of their way to hurt them. As long as you followed instructions, they would be untouched and well-educated.
Third: You could manage and escape, but you wouldn’t even try now and everyone knew that. They managed high-end clientele and you were specifically chosen for being well-educated, where you could entertain body and mind.
A possibility emerged from all the analysis. If you managed to stay alive for a few decades here, they wouldn’t want anything to do with a wrinkled woman. Then, instead of killing you, they might turn you onto the streets.
A rattling cough sounded from the adjoining cell. In the afternoon, when they’d taken you upstairs for the man in the hideous purple suit, the cell had been empty. Noises could only mean one thing– you weren’t the newest piece for sale anymore.
Gripping the bars, you hoisted yourself up, still in pain, and banged on the wall. No one was on duty in the passageways at that time. The girl must have mirrored you, for you could see the tips of her fingers if you craned your neck.
“Don’t resist,” you whispered. “They’ll get you one way or another. It’s no use.”
She spat. “You can give up. But I won’t. I’ll find a way of getting out of here.”
You didn’t mind her derision. Rather, a sadness gripped your heart at her confidence, at the fight she harboured. You were just the same once.
Sliding back, you bit back a shriek of pain. Everything hurt and you didn’t know if you would be ready to deal with more by tomorrow.
“Where… where are we?” She asked, voice shaky. “Which way is the exit?”
“We’re in Texas, near the border to New Mexico. This is the second basement and the exit is on the third right by the parallel passageway. Two guards are always stationed there. If you get past it, you’ll exit on a mile-long driveway and about two miles to the east of its end, you’ll find a bus stop.”
A sharp intake of breath.
“I managed to escape once,” you told her. “Almost made it into the bus, too.”
“So, there is a way out?”
You didn’t want to repeat words of hopelessness to her. In her own time, she would know how impossible it was.
Michael came rattling the bars and you pressed up against the wall, scared of the smirk on his face. But he stopped before your cell, in front of hers.
“C’mon, Darling, it’s showtime,” he sneered. She must have spat in his face because the next minute you heard the clanging of the door being opened and then a slap, followed by a crash.
“You better watch it, bitch!”
“My boyfriend will rip you to pieces!” She screamed.
“Oh, really?” Another slap.
A sob broke free of your lips. That poor girl had also trusted a man and ended up here. You knew the drill, the water hoses, followed by nights of torment where she would worry sick about the guy before they would drop the truth on her of who really sold her.
“T-Take me!” The words left your lips, and then you couldn’t take them back. “Leave her. I’ll go again tonight.”
“My… my… how touching,,.” Michael came around to your cell. “Such a princess move! You know I’m not picky. If you want to get some more tonight, be my guest.” He opened your door and yanked you out. Slowly, you moved past her and registered nothing but her big brown eyes, before Michael poked you in the back. “After you, your royal highness.”
*****
“Would you like honey in your coffee, Miss?”
You craned your neck up to squint at her. “Honey? In coffee?”
“Yes,” said Abby. “Mr. Winchester has been taking it in his and it seems to have made all the difference.”
“Abby, the only thing that could make any difference to his coffee is throwing that whole jar away.”
She giggled quietly and added a single sugar cube to yours. You registered her mild tone. There seemed to have been a colossal shift in her attitude towards Sam. You wouldn’t be the one to complain, but regretted having missed the phenomenon.
“Mrs Winchester!” Sarah, the other maid on Wednesday’s wait staff barged into the room. “Ma’am, you need to come down, people have come asking for Mr Winchester.”
Sharing a confused look with Abby, you followed Sarah downstairs and then steeled yourself to find most of the board in the dining room, seated at the table.
“Mr Singer, it's wonderful to see you here,” you greeted Bobby and then the other members, most of whom were Sam’s cousins. “Sam isn’t home at the moment. What can I help you with?”
Sam hadn’t been home for a while now, away on business as he was.
“You can’t help here,” said Christian, but he didn’t appear surprised in the least to not find Sam at home. “It’s a board matter.”
None of the Campbells had ever spoken to you directly. Not Christian or even Gwen, but she was glaring at you now.
“Why, I think I deserve to know.”
“If you insist then,” he said, tilting his head. “The board has decided by a majority to remove Sam Winchester as the CEO. Considering the share of all present parties, the majority percentage agrees to instant dismissal.”
Your heart started pumping faster in your chest, but you managed to murmur, “How does that work?”
