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Brave New World Part Six

Title: Brave New World
Author: awennra
Summary:Lord Samuel Winchester is sent to the New World by his maternal grandmother, the Duchess of Devonshire where he is to marry a young heiress of a very successful colony, if not he will be disinherited. Forced into their ways, by his future brother-in-law, he is ushered to a whorehouse where he saves a man from a rape, a man for whom he feels strange attraction...
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Supernatural
Warning: Non-con/rape before
Disclaimer: Not-mine
Rating: Perhaps NC-17 overall

“Lord Samuel,” Dean said in a curt voice, refusing to look higher up than Sam’s jaw.

“Dean, please don’t…”started Sam in a quivery voice, looking now more than ever like a young inexperienced lad.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his face crunched with pain. “I shouldn’t have said those words, no matter how upset I was…I had no right…”

Dean flinched at the last words. He knew that that was not true. Sam as a Lord and the future son of the Beauvoir family had every right to treat him like dirt. Here it was people like him who had no right.

However hard he had struggled, he had not been able to buy his freedom. He didn’t even *know* from whom to buy his freedom, and somewhere it was that despair and frustration that he lashed out on people of power, privileged ones like Sam who could enjoy everything that *he* couldn’t.

Dean watched Samuel watch him, the latter’s eyes tearful, searching for forgiveness but Dean was unnerved by the close scrutiny. He wanted to say something nasty, it was like a reflex to him, he could not help it, but he had been nasty before, and things hadn’t turned out well, so with all his strength he restrained himself and finally, with a small sigh, he admitted: “I have no idea how to be friends with anyone…”

Sam twitched up an eyebrow in surprise, this was not the answer he had been expecting, but these were Dean’s words that he was hearing. Sam observed him, curiously while Dean continued:

“I haven’t really interacted with people other than the slaves of this plantation,” he admitted. “Your world is not mine, my Lord. Outside my business hours, I can’t say I’ve mingled much with *your* kind…”

*My* kind? Sam thought, almost scowling. Now this was getting weird, but then he remembered that these were times of slavery. Of course, Dean would not be comfortable around him. He’d be furious even with people like him.

People of power were always taking advantage of Dean and his like, and Sam was sure that the fact that Dean could not do anything about it must hurt his pride and self-respect. He cleared his voice.

“Could we just forget about everything and start all over again? Like a new beginning?” Sam suggested, unable to stop a tremor from running down his body.

God, he thought, shaking, feeling the heat of embarrassment taint his cheeks red. He could not believe how pathetic he sounded even to his own self, but he just could not explain it: he*needed* Dean. In any way that he possibly could, but he *had* to have him in his life.

The shorter man ran a hand into his dirty blonde strands, cut inches shorter than the acceptable fashion of the era.

“Sam,” he breathed out, as if he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders, “I don’t think this is a good idea…”

“But I sincerely *want* to be your friend, is that so hard to believe?” asked Sam, hating himself for sounding as if he was begging, which he was. But at least, Dean had not called him ‘Lord Samuel’ as he had demanded him to.

The shorter man looked torn between pain and indecision for a moment. Sam just stood there at the bottom of the stairs fidgeting while Dean looked down upon his form a few steps up.

The silence was becoming kind of heavy and awkward between them when suddenly Linda and a young man looking eighteen or so approached them by the stairs, breaking the tension.

“Fine,” Dean finally said, seeming resigned. “Come on, follow me. This place is getting more and more suffocating by the minute…”

Linda shot an angry look at them as she climbed up the stairs with the boy closely following her almost tripping on the trail of her dress.

Dean did not say anything; he just looked away and started to walk towards the main entrance in long fluid strides.

Sam watched him for a few seconds frozen not knowing what to do until the shorter man turned around and threw his way a meaningful glance.

“Are you coming or not?” he said in an impatient voice.

Sam snapped out of his reverie. Dean’s voice sounded strained and tired, but he could not help feel that he was being given a chance that a rare few have ever gotten before: he was being allowed a glimpse of the true mystery that was *Dean*.

The night felt like the first time Sam that had come to the whorehouse. That had been some four months ago and yet, he could still feel the same electricity in the air; the same urgency mixed with the heady scent of flowers and crushed grass. But unlike the horror of that night, this time Sam felt freer and more hopeful, like he was becoming part of some secret.

He watched Dean walk a few steps ahead of him, confident and careful in the semi-dark. It was clear that he *knew* those twisted paths, familiar with each and every bend and turn and plant.

Sam followed him in silence. He did not dare say anything in case he ruined this night like he’d ruined (but only *partly*) their last ‘hunting trip’.

It’d been a while since they’ve been walking, and though Sam was tired, he chose not to complain this time. It would be difficult to roam about with this man, Sam thought. For if this man was going to be his friend, he would never be able to keep up with his walking stamina and apparently this was something Dean did a lot.

Conversely Sam absolutely hated hiking, but at least, this had gotten Dean to calm down. Sam had almost *felt* the shorter man’s anger ebbing away the deeper they went into the wilderness. It made him slightly uneasy, like he had grown attuned to the man’s feelings.

*Dean*, he thought, letting out a deep sigh. Dean, the stranger who no longer felt like one…

“I used to come here and hide,” Dean said suddenly, breaking the thread of Sam’s thoughts and leading him to a huge tropical almond tree. “When I was a kid and that things would be too much for me to bear, I’d come here, away from civilisation-I still do. I’d feel safe under the shade of this tree, almost like the embrace of the mother I don’t really remember having… With the rustling of the leaves as a lullaby, I used to cry myself to sleep...”

Sam thought he was dreaming the voice at first, but when he looked up, Dean’s lips were moving in the eerie light of the moon. He could not help the flutter in his heart as Dean batted his long eyelashes in a wistful way. His heart ached for the shorter man.

