destiel au, fantasy setting, slave!dean, elf!dean
Castiel loathes the slave markets. The sickly sweet smell of incense to mask the seer of burning flesh; the barks of merchants, as cavalier as if they were selling produce instead of people. It makes his stomach turn, his hands shake.
Yet, here he is, cajoled by his eldest brother into accompanying him to the Sereville Slave Market. He’s ready to leave as soon as they set foot on the grounds. Large tents and open booths crowd the field, the smell of too many bodies is thick in the air.
“I don’t want to be here.” Castiel says.
He doesn’t see Michael roll his eyes, but he can hear the annoyance in his voice. “I know, you want to be home. That’s the only place you ever want to be.”
“I have things to do.”
“We all have things to do, but you have to leave your house every once in a while or mother starts to worry, and then the rest of us have to intervene.”
The suggestion that Castiel’s self-isolation is a burden makes it impossible for him to keep the scowl off of his face. He didn’t ask to be bothered, he didn’t ask for his family to feel the need to pressure him into social outings. He’s been this way for 27 years, they should be used to it by now.
“If it’s so much trouble, why did you agree to it?”
Michael sighs, “Mother worries.”
“Yes, you said that already.”
“And it still holds true.”
Castiel presses down the urge to snap at his brother. It won’t get them anywhere. It won’t make this trip any less unbearable.
“Why are we here?”
Michael is scanning the tents with an uninterested eye, looking over slaves as one might browse for shoes. He picks a tent seemingly at random and strides inside. Castiel hesitates a moment before following, his disdain for the whole affair warring with his fear of being left alone here. The inside is dim, a sweet smell is thick in the air. Slaves stand on pedestals, still as statues. Michael reaches out to touch one’s arm, to turn it this way and that appraisingly.
“I’m down a few of my staff. It’s time to replenish.”
Staff, he says. Castiel looks away, resisting the urge to shake his head. Michael calls them staff as though they have a choice in what they do, as if they make a wage.
“What happened to the last ones?”
Michael sighs again. He’s doing that a lot today. Maybe he just does that a lot around his youngest brother. He looks around the interior of the tent and, deciding that there is nothing he wants, steps back out into the sun.
“Well, you know elves, very breakable.”
There is no way for Castiel to answer without invoking Michael’s ire. He cannot say what he wants to: that Michael’s “preference” for elven slaves is gross fetishization, that the way he treats them is horrid, that owning slaves at all is shameful. Maybe he should say it, he almost has a million times. He’s said it to friends, even to some other siblings, but not to Michael. The cowardice of it eats at him, but he’s never been able to open his mouth and say it.
Instead, he says nothing. Thankfully, Michael rarely requires an answer, only an audience. He follows his brother for a good ten minute while Michael mutters about his being a second rate market and gets more and more agitated.
Happenstance has them near the outskirts of the market, browsing the open air showings, when a shout catches Michael’s attention. A branding pavilion stands nearby, and the source of the sound is quickly evident. A man is bent over a large stone block, bracelets of iron around his wrists and ankles marking him as a slave. He’s restrained by two men now, but it looks as if that were not the case moments ago. A third man stands close by, a red branding iron in one hand, the other hand is clasped to the side of his head. Blood trickles through his fingers, down the side of his face.
“He bit me.” The man snarls.
“Oh? What do we have here?” The light in Michael’s eyes sends a chill down Castiel’s back. One of the many things he knows, and wishes he didn’t, is that Michael likes “the challenging ones”. He likes to break them.
A host is quickly blocking their view, hands held up.
“I’m so sorry, sir. No need to look at that, why don’t we just go this way.” He tries to herd them away but Michael is steadfast.
“No, no. I’m interested. Spirited, isn’t he? Can I see him?”
The host hesitates, looks back at the block. The slave has stopped struggling now and is breathing heavily, not as though from exertion, but like he’s hyperventilating. His eyes are shut tight.
“Alright, I suppose. Stand him up.”
The two men holding the slave down move to pull him upright. He has a handsome face, dark blond hair, and long, pointed ears. Castiel feels a chill of fear before he even hears his brother hum approvingly.
“Ah, Elvish. Beautiful thing, isn’t he? Does he have a buyer?”
The host purses his lips. He looks to be choosing his words carefully. “Well, no. He’s being moved to one of our permanent facilities.”
“This one? You mean to tell me that he’s just going to be doing manual for the rest of his life? With that body? What’s wrong with him.”
“No one will keep him.” The host explains. “In the beginning it was fighting, running away, talking back. Now…” He looks over his shoulder at where the young man is standing like a statue but for the quickness of his breath, “He won’t speak, he won’t eat. He’s becoming useless.”
Michael puts a thumb to his bottom lip, a smile widens his mouth. “A challenge.”
Castiel knows what Michael is going to say, to do. He knows how this is going to go and he can’t stand it. He can’t let it happen. Afterward, he’ll wonder if he wasn’t possessed for a moment by the spirit of someone braver than himself.
He takes a step forward before Michael can say anything else. “I want him.” He declares.
The host and Michael both stare at him.
“You what?” Says Michael.
“I, uh, I would like to… purchase him.”
Michael narrows his eyes. He takes a step back and plants his hands on his hips. Then, to Castiel’s surprise, he smiles. “I always knew you’d come around.” He says. “All your holier than thou bullshit, you just hadn’t seen the right one. He’s special, I’ll give you that.”
“I- I still don’t agree with-”
“Yeah, save it. I know how you really feel, now. You really want this one, then?” Michael shakes his head. “Damn. Well, that’s a loss for me, but at least you’re down off your high horse.” He claps Castiel on the back so hard that he stumbles forward a step.
“Uh,”
“Alright, let's get this sorted out before you change your mind.”
- this is one i’m writing currently, and I’m wondering if anyone will be interested in reading it. If you have any thoughts, let me know!