Christian seemed to be the spokesperson here. “Removing Sam’s forty per cent leaves sixty per cent. Bobby here refuses to agree–” a sneer in his direction– “ That leaves a majority of the shares with us! Is it simple enough for you, Y/N?”
You jerked at being called by your name by anyone other than Sam. However, you held your ground. “Doesn’t leave sixty per cent.”
“Excuse me?” Gwen stepped up.
“I said, removing Sam’s share, doesn’t leave sixty per cent. It leaves eighty. A week ago he transferred half of his shares to mine.”
A rumble ran through the assembled men. Apparently, the share transfer hadn’t been put up on a bulletin board.
“That’s still what? Twenty to–”
“Twenty-five,” grumbled Bobby. “Don’t go forgetting this old man, Campbell.”
Christian was losing it now. “Fine, big deal. It’s still twenty-five to thirty-five. About time that Sam and his new bride packed up and left.”
At your startled look, Gwen grinned. “Didn’t you know, Darlin’? The mansion’s run by a trust, no majority, no house.”
You looked about yourself, missing Sam in your bones. Insanely, while sitting at the dining table, of all people you thought of Han. The snapping, the hostile looks in everyone’s eyes reminded you of his words: “Lady, if you run into the wolves, I’ll be afraid for them.” You wanted to be that brave girl now, the one unafraid of wolves. And just like that you were homesick for him. He’d promised to come when you needed help, needed him– lamp or no lamp.
And here you were about to be thrown out when Sam wasn’t even home.
The doors of the dining hall were thrown open and you jerked up in your seat. As if in a fever dream you saw Han saunter into the living room, boots, leather jacket, muddy jeans and all, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
As he passed by your chair, he lightly ruffled the top of your hair briefly, then pulled the chair beside yours and fell on it. “Hey, Chewie!” He grinned, completely disregarding that every chair apart from his and yours had scraped and now everyone else was on their feet, emotions ranging from shock to being thunderstruck. He put his muddy boots up on the table over crossed ankles. The soles directly faced Christian.
You made a move to get up as well, but he placed a hand on yours to hold you there. You couldn’t help but gauge everyone’s reaction. Out by the brook, on your pier, holding Han’s hand would be the most natural thing in the world, but not only did he seem completely out of place here amidst these men in suits, but he also didn’t seem to care… at all. And you didn’t know if you did, as Mark Campbell’s eyes moved from Han’s face to his hand on yours. Be that as it may, you were still magnanimously glad that he was here for you.
“So, Christian, I heard you were harassing this young lady?” Said Han, eyes sharp. “Old habits die hard, huh?”
A slight panic started to rise in your throat. You didn’t want any of these people to be disrespectful to your friend, be horrible to him, because they were perfectly capable of it.
“Ha–” you started, but he tightened the grip on your hand, and you understood his signal to be quiet.
No one had found their voices yet and were still gawking at Han as if he were some extra-terrestrial being.
In the end, Bobby cleared his throat and put a hand on your friend’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, son.”
Han turned his face to meet Bobby’s gaze and you couldn’t see the expression on it anymore, but Bobby’s eyes became tender and he let go. When Han faced Christian again, the steel was back in his voice. “ Explain the math to me again, will you?”
“Y-you can’t just come back again and… and…”
“And what? Explain it like a five-year-old to you?” Han smirked. “Did you leave all of my twenty per cent out? Guess it doesn’t take the MBA that you don’t have to figure out forty-five is a bigger number than thirty-five, huh?”
“You, son of a bitch,” hissed Christian, putting his palms on the table. “You think you can disappear to God knows where and then turn up now to–”
For the second time, the door to the dining room opened and Sam stumbled in. At first, his gaze fell on the assembly as a whole, then he did a double take at Han, eyes going wide and wider by the second, until they dropped to your entwined hands and back up again, at your face first and back to the man next to you. You saw him rock a little on his feet and then go very still.
You yanked your hand back, but you needn’t have because Han let go, too, and got to his feet. You fully appreciated how tall he was, also. It seemed like an eternity passed between them as they stood staring at one another and slowly, very slowly the situation truly sank in your comprehension.
Castiel followed after Sam and froze, too, then exclaimed, “Dean!”
With shaky feet, you stood up, realising how wrongly you had interpreted the entire situation. The board members weren’t shocked at the appearance of an alien person in their midst. Rather they were incensed at the entry of the strongest contender in the game save for Sam himself.