As he watched the latter’s face crumble with countless pain and emotions, all he wanted to do was reach forward and enfold the latter in his arms, but Sam did not dare do so. He *could not* do so; he had no right plus he did not want to maim the latter’s manly pride, especially when he was choosing to trust him, to share with him his deepest secrets, things he had obviously never shared with anyone else. Sam felt his heart swell with affection and he moved forward, listening to the shorter man with an undisguised fascination.

“It was like having my own secret place…” Dean said, half-lost in his memories, oblivious to his surroundings. “I don’t think anyone really knew about it, they still don’t.”

He let out a little laugh and shrugged. “And this works to my advantage really, people believe this part of the forest is haunted.”

Sam had no idea what to say to that that would not seem appropriate, given his rather comfortable upbringing in contrast, so he kept silent and listened while letting his eyes take in the sight around him.

From his height, the almond tree was still huge and imposing. It surprised him that a tropical plant would flourish in those parts of the country but the branches long and sturdy, reaching wide and high in a large circumference around them was evidence enough for Sam to actually believe it. He was always a man that needed things proven for him to believe, but he also knew when to keep an open mind.

“You’re an odd guy,” Dean finally said, turning his attention on Sam who twitched up an eyebrow in surprise.

Of all the things he’d expected Dean to say this was the least expected one.

“And why is that?” Sam retorted, trying not to sound annoyed.

Dean grinned letting himself fall down onto the mushy ground covered with dead leaves. “Well, for a lord you’re a fool to want to befriend a whore!”

Sam gave out a wince. “Do you need to always frame people in typical roles? This is not what defines us! This is not who we really are! Please do not demean yourself like that!”

Sam could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and neck. They could never talk without starting an argument, so he was surprised when Dean merely shrugged him off without a word and lounged down on the ground with his head resting on his upturned palms.

“You don’t speak like an Englishman,” he commented dryly, “Especially not like a Lord of your rank if you believe the rumours…”

“My nana was from the New World,” Sam said quietly, joining him at the bulging roots of the tree. “She was the one who brought me up, that must be how I’ve caught the dialect from her. But my father too spoke differently; he used to travel a lot.”

Sam broke into a chuckle, drawing out a curious glare from the other man. “It makes my grandmother mad to hear me speak though I make an effort to be ‘proper’ before her.”

Sam cast a furtive glance at Dean, before adding: “She’s very severe about manners and etiquette…And I think that’s why she sent me here. Maybe she knew that no proper lady of the ton would like to be wedded to me…” His voice dropped at the last sentence. “It was like I never truly *belonged*...”

“But do you want to be here?” Dean asked.

Sam jerked at the question, for a moment baffled, tongue-tied. The shorter man’s features remained calm and smooth though, even if he could sense his ‘friend’s’ unease. He kept his eyes closed savouring the air, the peaceful night, the symphony of the cicadas and other insects.

Sam let his gaze fall upon his questioner, surprised evident at the latter’s inquiry, but he retained a semblance of composure.

“It does not matter what I want,” he said, with a sad face. “Her orders are always meant to be followed.”

There was a brief moment of silence between them, then, Dean was suddenly up on his feet. “Maybe you ought to be taught what real freedom feels like!” he let out in a cheerful voice.

Sam watched him with knitted eyebrows; the noise felt somehow ‘wrong’ in the sanctuary where they were seated. And frankly speaking, Sam was a bit afraid of Dean’s crazy ideas after their brief ‘hunting’ trip, but he’d never admit it aloud. “What do you mean by that?” he said instead.

“You never take risks!” Dean said, grinning like a five year old at Christmas. “Here people are *enslaved*, and yet still they know how to enjoy themselves! They know how to live, how to make the most of each and every day, even in their darkest pains! They have that special *spark* that makes them feel alive! And true happiness and joie de vivre is what no amount of money or power can ever buy!”

Sam watched mesmerised as the other man’s face lightened up. As his features softened and a true smile curled up his lips, it was as if Dean had de-aged by a few years, the enthusiasm making his green eyes sparkle. It was then that Sam realised that he had never been so enamoured by *anyone* *ever*!

“Come with me,” Dean said, animated by a strange excitement. “Tonight Lord Samuel, I’m going to teach you how to live!”

Apprehension flooded all over Sam in powerful waves, but before he could open his mouth to protest, Dean was already pulling him forward by the hand, guiding him away from his no longer secret hideout.


Brave New World Part Five

Title: Brave New World
Author: awennra
Summary:Lord Samuel Winchester is sent to the New World by his maternal grandmother, the Duchess of Devonshire where he is to marry a young heiress of a very successful colony, if not he will be disinherited. Forced into their ways, by his future brother-in-law, he is ushered to a whorehouse where he saves a man from a rape, a man for whom he feels strange attraction...
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Supernatural
Warning: Non-con/rape before
Disclaimer: Not-mine
Rating: Perhaps NC-17 overall

Sam was not feeling well at all that day, but Antoine insisted that he go out with him and his friends, especially after he’d been hiding away in his room for so many weeks after the disastrous ‘hunting’ trip.

He had not told them about that part; no one knew besides Laurent, and Patrick, his personal coachman. They all thought that he had caught a bad fever from a visit to the wild swamps, which was only half the truth.

Sam had been in a bad shape since then, and since one could easily die of a high fever in those days, Cecilia had personally taken care of him, nursing him back to his good health. In return, as he had slowly begun to recover, Sam had spent all of his free time with her, going riding, walking, on picnics, reading, playing the piano and Cecilia had been more than happy at her fiancée’s more affectionate behaviour. Lest did she know that the latter was doing all of this out of a sense of duty and somewhere also out of sheer guilt…

Because now, almost four weeks after the ‘incident’ when his anger had completely melted away, and that his mind had had its time to clear out, Sam had realised that he’d been in denial. He had refused to recognise the attraction, the *need* that he was feeling for the stranger he had saved that one lucky night.

*Dean*, his mind supplied whenever his heart or his body began to ache for that stranger.

