Title: Brave New World
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
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…