This man was Dean. Your Han was Dean Winchester.
“Cas,” Bobby warned, and Castiel schooled his expression. “Move along then, people,” Bobby raised his voice. “I believe the matter is settled. Let the family have some privacy.” But the men didn’t seem to want to move, as if they were also caught in the power of the unbroken gaze, expecting a shouting match… eager for it. And maybe they weren’t far off, because you knew Sam’s clenched jaw and Dean’s steely eyes.
“Move now!” Bobby snapped and slowly the board filed out of the room. Cas, the last to leave, closed the door behind him with a look of apprehension.
Your breath caught.
Time unfroze then.
Suddenly, Sam crossed the room and closed the distance in between to engulf his brother in a tight hug. Dean hugged him back fiercely, eyes an ocean of emotions– pain, longing, love. And Sam? You had seen him stressed, worried, even vulnerable… but never like this, never seen him close his eyes so tight and simply let go. The weight he seemed to carry on his shoulders all the time, seemed to evaporate in a second and you could see in him the man who was only twenty-nine, without the responsibility of the world to pull him down.
They broke apart, eyes still roving each other's faces for a minute, before Sam turned to you, grinning. “Dean,” he said, voice lighter than a breeze, “This is Y/N. And Y/N, this… this is my brother, Dean.”
He took a step in your direction, but you moved back, flattening yourself against the wall. “Don’t… don’t come close to me.”
“Y/N?”
Sam’s brow furrowed.
You inched further away, pointing a finger at him. “You got me good, Sam. You got me real good. You and your brother. Did you plan every second of it? And for how long? For two years, is it? For two years you’ve made a fool of the whole world… no bigger fool than me, though. Brilliantly executed good cop- bad cop routine.”
You felt disgusted at yourself for falling for the manipulation. Had anything been real at all?
“You wouldn’t even look at me in the beginning. In… In the chapel, you wouldn’t even turn your head in my direction, as if I was something disgusting stuck to your shoe, and you treated me like an invisible ghost in your house. And then you graced me with your attention, your care, your… your…” You broke down crying. “All to get me talking. I know that now. I’m not stupid.”
Knees bucking, you fell to the ground, unable to stop the pitiful crying.
Both brothers moved, but Dean was quicker to get on his knees.
“Chewie–”
“Don’t you fucking call me that,” you screamed. “I trusted you. I thought you were my friend.”
Over you, Sam started, worried eyes shifting between you and his brother in confusion.
“You’re an asshole,” you pointed at the man before you and then above. “You, too, Sam. You violated my trust. What you did is no better than any of those hundred men.”
Sam flinched. You might have slapped him.
Shakily, you got to your feet. “I’ll never forgive you.”
The run up the stairs and straight into your room ended when you threw yourself onto the bed. The silk hangings mocked you. You had been blinded by the false promises and reassurances, but you were still nothing more than a piece for sale, to be used… had never been anything more.
Slowly the past few months started to feel like a dream… one that had always felt too good to be true because it was.
The girl in the next cell jumped up from the floor as you were nearly dragged back to the basement that night, having completely lost the will and ability to walk. You heard the clatter of steel bowl as she rushed, but couldn’t find the energy to meet her gaze. Then it was too late as the door to your cell opened and you were unceremoniously flung inside. The birds outside were just starting to twitter, signaling the early hours of morning, little rodents scurrying to get back into their holes now that the night had ended. How you wanted to crawl in a hole, too, and just… die.
“Why did you do that?” She asked, voice strangled.
You didn’t have an answer for her. Getting slapped six times was nearly the same as getting slapped five times, right? Tonight, you were beaten anyway and she wasn’t. You understood the difference.
“Thank you.” Her voice held all the gratitude.
With the last vestiges of strength, you dragged yourself up onto the cot and pulled the two blankets over your body. “It’s alright.” Maybe she heard the whisper. Maybe she didn’t.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m gonna get us out of here. Get you out, if it’s the last thing I do.”
She was brave that one. You wanted to tell her to hold on to that spirit because men knew nothing but to hammer against it. Men knew nothing but to take advantage of women, but you were too tired to open your mouth.
Maybe having her in the next cell, you might not feel so lonely anymore, you thought as your eyes closed.