So, when Antoine proposed to go back to the whorehouse to drive away his moroseness and frustration with pleasure, his mind had not been too keen, and yet he’d known that this was unavoidable. Whoring was apparently a decent thing to do amongst the higher class of the New World, he thought bitterly.

Sam gave out a sigh as his coach stopped right after Antoine’s in front of the House of Hearts. He had been careful to bring his own transport this time in case he needed an early getaway, but now that he faced the building he only wanted to see Dean, though he was not sure if he had the strength or the courage to face him again, especially after what he’d said to him on their last meeting.

He knew that that statement had been cruel and humiliating though most people of his rank probably thought the same thing. But this had been *him* and even for him that had been an awful thing to say. He had not meant it in any way, but he did not know why that had come out of his mouth. Maybe, it had been the exhaustion or the frustration or both, but in the heat of the moment after all that he had endured that day, and for the whole week trying to seek the man’s favours in vain, Sam had wanted to hurt him. Yet in his heart of hearts, Sam knew that what he had been really upset about were the bad memories that the hunt had stirred up in his mind, snapping at Dean had only been his defence mechanism…

Sam slowly let himself slide out of the coach. The cheer, the laughter and the banter of the ladies and the gentlemen from inside accompanied by a sweet music was a balm to his ears after weeks of social reclusion and silence, but his heart still bore the weight of something else: guilt and longing.

Dean should have known that he was only a novice, Sam could not help thinking. He had not been prepared at all for that day. He was a lord, not a hunter. He was not used to sweat a lot. He had *servants* for that reason! Dean should have anticipated *this*, his reaction, but then Sam reasoned: how could Dean have known that the real reason that he’d been upset was because hunting actually terrorised him? How could he have known that he abhorred hunting, that it unnerved him, made him uncomfortable, that he just simply *hated* it with a child’s stubbornness because that was what had cost him his mother? And now, he did not know how to chase away those bad memories anymore…

“Now, now, who’s back?” taunted Linda in a singsong voice when her gaze fell onto Sam as he walked in a few steps behind Antoine and his company of friends. “The young Lord with the saving heart!”

Sam gave her a sharp glare in warning but she had no intention of keeping her mouth close. With Antoine as her most faithful benefactor, she was more in power than ever, and she just wanted to show Samuel that, taunt him when he was at his most vulnerable.

At her mercy, she thought. Then, smirking, she turned her attention to Sam’s future brother by alliance who was already voicing his question, the curiosity blatant in his tone.

“Saving heart? Samuel? Did I miss something?”

Linda gave Sam a triumphant look. “Oh, didn’t His Lordship tell you how he bravely saved one of our finest possessions and nursed him back to good health?” She grinned, before adding, “That too on all *his* expenses?”

Samuel cringed at the word ‘possession’. He could not bear to think Dean as being a mere ‘property’ in this whorehouse. His right hand curled up into a tight fist at his side. He could even feel himself controlling an outburst that would have been most inappropriate in front of Antoine and everyone. The anger must have shown bad on his face because for a moment, Linda lost her smile and froze. Sam knew he had a real bad temper, and whoever it was normally directed at, that person instinctively knew that he was done for.

“Really?” let out Antoine as he turned from his retreating friends to Sam. “Who did you save Samuel?”

At that moment, when Sam had no other choice but to answer the question, someone else did it in his place.

“That would be me, I guess,” said a familiar voice, coming down from the stairs. Sam’s face instantly brightened up, the anger dissolving into a smile as he looked up to meet his eyes, but Dean purposefully avoided his gaze.

“Dean,” Antoine intoned in distaste as if the simple name made him want to puke or something.

“Antoine,” the latter replied back in a curt tone that hid as much animosity as Antoine seemed to harbour.

Sam looked from one man to the other, feeling the air become almost tangible with electricity. He could swear that if he’d run his sword between the two of them, the sharp blade would have definitely been able to cut through the tension between them.

“So, I see you’ve had the good fortune to meet my future brother-in-law,” Antoine said, the haughty inflection and pride back in his voice.

“Yes, we’ve had the pleasure to meet,” said Dean, “On a most unfortunate night…”

Antoine cocked up an eyebrow. “Well, I guess judging by your looks, you’ve healed all right then. Already back in business!”

Dean suppressed a wince, but his tone was a silent dare when he next spoke:

“No thanks to you, I’ll have to say,” he said, as calmly as he could. "If you had more control over your goons, no one would ever have to fear for their safety around here…”

Antoine gave out a hiss as Dean crossed the distance between them and stood in his personal space. But then, the former drew even closer and muttered in challenge:

“Maybe if you’d keep yourself out of the business of others, you wouldn’t have found yourself in the shitiest of situations!”

Sam cringed at the tension between the two men who were almost at each other’s throat snarling when Linda made her voice heard.

“Now, now gentlemen,” she chided, “this is a nice night for celebration in a respectable environment, let’s not spoil the mood for our other guests. No more fights between the two of you…”

“Somebody got to remind him of his place sometimes!” Antoine gritted between his teeth, his voice full of spite. “He should know how to speak to people beyond his position!”

“Yes, yes,” Linda shushed him. “But don’t you forget that it is *I* who manage this place,” she added, “You have no say or authority in our business at all!”

“Well, not for long,” growled Antoine. “I will make sure that you all pay for this.”

He looked into Dean’s eyes who watched him impassive. “You better watch your back,” he spat out, “’cause next there be might not be lords in shining armour to save your pathetic little ass!”

Antoine cast an angry look at Dean and then glanced back at Samuel before turning his attention back to Linda. “Send me up a sturdy lad instead of the usual, I’m in a filthy mood tonight…”

And with that he stormed up the stairs leaving Sam and Dean alone with the lady of the house who also scurried away, afraid to displease her most faithful and powerful client.