The banging woke you up. Sam was hammering on the connecting door of your room. Pulling your hands up, you shut your ears tightly until the banging stopped. Sam didn’t rest, as the desperate banging gave way to structured knocks.
L-E-T M-E A-T-L-E-A-S-T E-X-P-L-A-I-N
P-L-E-A-S-E
Y-N
One last loud bang against the door, as if he had banged his fists against it in frustration.
You must have fallen asleep or were nearly under when softer knocks sounded right over your headboard on the wall:
I-M S-O-R-R-Y
But you didn’t have it in you now. All along you had been right: Men knew nothing but to take advantage of women.
*****************************
A/N 2: I am struggling to write. Encouragement is the only thing keeping me going at this point. Please chat me up/ message me/ share your thoughts on this chapter!
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Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence; reader discretion is strongly advised.
Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?
A/N: A huge shoutout to all my wonderful readers! Your support and love keeps me going! <3
Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23
“You can’t kick 'em in the nuts and make a run for it?” The girl in the next cell asked.
“Not if you want to avoid getting beaten into a pulp,” you told her through a mouthful of bread and tomato. “There’s always a guard outside the door.”
“Kick 'em in the nuts, too.”
You snorted so hard, bits of tomato landed on the floor.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “There are fancy rooms upstairs with wardrobes full of fancy clothes that you have to wear and then they take you to other fancy places for men–”
“Sometimes it’s just the fancy rooms overhead. Men come here, too.”
“But they take you out, don’t they?” She argued. “Just go to a reception and tell the hostess, a waitress, anyone. I know you managed to run away once… so why not try again? If they let you out, it can’t be that hard!”
You swallowed the bite in your mouth and sighed. What did it matter if you told her the truth? Neither of you would make it out anyway.
“They’ve kidnapped my half-brother and half-sister. Little kids, barely six… have them at gunpoint somewhere. I make one wrong move and they are dead.”
“Shit.”
You could picture her dumbstruck expression. After spending a week next to her, seeing her face while going in and out, you were starting to get a hang of her. You still didn’t know why you did it, take her turn every night. Eventually, they would drag her out, but for a week, the boss wasn’t in the building and no one seemed to push the inevitable and drag that girl’s stubborn ass out.
And boy was she stubborn. She bit and clawed like a wild cat at the guards who tried to drag her. She got plenty beat up in the process, but everyone seemed to wait for the boss to get her in line when he came.
“Don’t you worry,” she said. “My fiance is going to get us out.”
“Fiance?”
“Yeah. I bet he’s worried out of his mind right now. But there’s police. They’ll find us.”
“The police are in on this,” you said. “They get serviced for their quiet.”
She spat, then screamed in frustration.
Footsteps echoed off the walls, and blood froze in your veins. You recognised the hard tap and unforgiving rhythm of his steps. The boss.
“Go to your bed and pretend to sleep,” you hissed, discarding the sandwich in your hand and doing the same.
“W-what?”
“Just do it.”
Covering yourself entirely with the blanket, you rolled into a ball, as if that would make you invisible, teleport you out of the horror story you were about witness. Since staring at the glass wall in his cabin for the first time, you had prayed for yourself. The pastor in the church your aunt dragged you to every Sunday preached that one should only pray for the world and not for oneself… because praying for oneself was selfish. If you prayed only for the world, that made you a good person, and God helped good people without having to ask for it.
You had never been particularly religious, but that one thing had stuck around. Subconsciously, all your life, you had never asked for yourself, not from God, the universe or even as a favour from people. If you wanted something, you had worked hard to earn it, and achieve it by sheer will and not divine intervention.
But that first night with the boss had made you pray for yourself over and over.
And you prayed now, in whispers that only remained in your breath, never making a sound.
God, let him forget that I exist… Not tonight. Please please please.
The footsteps came to a halt, and the door next to yours opened.
You closed your eyes tighter. Oh, that poor girl. He had come for her at last.
“I hear you’ve been difficult.”
A spit.
“Michael,” he said in his cold, raspy voice. “Hand me my cane, now.”
“Yes, Boss,” said Michael, gleefully.
A slash in the air and a piercing scream sliced the air.
You shut your ears tightly as the scuffling began… but then it ended as suddenly as it had started when a loud, sickening crunch which sounded so close to the shared wall that you were certain it had happened against it.
A minute passed.
“Oh, what a terrible waste,” the boss sighed at last, almost delicately. “Remove it.”
The taps receded and then soon they carried her body by your cell, blood trailing behind her.
You sat up bolt in your bed, unable to keep the bile down as you emptied your stomach on the carpet next to the bed. Sam’s side of the carpet.
You plopped back on the bed, breathing heavily.
“Just a dream,” you told yourself. “Just a dream.” Then, the reality came crashing down on you and you wanted to throw up all over again.
Abby’s quiet knock from the main door wrenched you out of bed and through the seating area. She didn’t have to see the vomit. Her face was pinched when you opened the door for her. She entered trepidly and placed the breakfast tray on the table.
“Who’s in the house?” You asked
“Just us,” she said. “Mr Dean Winchester left last night itself.”
“And S-Sam? He’s out for his run?”
“Mr Winchester left for work.”
“It’s only 7.”
She gave you an apprehensive look, as if she wanted to say something but was scared of how you would perceive it.
“What is it, Abby?”
“Miss, he’s in a right state, that man. Before you came, he used to be so dry and detached… but this past month, since you first locked yourself in your room, he’s gone from pillar to post for you. Sleep, food, everything be damned. The only thing he has done is worry.” Her hand fluttered nervously to her side. “He stumbled down the steps this morning from exhaustion and still went for his run anyway. I think he needs to see a doctor.”
Abby didn’t know what had conspired last night.
“I don’t know the deal with his brother being back now,” she said, wrangling the corner of her apron. “But everyone knows they don’t get along. It can’t be good for him.”
Sam had looked exhausted last evening. The dark circles under his eyes, the once-fitted shirt that hung loose on his shoulders, and the ever-present frown on his forehead had become more and more etched now.
“Abby, tell me when Sam is back, will you?”
You sent her away and cleaned up your mess in the bedroom. A hot shower further cleared your head. Taking stock of your time in the Winchester Mansion made you recount the number of times you had run out on Sam, locked yourself in the room, the number of secrets you had kept. So, he’d had his own secrets. You knew that.
Then there was the fact that Sam had never explicitly said he hated his brother. In fact, he’d never spoken of him without pain mingled with love. His exact words- “We had a fight and I couldn’t see his face after that.” Couldn’t…. Not ‘Didn’t want.’ Nowhere had his words implied that Sam’s consent was considered.
The day appeared stormy, with an overcast sky. Maybe the light of the lantern would carry, perhaps it wouldn’t. You set it on the sill anyway.
Dean found you at the pier an hour later, when you had nearly given up hope. He stood at his usual spot but did not sit beside you and you noticed he was dressed differently; no jacket today, just a black T-shirt and jeans.
Slowly, you tilted your face upwards to meet his sharp green eyes. How often had you wondered what Dean Winchester would be like? Bitter? Angry? But Han wasn’t any of those things.
“Get up!” He ordered, without an ounce of remorse. You got to your feet.
“This way,” he pointed and began to walk towards the jungle without a preamble.
A frisson of annoyance ran through you. Where was his abashedness?
“Sam didn’t know,” he said briskly. “That you knew me. That we knew each other. That poor bastard had no damn clue.”
“You want me to believe you’ve been hiding out in these woods without Sam knowing?”
“Yes.” He came to an abrupt stop and you realised Dean was dead serious. “That kid’s as straight-jacketed as they come. Keeping up the charade nearly did a number on his head, and then you came into the picture. Sam’s nearly lost his goddamned mind over you.”
“He told you that?”
Dean sighed in exasperation. “Haven’t you been listening to a single word? I haven’t seen Sam in months, not since the fight. But he’s my only family left. I had to keep an eye on the kid.”
The trees were too damn thick for any sunlight to trickle down. Dean started walking again and you followed.
“What was the fight about, then?” You pressed, refusing to believe.
“You,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Two years before I came into the picture? Yeah, right.”
Dean tilted his head, weighing his words. “About the idea of you, I guess.”
“Wow, that clears it all up, doesn’t it?” You laughed sarcastically.
He stayed quiet for so long that you actually paid attention to your surroundings, finding the trail vaguely familiar in the thick trees.
“We were to be married in eight weeks,” he said, voice deep and achingly sad. “She’d come to drop off pie for me. Sam says he insisted on dropping her back, but I knew my Jo. She was stubborn that one. If she wanted to drive herself, nothing Sam said would’ve changed her mind. Nothing. Ellen called three hours later asking for her. We searched all night long, all through the woods, all the way two towns over. Nothing. Sniffer dogs couldn’t catch a trail. The police found her car two days later in New Mexico… and her body two weeks later face down in the lake.”