Brave New World Part Four

Title: Brave New World
Author: awennra
Summary:Lord Samuel Winchester is sent to the New World by his maternal grandmother, the Duchess of Devonshire where he is to marry a young heiress of a very successful colony, if not he will be disinherited. Forced into their ways, by his future brother-in-law, he is ushered to a whorehouse where he saves a man from a rape, a man for whom he feels strange attraction...
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Supernatural
Warning: Non-con/rape before
Disclaimer: Not-mine
Rating: Perhaps NC-17 overall

One week later…

“Where are we going?” asked Sam, his voice sounding like a whine even to his own ears, but he could not care less at this point.

His feet were aching, his lungs were barely functioning, his heart was on the verge of failing, and he was overdressed for this unexpected trip in the forest.

Lord Samuel Winchester wanted to scream out his frustration, but the man in front of him would only find this more amusing, and he could not give the latter one more reason to tease him.

Strangely enough, the man already made him feel… *inadequate*. To him his title and his status did not matter, and for once in his life Samuel felt like he was being judged and measured for the man he really was. Only he was not sure who that man really was at all. He could not say that he has been given his fair chance of being himself without the societal and familial obligations. Without his title and his family and his money, he had no idea himself who or what he was.

Sam watched his guide trudge in front of him, strong and vigorous, braving the curvy unexplored paths, slicing the overgrowth barring their way, focused and unwavering in his stamina and determination, and certainly not tired in the least of ways.

Sam knew that he was fairly fit and healthy himself, more than the average youth of his age, but this *man*, this…*Dean* in front of him, he was like some force of nature, like some superhuman or something. Else, how could he not be tired? They had been walking for hours and hours, treading deeper into the wilderness!

Sam muttered a curse under his breaths. If this was the man’s idea of thanking him for saving him, then he almost regretted that good action.

“Where are we going?” Sam persisted, once again, like he had already done a countless times before they had set out on this expedition.

“Just be quiet,” said Dean, with a frown. “If his Lordship wasn’t so slow, we would have reached a long time ago.”

“You are crazy!” Sam said, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Why in hell did I agree to this trip?”

The man gave out a chuckle. “I thought you wanted us to be friends?” he said, but Sam noted the sarcasm in his voice. It had not left him since the first time they’d met. He always used that as some sort of taunt. Sam heaved out a sigh. Why in hell was he being so difficult?

“If I knew this was a punishment for saving you,” growled Sam, “then God knows how sorry I am for doing that in the first place!”

For a moment, Sam could swear that he’d seen the man shudder. So much for a reaction, he scoffed. But then, he sensed the man flinch. He looked up on instinct when his breath caught in his throat.

If he had been only a fraction of second early or late, he would have certainly missed it, but he had been just right on time, and always a good observant, so he did not miss the flicker of hurt as it streaked across the man’s eyes.

Sam bit at his lips, feeling guilty as the man before him paled. Why did he have to be so reckless in nature with his thoughts? Someday that will cost him a lot.

The man met his eyes hesitantly. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

Sam reddened. God, he could be so stupid and senseless sometimes… So, deciding to drop the anger, Sam opted for truthfulness. “No, of course, I don’t.”

He stayed quiet for a while and then added, “It’s just that I am tired and frustrated, and we’ve been walking for so long…Let’s just stop for a moment…”He looked up, his voice breaking. “Please?”

The man softened, and Sam did not realise until he’d said it just how much he was exhausted. His legs wobbled underneath him and he stumbled onto the wet ground until he landed with a loud thud onto his backside.

He expected a laugh, but the man before him only reached quickly to stabilise him, his hands pressing him down by the shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked, genuinely concerned. Sam looked up, surprised. “I don’t know. I feel weird.”

“Here, take a few sips,” the man said, handing him his water bottle.

Sam hesitated at the weathered leather. This thing looked like an antique piece. Dean could not help an amused smile. “You’ll die but not drink from my bottle, now *that’s* really snobbish of you…”

Sam cast him a murderous look, snatched the water bottle from his hands and let the cool liquid tumble down his throat in a sort of silent challenge. Then, he finished by splashing some of it on his face, completely drenching his hair.

Dean watched him slightly mesmerised, intrigued for the most part of it. Then, he said, “You know this was the only water we had for miles, and you just wasted it all for your pretty face…”

Sam looked up, gaping. He did not know what affected him the most the fact that they had no more water, or the fact that this man had just qualified him as a ‘pretty face’.

He decided that it was wiser to let the comment go. He corked the bottle and returned it back to its proprietor.

“Just why are we here, Dean?” Sam asked, ignoring the shiver running down his spine as he pronounced the man’s name.

He didn’t know why, but it felt still strange to him to call the stranger by his name. Somehow that sounded too personal, too intimate. “What do you want to prove?”

The man shook his head at him and looked up, his voice strained when he spoke. “Look, I’m sorry, okay, if you felt that I was being… difficult. I did not make you come here to insult you.” He paused. “Nor to humiliate you…”

“Then why?” silently questioned Sam, stretching his legs.

The man gave out a sigh, suddenly seeming much older. His eyebrows creased and for a split second, Sam wanted to reach out for him and smooth those worry lines, preferably with a kiss. He was almost bending forward when he stopped himself, inwardly horrified. Just *what* was wrong with him?

“I have no idea,” the man said, seeming sincere. “I guess I just wanted to thank you in a way.”

Sam exploded in a laugh. “*This* is your idea of *thanking* me? Wow, if I was your enemy how would I be treated?”

He was only half in jest when he noted the way the man’s green eyes slanted dangerously. He sucked in a breath, suddenly afraid. Maybe this had not been such a good idea at all to come here with a stranger. He felt relieved that his carriage and two men were waiting for him at the edge of this forest.

Dean was about to speak when a sound suddenly echoed throughout the wilderness. It was some sort of a grunt, followed by a scuffling sound. Wild boar, Sam mused, but instead he asked:

“What was that?”

He could feel his heart squeeze tight inside his chest.

“Shhh,” his guide let out, the hunter in him taking over. “Be quiet, and get on your feet.”

Sam silently obeyed when the man continued. “You wanted to be my friend, no? Prove that you were not just another haughty lord? Well, this is now your chance!”