You wanted to reach out, say something… anything, but words failed.
“She hadn’t drowned, Y/N. She’d already been dead when they threw her in there. Post-mortem said haemorrhage… blunt force trauma to the back of her head, ligature marks, bruises…” He closed his eyes unable to continue.
You knew bits and parts of what followed– Dean’s self-destructive tendency and Sam’s unwavering support. The latter won.
“Sam still thinks he’s to blame. That he should have somehow foreseen it. I know Ellen doesn’t disagree with him or shy away from throwing it in his face.” A mirthless scoff.
“I think the bigger part of her anger is because of what Sam did to you… and me.” You said. “Or rather, what she thinks he did to you and me.”
Dean sighed. “I owe Sam a lot more than my life, a sorry and a thank you. This whole plan hinges on his resilience.”
“What plan?”
He ran a hand through his hair, but his pace slowed down. “The detective working this case, Jody Mills… she’s suspected a human trafficking ring here for years. Every few years someone goes missing or a body mysteriously appears. But this thing has its claws in so deep that we can’t trust the entire PD.”
A shiver ran down your spine.
He glanced at you briefly, and you saw the ever-present kindness there. “You’re smart. I’m sure you’ve figured out a bunch of this yourself.”
Nodding to yourself, you thought out loud. “Sam wasn’t keeping me around for sex, didn’t want to hang me as bait for kidnapping, so obviously he wants information about where I was but…” You vividly remembered the night when he’d held your bloody hand and then all but shushed your barrage when you had tried to spill it all in a haze. “He stopped me from telling him… He didn’t want to hear any of it.”
Dean chuckled. A sudden light sound in the pressing quiet. “And I just called you smart.”
“What?”
“For all your God-forsaken angst over loving Sam… Have you not considered him liking you back?” Dean narrowed his eyes as if he was judging your intelligence. “Obviously it’s hard for him to listen to what you’ve been through. Hell, I’ve choked back on what little you’ve told me. Why are you being so thick?”
Tears sprang in your eyes.
He placed a gentle hand against your cheek.
“Give yourself some credit, Y/N. As stupid as you’re being right now, how can you question your own judgement of Sam so easily? You took your time forming your opinion, didn’t you? So consider all proof objectively. He was on board with the plan from day one knowing it would wreck his reputation if I disappeared after transferring my inheritance to him, knowing he’d have to make himself a villain… all for Jo. The kid didn’t bat an eye before agreeing. What led to the fight was the very last step of the plan. After infiltrating the system, he’d have to be one of them and well…”
“Buy a girl,” you finished.
“Yes,” said Dean. The word hung heavy in the air. “Sam refused to do it at first, but it was the only way. It’s killed him since day one, Y/N. And yesterday when you said he’s no better than any of those men who hurt you…”
The tears now freely flowed down your cheek and right into Dean’s palm. He slowly directed your face into his chest, tightly wrapping his arms around you.
“Oh, what have I done?” You whispered into his jacket.
Sam had banged hard on your door last night and you never gave him a chance to explain. Not a single word. If you truly loved him, how come the trust was broken this easily? And when you refused to speak, he’d respected your consent then, too.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” you said. “I should’ve trusted him, trusted you. After all, you never coaxed anything from me. I–”
A thousand memories ran through your mind: Sam’s fingers holding up your corset, touching his hand for the first time in the entrance hall before, his laugh after the false escape from dinner. Sam handing you a portfolio, Sam showing you around the old guesthouse, his fingers slipping on your wet shirt in the barn, laughing with him on the floor of your bedroom, his voice as he read out poetry… and his lips when they met yours.
“Sam took to playing chess in high school,” said Dean as you moved back. “I don’t think he ever got too good at it, but he used to come back rambling about all these moves, the King's Gambit, the Scandanavian, the Sicilian. He didn’t have anyone to play against, so I learned the basics to humour him and we played every night before bed.”
He’d started walking again and you kept pace this time.
“So there we are one night, recreating some classic game from half a century ago and I played a different piece and well, what do you know, my king ended up in a position from where he couldn’t move. Thought I’d lost because that was the only square my King was safe in. But then Sam said that’s not what it was. I couldn’t be forced to move my King to a checked square, but it wasn’t currently checked. A stalemate is what it was. That’s where we are at, Y/N.”