Sam dreaded the worse. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re just going to turn this little hiking expedition of ours into a real hunting trip…” With that said he slid off his coat and uncovered a rifle slung across his body.

“You…brought us here… to hunt?” Sam stuttered.

“Yeah,” smiled Dean, his face becoming suddenly bright, almost radiant with the excitement. “Why?” he teased. “Does that bother our Lordship?” He chuckled. “I thought you lords revelled in hunting and stuff…”

Sam blanched at the words, but Dean did not notice it. “I…don’t think…it’s a good idea…”

“Why? You don’t like to hunt?” The man observed him curiously, then with a large grin added, “Ah, don’t worry, ‘cause you’re going to be bait today!”

Sam’s eyes widened at the words, the crazy expression on Dean’s face making him back away a few steps.

“How fast can you run?” the latter asked.

Sam arched up an eyebrow in apprehension. “I guess faster than average…” he said, his voice unrecognisable to his own ears. He paused to breathe, then, carefully added, “Why?”

“Because I want you to run as fast as you can,” Dean said, his voice barely audible.

Sam froze when at the same time, around them, the air became suddenly stiller. The unnatural silence made Sam move instinctively towards the man in front of him, who leaned closer to him, grabbed him tight by the arm and whispered:

“Down the path to your right is an old, abandoned oil pit. At my signal, you run there as fast as you can, stopping only when you reach the dead on centre of the circle, understood?”

Sam looked at him confused. “Understood?” the man repeated, his tone so stern that Sam almost gave him a ‘Yes, Sir’ in return, but he refrained himself at the last minute, only muttering a soft, uncertain ‘yes’ in the end.

Then, suddenly the Lord in Sam interfered. “Just what game are you playing at?” he demanded. “If this is some kind of a joke…” he hissed, at which Dean stopped him with an upraised hand.

“Look, you helped me, I get it. And I know that I’ve been wrong in the way I’ve treated you this whole week, so this is my way for you to get to know the real me. I’m offering you my trust here, my companionship. I’m willing to take a risk with you here...” He held up his hands, “Don’t ask me why, I don’t know, but the question is: do *you* trust me?”

Sam looked at him for a moment as if he was mad, but then he quietly nodded.

“Good, for if you mess this up, we’re both dead meat...” Dean let out.

Before, Sam could even realise what the man had said and what was happening next, the latter had already taken his right hand in his own and sliced open his palm with a hunting knife.

“What the hell?” winced Sam, as the sharp blade cut through his skin, letting out a fresh trail of blood that soon became a stream as it trickled down onto the ground with a sickly sound.

“Let it flow,” said Dean, as Sam instinctively curled his fingers around the wound. At the same time, a growl filled up the air, coming from somewhere dangerously close to them.

“What was that?” Sam tried again, unable to hide the panic out of his voice. Dean ignored him as he put the knife back into its sheath on the belt by his waist.

“Remember what I said?” he asked, as the growls deepened around them, moving in closer.

Sam nodded, with a brisk “Yes.”

“Then, run!” cried Dean.

“What?” Now, he was appalled.

“You heard me man, run!”

At which Dean cocked up his gun and gave out a shot into the air. A flight of birds fluttered out of the trees in panic. Sam was hesitating when he saw a huge black form coming out from the low bushes. His breaths hitched up in terror, especially when the creature began to sniff the air, almost appreciatively. And just then, he *knew*.

He cast a glance at Dean, feeling hate pooling out in his insides. He was *bait*, now did he understand the full implication of the word!

Sam felt a gush of heat escape his pores as he stood momentarily glued to the ground. It was as if for a split second, everything had slowed down.

The creature crept out of the shadows and he could not stray his eyes from its salivating mouth and the big sharp canines, even as the creature approached him in an almost lazy stance.

Dean prepared the rifle, maiming the creature with a loud shot, but it was as if the wound was barely registered.

Conversely, the shock of the sound tore Sam from his reverie and as soon as he gained back his composure, a searing pain snaked its way through his body.

Sam instinctively pressed at his injured hand, but this only facilitated the flow of the red liquid out of his palm, the scent of which strangely attracted the beast closer and closer.

Dean opened his mouth in a loud shout: “Saaaaammm! Rrrruuunnn!”

Sam looked up at Dean when the creature suddenly took a leap at him. Sam ducked away and ran, barely escaping the creature, but when he looked back the next second he was already a long distance from where he had been standing. This must have been his survival instincts kicking in, for Sam could not feel his legs, he did not even remember running, only he *was*.

His vision was slightly blurred, but his pace only increased and increased as he followed Dean’s said directions, looking for an oil pit that he hoped would be at the end of the road.

The creature was closely tailing him. He could hear the snarls, the close shaves, the jaws repeatedly snapping at the air where his legs had been just a few seconds ago until the ‘presence’ was suddenly no longer one but *two*.

A pair of beasts, strangely resembling dogs but were not dogs, were hunting him down, for his blood… for his meat... Was this even real?

Sam was on the verge of breaking, he could feel his muscles becoming strained, aching as he stretched and stretched much further than he could. His previous fatigue only worsened his condition. He could even feel his breaths becoming an agony when suddenly he broke out into a clearing.

A shout then brightened his spirits, not so far behind him. “Sam, the pit,” the voice said, “Quick!”

He was not alone, thank god! And he had never been happier to hear anyone call his name than then in his entire life.

Sam obeyed, without thinking twice, throwing himself into the thick puddle of black oil when he felt the two creatures snap at him. Their claws grazed his skin, shredding his fine gown now ruined, when another shot exploded into the air, but this time followed by a soft squelching sound.

“Out now!” came the order. Then another shot, but Sam could not move not even when he heard the beasts drawing closer to him. But, then there was a wall of fire that crept between him and the beasts creating a barrier of protection for him just as he let himself go limp into the oil pit. He told himself that this was only for a second for him to catch his breaths, but he could feel the strength escape his limbs.