“A stalemate?”
“Yes. We know pieces of information, but not the ones that actually matter. It’s our move next, but every square is checked, Y/N. We need to know.”
The dim lights of the dungeon came back to you and oddly the crack of the skull. “The operation is not local, definitely crosses state lines. The building where they kept me is somewhere along New Mexico's border. It’s a huge glass building, seven stories high. I don’t know exactly where but from the se…” you gulped. “From the seventh floor, I could see a tall red tower with blinking lights. They blinked all the time… like passing seconds… but slower than s- seconds. The boss sits on the seventh floor.”
“The boss?”
“I-I don’t know his name. No one does. They only call him ‘the boss.”
“This is good, Y/N,” Dean said eagerly. “What does he look like? How does he find these girls? How does he keep them?”
“He… He looks like any other white man, in his 50’s, maybe early 60’s but his eyes, he has the coldest gray eyes and his laugh...” You stopped, collecting your thoughts. “You already know how he gets the girls. Men as scouts, pretending to be friends or lovers, finding vulnerable girls with little in the way of family. Me… Rosalie. About keeping them, there are two ways. One is standard, get them hooked to heroin. Once you have that, they’ll do anything to get the next fix. But those girls don’t make much money, yeah? They aren’t polished. I was the second kind, for the richer clientele that don’t like the smell of drugs and want the girls alive and kicking. For them, guess, it’s easier to blackmail by holding a loved one hostage. Rosalie only had a mother and I only had Jamie and Danny.”
You told him about how your siblings were held hostage somewhere, and how you stayed in line just to protect them.
“There’s very little we wouldn’t do to protect them, wouldn’t we?”
Dean nodded, then came to a halt and you noticed with some surprise that you were standing in front of the wishing well.
His fingers grazed the parapet's tally marks, and you voiced a long-lost curiosity. “Why do you have one extra?”
“That dumbass brought you here, didn’t he?” Dean snorted. “So much for our secret place.” But he didn’t seem to hold any grudge over it. “Dad brought me here right before Sam was born. Told me this was a magic well, so I needed to make a wish about what I wanted… a sister or a brother.”
“What did you ask for?”
“You see the extra mark there, don’t you?” He winked. “After the fire, I used to run out a lot, trying to find the well again. Wish my dead parents back, you know? Finally found it when I was twelve and Sam was eight. ”
“Seems like you’ve kept pace since with the tallys.”
Dean winked as if there was a secret to it, but didn’t share it with you.
“Come on, make a wish then,” he said.
“One is already due. I don’t want to burden the well.” You sighed. “Look, Dean. I’ll help you with whatever you want. I can draw plans of the building, and the street layout I could see from the seventh floor. Tell you the number of guards, the shifts, even the names of some of the clients, but I need you to promise me that nothing will happen to my brother and sister.”
“I promise.”
The walk back should have seemed like an interrogation, except Dean held your hand as you described more of the place, the people, the process… the boss.
“I told you already, I don’t know his name,” you burst out when he questioned a third time.
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Did he… Did he hurt you? This boss?”
You laughed. One short, shaky laugh. “He had a wall full of these instruments… silver, gleaming and so cold.” Then there was the glass wall.
“Oh, that son of a bitch.”
“I wonder why you think Jo was involved in this,” you said, more to change the subject that anything else. “I mean she didn’t exactly fit the pattern.” Full family, doting boyfriend, well-to-do. Blitz kidnapping didn’t seem likely. The boss had to have had something on her.
“No, she didn’t fit the pattern and for a long time, we didn’t suspect her to have been in this.”
“How come?”
Dean’s voice reduced to barely above a whisper. “No obvious signs of… sexual assault in the postmortem report.” And despite the tragedy of it, Dean almost sounded relieved. He pulled out an old wallet from his back pocket and gazed at a picture inside lovingly. “I don’t know, Y/N, it makes me feel like an asshole but knowing that maybe she might have escaped the worst of it… God, I think it kept me from throwing myself off a damn cliff.”
“Oh, Dean!” You closed the distance in-between to hug him. “I bet she–” you gasped. The wallet hung loosely in his grasp and you glimpsed the picture behind the plastic.
You grabbed the wallet and held it up. “That… That’s Jo? Your Jo?”