The heat was stealthily crawling at his skin; the smoke was slowly clogging his lungs, and even as the squealing yelps of the creatures as they caught on fire reached up to his ears, Sam could not find it in him to wake up. He was allergic to dogs, he thought, wanting to laugh, maybe that was why he was falling, but he knew that his weakness was because of the major blood loss.

He could hear the discreet trickle of the liquid mingling with the thickness of the oil. He could almost visualise the pathetic sight he made, him lying there crumpled in a pool of his own blood…

The flames were growing closer; the flickering sounds growing louder with the every throb of his heart when against the background of it all, he heard the desperate voice of the man he had saved.

“Please, Sam. Get up and out now!”

But he could not move, and darkness was slowly edging towards the rim of his eyes, clouding his perception of the rest of the world. Maybe he had even collapsed, but then as he was about to give up totally and let himself be enveloped in the quiet stupor that was slowly beckoning him to it, strong arms pulled him out, away from the heat.

His wound was bandaged by a cloth that he guessed was a handkerchief while that voice began to chant his name, as if in a prayer, pleading him to wake up.

He allowed himself to be cradled, slowly stirring himself out from the darkness when he received a stinging slap on his cheek. The shocking pain of it forced him to open his eyes.

“Sam, come on, man! Don’t do this to me!”

His vision slowly cleared, but then as the stranger’s face came into his sight, he felt all his anger become concentrated in his fist which he then flanked right into the man’s face.

“What the hell!” the other man winced.

Sam felt his strength returning to him. He took in a fresh bout of air as he stood up on his feet, and before the other man could retaliate, he punched him once again, but now in his stomach.

He did not want to ruin the stranger’s face, his logic spoke to him. He would not be the one marring such a flawless beauty.

As expected, as soon as that thought crossed his mind and became registered, a gasp escaped Sam’s lips, his face contorting into a mask of horror.

O lord, how could he be even *thinking* about this?

Once again, Sam could not help wondering what was worse, thinking that the stranger was beautiful, or not wanting to hurt him even when he had almost got himself killed.

Sam smacked the man once more with all his force as the latter thought ran in his mind, but the object of his…desire?... wrath?... disdain?...was not fighting back.

When Sam became much calmer, trying to regain his breaths, the stranger finally spoke:

“Look, I’m sorry, I never meant for this to go wrong like this…”

But Sam would not hear of it. He raised one hand in authority, stopping the man short. “Don’t you *dare* say one more word!”

His voice was hoarse, but the threat was clearly there. Dean lowered his eyes, digging his incisors into his lower lips. Sam guessed that it was shame that was tainting his cheeks red, but he did not want to think about that in that moment.

“I was stupid to think we could get along,” he said, regret clearly marking his every word. Then, his tone deepened. “But, you were right. Lords of my rank do not waste their time with petty whores like you and their crazy hobbies!”

Dean winced at the words, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew that he had just lost his privilege, so slowly, without a word, he removed his clothes, shredding them down to the last until he was stark naked.

Sam watched him wide-eyed, secretly alarmed at this unexpected show of skin. “What are you doing?”

Dean kept his voice low as he spoke. “We should swap our clothes,” he said, “it would do you no good to be seen the way you are…People would ask questions…” They would still probably ask them if Sam was wearing his clothes, but better look less classy than clearly attacked and downtrodden.

Sam cast a look down at his apparel, and then gave out a sigh. It was true, he was covered all over in sticky goo and oil, plus his trousers and shirt were partly shredded from the claws of the beasts that had attacked him.

“Fine,” Sam agreed, slowly divesting himself of the ruined clothes as Dean looked away.

In a few minutes, they had changed, but still no one made a move to speak, so silently Dean gathered all his equipment and turned to walk away, reluctantly followed by Sam.

Hours later when they reached Sam’s carriage by the edge of the forest, Dean looked up at the taller man, his face twisted in silent regret and agony.

“Please Sam, I’m really sorry…” he began, his voice soft and trembling.

But Sam shook his head. “No, you’ve lost the right to call me by that name. From now on, I’m only the Lord Samuel to you…”

“Just let me explain…” insisted Dean, but Sam cut him off.

“Look, I’m tired,” he finally said, with a weary voice. “I was so lonely here that I’d thought that I could make a friend out of you. I gave you so many chances during the past week to acquaint ourselves and you refused to take each and every one of them. And then you called me here… I came, but after all this,” he gestured with his hands, “I’m not sure if I still want to do this. We’re better off without each other in our lives.”

With that said Sam let himself up into his carriage and slammed the door shut even before his valet could find the time to back away. “Let’s go, Laurent.”

The dark-haired young man, who looked barely in his middle teens, cast an apologetic glance at Dean, his blue eyes slanting at him with sympathy. Then, he climbed up in the front besides the coachman and signalled him to leave.

Dean watched the carriage speed away dejectedly and muttered a curse under his breaths. This was so *not* how the day was supposed to go. Maybe he had been indeed stupid to want to let Sam get a glimpse of who he really was. He had now scared him, or angered him, or both he was not sure, for life and he had no idea how to make things right again between them.

The truth was that he sucked at these things, things like emotions and relationships, and he could not say that he had had good role models whilst he had grown up.

Dean knew that he should have let Sam go right then, perhaps things would have been better like this, but somehow his heart could not even begin to agree to this.

Sam was the first man who had made an effort in trying to get to know him. The latter had *saved* him and not caring about his reputation, he had tried to befriend him.

He could not just let such a man go away from his life, at least not like this. He *had* to find a way to make up for today. He *had* to have the man in his life. He could not explain it, but with Sam near, suddenly his life had become more bearable.

When he had woken up after his ‘incident’, Sam’s visits were something he had looked forward to, and though he had refused his many invitations at first, toying around with his words, making sarcastic comments and teasing Sam about his rank and people, sometimes even categorically refusing to see him when he had shown up to take his news, he had known that actually he had been *enjoying* the latter’s company.

He would not say it loud, but even Sophie had remarked his brighter disposition. And the Lord, he had taken all this with good humour. He had not even seemed ‘lordly’ in any way, not even when he had taunted him, Sam had just been a regular young man seeking company and a good conversation. But today, he knew he had pushed things too far, the man had not been ready for this.

Even him had not predicted two creatures, and the *fire*…He wondered where he had gotten the strength to pull Sam out of that fire, he who was normally paralysed by even thinking about its potential eventuality.

Dean gave out a determined sigh. He would do his best to gain back Sam’s good favours.


“Sam!” cried Cecilia, the moment her eyes fell onto her fiancée.

Lifting up her pale blue and white gown, she ran up to his side clearly shaking, her big blue eyes growing wide and tearful with worry.

Cecilia de Beauvoir was a petite woman with clear creamy skin and dark curly hair that cascaded into shiny locks onto her shoulders, and though she did not even reach half Sam’s size, she was someone sturdy despite her graceful and delicate features.

“What happened to you?” the latter inquired. Her voice was soft and caring.

Sam turned sideways, a frown forming on his brows when the woman wrapped herself half around his arms. He had not heard her call his name, too lost in his own thoughts.

“Cecilia,” he acknowledged, his voice barely a whisper, but it was as polite as he could make it.

The woman let go of him quickly, mumbling an apology as she sensed his discomfort at her show of affection. He felt ashamed at himself. This was not the woman’s fault what had happened to him, or that he was obliged to get married to her. She was his fiancée, she had the right to touch him, but he was in no mood for pleasantries for the moment.

“I’m sorry, but this is not a right time,” he said, as he watched the woman’s face grow paler and sadder by the minute. Now, he felt guiltier, but he promised himself that he would make an effort to please the woman the whole day tomorrow to make amends. After all this was the woman he was supposed to marry, the future mother of his children, it was his duty to make her happy.

“It’s okay,” the woman said, “I am not hurt.” Sam knew she was lying, but he let it go.

“Do you want me to have a bath prepared for you?” she said, eagerly. Sam realised that he must have been really filthy to her standards if she was proposing to do that herself. Or maybe she was only trying to get closer to her fiancée? Sam preferred the first idea, though he knew that it was probably the second one that motivated her.

He softened. “No, Ceci, it’s fine,” he said, as warmly as he could. The woman brightened at his use of the nickname. “I need some time alone to clear my mind,” he then added, massaging the T-zone of his face with his fingers, “Maybe later…”

Without giving the woman time to respond, Sam was already running to his chamber. He sped down the hall, staggered up the stairs, winded along the endless corridors until he was finally in the warm cocoon of his room where he clapped the doors close and let himself fall onto the softness of his bed.

As he moved his arms to shield his face, he finally let go of all his pent up emotions, letting the flood of tears break down from his eyes, liberating the embarrassing sobs and whimpers that were throbbing at the back of his throat…

The close shave with those ghastly creatures, his fallout with the one man he thought he could have befriended, the frustration he felt at the idea of not seeing him again and the way his heart and even his *body* were beginning to ache for him…

All this only fuelled his distress, despair oozing out from each and every fibre of his core.

God, just what was happening to him?

Sam buried his face into his pillows, drowning himself in his agony until he fainted with the drain of the energy and the tiredness of the day, the face of a certain Dean only a distant memory at the back of his consciousness…


Brave New World Part Three

Title: Brave New World
Author: awennra
Summary:Lord Samuel Winchester is sent to the New World by his maternal grandmother, the Duchess of Devonshire where he is to marry a young heiress of a very successful colony, if not he will be disinherited. Forced into their ways, by his future brother-in-law, he is ushered to a whorehouse where he saves a man from a rape, a man for whom he feels strange attraction...
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Supernatural
Warning: Non-con/rape before
Disclaimer: Not-mine
Rating: Perhaps NC-17 overall

Fire, this was all that he could see for miles and miles around him. He was trapped and slithering serpents of fiery flames were blinding his sight.

He could feel the ripples of terror spreading through his body, even as a scorching wave of heat gushed at his skin making him scream.

He could *feel* it penetrate his skin, a fear so primal that he was transfixed, glued to the ground, unable to do anything as the flames slowly licked at his skin, smouldering his flesh…

This could not start again, Dean thought.

Silently heaving, suffocating between pants, he could feel his chest was aching from the lack of air.

Cassie, his mind supplied. I need Cassie.

But the flames were too powerful, and he was burning and burning...Until someone called his name, and the pain suddenly disappeared…

Dean woke up to the whisper of his name, spoken by someone he could not recognise. He tried to move but he was caged under the warmth of a male body half sprawled across his chest.

His first instinct was to try to move, but then he decided otherwise. The arms were too gentle around him and it felt good, even comforting to be held like this. Like he was cared for, and maybe even loved.

He knew that this was an illusion but he let himself relax in the embrace.

Never before had he felt so safe and protected. He could feel his heart slowly decelerate, his breaths becoming more even, his eyes closing on their own, when suddenly he remembered his position.

And he cursed himself for being so foolish. He could not let hope infect his mind, not even in his wildest fantasies. This was like gangrene; if he allowed it to spread it would maim the rest of his self, bringing him to a terrible downfall.

No, he shook his head. He could not afford such a disappointment. Love and affection were *never* not part of his destiny. It was time that he learnt the lesson.

He was a slave of pleasure, he was denied such privileges; he could only please others, never, *never* himself.

Feeling a wave of anger storm through his veins, Dean gave out a growl, almost throwing the intruder off his body, but he was too weak in the end and the man too heavy to budge.

The brusque movement earned Dean a terrible wince.

“God,” he let out in a tortured whisper, as a sharp jabbing pain pierced through his flesh, coiling its way up his spine.

He dug his teeth hard into his bottom lip, struggling not to cry even as he felt the treacherous tears biting at the rim of his eyes.