He took you by your shoulders. “You knew her?”
“Oh my God!” All the hurt and anger and fear came crashing down on you as you collapsed to the green earth of the side lawn. Over the years she had gone from being the girl in the next cell, to the girl with brown eyes, to the girl in your nightmares and eventually… the only thing you were proud of.
“She’s… she used to be the girl in the next cell. I knew her.”
“Who did this to her?” Dean asked, voice so sharp, it didn’t even sound his.
“The Boss did,” you whispered. “I think it might have been an accident. I only heard the scuffle and then the crack of her skull. It was quick. She didn’t suffer much.”
There was a sharp intake of breath over you and you didn’t dare look up.
“Dean, you should know, the girls there… eventually choose to stay there. I know I did. Once you stop with the kicking and screaming, it gets a little easier. The bad days are lesser and most clients don’t treat you like complete trash. There’s food on your plate at night and poor orphan girls have a bed to sleep in when they comply… they…. we stop fighting. Because there is no relief to fight for, no home to go to and no one who could protect us. But your Jo, she never stopped. I bet she took a few teeth out of that one guard, too.”
“Did they… did anyone ever…?” He could not spit the entire sentence out and you saw the courage it took to finally confront that question.
You looked straight in his tear-stained tortured eyes. “No one hurt her that way. I… I took her turns for the week she was there. I still don’t know why I did it. I’m not a charitable person, and it was hell that week, but something about her faith in her fiance reminded me of, well, me… before I found out how I got there. I wanted to protect her faith just a little longer. So, no Dean, no one touched her that way. And you should also know, she died like she lived, fighting and believing in your love for her.”
Dean hugged you and broke down. “Thank you… Thank you for doing that for my Jo,” he blubbered. “You’re… You’re like an angel. Sam said that you know… yesterday he said that he thought you were some kind of an angel when he first saw you dressed in white. Wasn’t wrong.”
And you broke down with Dean. The night had descended upon you, as you both held each other in the darkness and just cried.
Much later, locked in the dining room, you drew the floor plans of the building from your memory, a map of the road and the way to the bus stop that you could remember, the names of the guards, physical descriptions, names of the girls, anything and everything you could think of. The maids all gave you curious looks. Getting along with a brother-in-law would be normal for most families, but an estranged brother-in-law who you had never supposedly met? Knowing the history they knew, that had to look shady.
As it turned out, Dean had been alternating between living in the Guest house in Sam’s room and a cabin further north that not many people knew of in the estate. He knew ways to sneak in and out better than almost anyone. Hired security was never too big a problem for him. He was to set out first thing tomorrow morning to see how he could use your intel.
“You know my roommate Carmen,” you said at the door when he was about to leave. “She might have been the only one to care for me back then. I fought with her the night before. If you can do one thing for me, find her and tell her she was right and I am so very sorry.”
“Of course.” Dean stepped up and kissed your forehead. “And Y/N, I’m going to get that bastard. Not just for what he did to Jo, but also for what he did to you. You said you didn’t fight after a while because you didn’t have a home, a family. Now you do. Remember that.”
You watched Dean head out. He would be gone before you woke up tomorrow, but you felt lighter than you had in years, like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. Upstairs, you found Abby in her room.
She stood up the moment she saw you. “Miss, is everything alright?”
“Yes, Abby. I was wondering if you knew when Sam would be back?”
“He was home earlier this evening but didn’t stay long. I believe he left for Colorado.”
Hurt. “Did he say anything about when he would return?”
“No, Miss.”
“Did he ask about me?”
“No, Miss.”
“Did he say anything at all?”
The pitying shake of her head was enough for you to turn around and return to your room. What if you had hurt Sam beyond fixing this time? Abby had been correct, he looked fragile, not just physically, but something about the fragmented look in his eyes, as if one blow could shatter him. What if your hurtful words and vitriolic accusation finally pushed him to the edge? How much bullshit could one man take after all?
You had stepped into this house thinking you would be used, and it was the most horrid feeling in the world. What if Sam thought the same now? That you had used him… used his home, his wealth, and his empathy. Hell, you had used his body, too!
No, you didn’t pray for yourself much. But in that moment you did- God, please give me one chance to apologise. Please.
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A/N 2: So turns out I was tagging all wrong :/ Ana is feeling sad about that. Hopefully, it will work this time.
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