His breaths started to grow shallower, light sounds escaping his mouth as he panted when images of the former night suddenly flashed in his mind.

*Sawyer*, he gritted between his teeth. If only he could kill that bastard, cut his flesh into small pieces and feed them to the alligators of the swamps!

But he knew that he did not have that power. Even if he did it and/or even dared finish the latter, Dean would be the first one everyone would suspect. He had been the only one who had openly challenged the large man. No one else had dared voice any kind of protest against his malpractices, his mistreating of the women, and even the children, his cruelty to the workers of the plantations, his overhunting of the game, leaving almost nothing to the slave population. The list of his sins was too long, but if his boss knew that he, Dean had had something to do with his *disappearance*, he’d be given the execution of slaves. He had a personal grudge against Dean, but then again, in the end, he was only chattel, tossed between proprietors depending on who was to make the most profit out of him.

Maybe if Auguste, his old master would have been alive, things would have been different for him. He could not really complain, even if the man had tainted his innocence, for then really, he had been better off. The man had always treated him like a son, whenever he wasn’t warming his bed that is.

He had insisted that Dean was given a proper education. Not a mere slave, he had said. But even then, when he had been so young, Dean had known the truth. He *belonged* to that man and he wasn’t the only one. He had only the luck of being his favourite.

The man had taken good care of him. He had even arranged him a room in his main property, the one where he lived with his whole family. One was never supposed to bring mistresses, or whatever he was, in the house, and he had experienced the contempt, the hatred with which the family members had looked at him. He had been intruding but no one had dared question or oppose himself to Auguste who was not only the head of the house, but also the most powerful man of the colony.

His word was the Law and that was final. And so, Dean had learned to read, to write, to fence, to ride, to play, to dance, to sing, like any other gentleman was supposed to be. Only this had only made him a better whore for the aristocracy.

Another wince escaped Dean’s lips as the weight over his body shifted in position. This was doing nothing but aggravate his plight, but he did not want to be rude, especially if he was guessing right and that this was the young man who had saved him last night.

He heard a shuffling and the sound of his door opening. “Dean, you’re awake!” cried Sophie, relieved, making the intruder jump up awake.

Dean received a full view of his saviour’s face.

“What?” said the other man suddenly alert, spit drooling down his chin. Then, casting a puzzled, half-lidded look around, he added, “Where am I?”

Dean could not help but explode into a loud, hearty laugh.

As that laughter echoed throughout the room, so sincere and so spontaneous, the other two bystanders could not help but exchange a confused, but mildly and pleasantly surprised look.

Dean returned his gaze to his saviour as his outburst slowly faded. The dark hair dishevelled, slick with sweat and the hazel eyes narrowed in slight wonder at his antic gave the already handsome face of the stranger an ethereal look. He was a man child, so blatantly virile and yet so innocent looking at the same time, that his heart could not help but skip a beat.

He recognised that trait. He had worn that once, but so long ago that he probably did not even remember it. This was a look that was untainted by the cruelty of this world, and for one moment, he loathed himself. He did not want to be one because of whom this young man’s cocoon will be shattered, but perhaps it was too late for that.

Dean let his eyes close as he slumped back on his pillow.

This was too much for him. He could feel his mind working on overload, and his body just could not keep up with that.

A bout of nausea swept over him, and he bucked sideways, bringing his fist to his mouth, as another wave of pain shot through him. He should really avoid any brusque movements.

Sophie approached the bed, pouring him a glass of water and handing him a few white pills. He took it all in silence, his face blanching as all the traces of a previously unguarded joy effaced itself from his features.

The man at his side sucked in a breath, as if hurt, when Dean cast a curious glance at his saviour.

Why was he still here? He could not help thinking. Surely, he had better things to do, than lie at the bedside of a prostitute.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked timidly.

Dean could hear the tremble in the man’s voice, also the concern, but this did not stop his acidic reply. It was automatic, and he just could not help it.

“How does one feel after a rape?”

The young man hissed, as if he had just been slapped. And Dean bit at his lip, instantly regretting it, but he did not know how to be grateful, especially with the high class people.

It was Sophie who gave him a hard slap on the shoulder. “Dean, you should be more polite! Lord Samuel here saved you, carried you to your bed, paid for all your expenses, especially when that wretched Linda refused.” Her voice grew shriller at this point. “He even volunteered to stay here the whole night when I was called in for business, watching over you, running down the fever with cold compresses. You should really thank him and not be so rude, mister!”

The young man’s gaze dropped in silence, tears threatening to soil his cheeks. He looked so helpless, sincere, and heartbroken then that Dean suddenly felt the urge to just bend over and take the stranger in his arms.

The latter was making such a desolate and helpless sight right there by his bedside that Dean just could not believe it. Did such an embodiment of kindness, innocence and righteousness in anyone still exist?

“It’s fine,” said the man, suddenly regaining all his lordly stance. His voice was firm and steady as he stood up and met Sophie’s eyes. “Send me word, if you have any need whatsoever. There is no need to hesitate. You can even come in person if you wish, I will talk to the guards, have the money sent to you to clear the debts.”

With that, he turned to leave when suddenly Dean chose to speak. It was now or never. He could not let his saviour leave like that without a sincere word of thanks.

He knew Sawyer, that man would have probably killed him and dumped his body somewhere if the stranger had not come to his help. They may not even have found his corpse ever if had been eaten by the alligators or the other wild animals.

He tried to sound as grateful as possible.“Please stay, I’m sorry. It’s just that…I’m not used to such kindness...especially by lords of your rank…”

He could feel the rasp of his voice, the faint twinge of weakness tinting his words, but that was what stalled the steps of his saviour.

“I only wanted to help,” the man said in his defence, sounding so much like a child again.

Dean watched him with another curious look, before adding, with a sarcastic smile. “Well, maybe, I could use the help of a friend, who knows?”

He was only half in earnest when the stranger rewarded with a smile so bright that he found himself wishing that he was never deprived of such a radiant sight ever again.