Disclaimer: Yes, I can also recite all the American president's birth dates.

Dean is 14, Sam is 10

OKAY! This is the most OUTLANDISH fic I've written.

Sorry for the delay! Life's hectic at the moment :P

Chaps kinda longer than usual.... and I LOVED writing it, so i hope you enjoy :)

WARNING: There's a pretty... disturbing scene in this chapter. It involves the death of a child. NOT SAM OR DEAN. but it's disturbing all the same. That's with all the other usual warnings as well. Sorry if you're squeamish :/

Enjoy chapter five!


Not much changed over the next week. Dean continued to visit Sam in the kitchens/plantation, when his father didn't want to see him. The few times his father did want to see him, the completely drained Dean emotionally, and the emotional stress wearing him out physically. But speaking to Sam always seemed to help, being able to spill his emotions and out freely and have someone just listen. And the more Dean talked to Sam, the more Dean started to recognize the different facial expressions and gesticulations that Sam used to express himself. Of course, Sam rarely expressed himself freely, needing almost an order from Dean to actually get Sam to try and convey anything. But Dean had plans to work on that.

But watching his father's brutal treatment of Sam was becoming increasingly harder. No matter what, Lord Johnathan always found something faulty in Sam's mannerisms. As the days passed, Dean noticed the increased number of injuries that covered Sam's body. Whenever Dean asked, Sam would just shrug and try to move the conversation away from himself. But Dean was getting increasingly worried and this horrible feeling in his gut was growing, day by day. Not the usual nausea and bile that came up when his father forced him to punish slaves or when he watched his father deliver the cruel punishments. This was something else. It wasn't so much a physical feeling. It was all the more worse than the feeling of nausea. But whatever it was, it seemed appropriate given that he was watching his friend being slowly tortured.

Oh yes, that was also new for Dean. Sam wasn't just a slave he got along with or someone he enjoyed being around. He actually thought of Sam as his friend. Maybe it was because Sam was closer to his age or because he got to do all the talking while someone listened. Whatever it was, Sam was more than just a disadvantaged slave to look after. He was a friend to take care of. And that just made his father's treatment of Sam all the more unbearable.

Clara, with intuition that matched her experience, figured all of this out and was trying even harder to keep Dean away from Sam. Not because she didn't care about Sam, or because she thought Dean was being improper or any nonsense like that. But, because she could see the bond the boys were forming, she believed that it would make it that much harder in the end when the line between master and slave became painfully apparent. Or when Lord Johnathan forced that line upon them. She wanted to spare both the boys that future pain, fearing it might through one or both of them over the edge.

She could see them coming together like perfect pieces of a puzzle. Perfect for each other, but vastly different. This would make their separation more difficult, but it had to be done for both their sakes. Before they started to fully depend on each other. Sam needed to accept his role as a slave and learn to deal with the harsh realities of his social standing. Dean needed to step into his role as master and stop caring for his slaves in such a manner, for reasons Clara had already thought of before.

But no matter how hard she tried, Dean always managed to find his way to Sam. She was just hoping she could put an end to it before it was too late.

---

"One of the key things..." Lord Johnathan said, "is to be able to punish them severely enough without impeding their ability to work."

Dean nodded numbly as his father walked back and forth in front of the slave who was currently chained to the wall. According to his father, this slave hadn't met his quota as far as what he should have gotten done for the yesterday.

"There are certain punishments I can't use on this slave. Why is that, Dean?"

Dean swallowed. "Because then they wouldn't be able to work."

John smiled. "Exactly. So how should I punish this slave? Technically almost any physical punishment I deal out, even if not harsh, will effect his workload. So what do I do?"

Dean gripped his arm tightly, trying to keep himself from shaking too hard. Tears were brimming his eyes, but he blinked them back so his father wouldn't see. "I-I don't know," Dean said quietly.

John shrugged. "The answer's pretty simple." He nodded to one of his guards, who disappeared behind the door for a moment. Then the guard came back, dragging a woman holding a small bundle to her chest.

"You punish him mentally," John said with a sly smile.

Dean felt his stomach roll as John walked up to the woman and yanked the bundle from her. When the small bundle started to cry, that's when Dean realized it was a baby.

Because Lord Johnathan hated children slaves, most of the slaves were very careful not to get anyone pregnant. How this woman was able to bring a baby to turn without anyone noticing, Dean had not idea.

Lord Johnathan turned to the chained slave. "You know you're not supposed to procreate."

"No! Please!" the slave begged. "Y-you can double my workload! Please! Just don't hurt him!"

The woman, the mother of the baby, just stared wide eyed at her child with tears falling down her face. She had yet to utter a sound.

Lord Johnathan stood just out of the chained slave's reach. "To me..." Lord Johnathan said. "This is letting you off easy." Lord Johnathan gave the baby to a guard, who smiled cruelly as he gripped the baby's screaming head, and permanently silenced it with a crack.

"NOO!" the slave screamed, tugging on his chains. "You! You! YOU!" The slave sobbed unintelligibly.

Lord Johnathan waved his hand dismissively. "Take the slave back to the plantation and keep an eye on him." As he walked past the woman on his way out, he kicked the sobbing woman in the side, then brought his foot back and kicked her full force in the face, knocking her out. "Chain the whore up. I'll deal with her later."

"NO!" the slave screamed again as he was dragged off. "Please! Just leave her alone! Marcia! MARCIA!"

Lord Johnathan sighed. "Ahh, what a mess...." He looked at his son. "I have to take care of some business. I'll see you at dinner, Dean."

Dean nodded numbly as his father left. Dean was left standing alone with two guards and the unconscious woman, Marcia, who hung now from chains. He only stood there for a moment before bolting out of the room, running as fast as he could.

The cracking of the little baby's neck echoed in his head. Marcia's horrified look, the slave's tortured scream... it was too much. It was too much.

Finally, Dean fell onto his knees and vomited. He heaved and coughed, his entire body straining with the gags and heaves. When the gags finally ceased and his stomach was completely empty, harsh sobs assaulted his body. He cried like the baby might have been right now. He wrapped his arms around his body and rocked back and forth, the loss of a life so young cutting deeply into Dean like a dull knife through thick hide.

Please god... Dean silently begged as he rocked back and forth, eyes screwed shut. Make it stop... please make it stop...

---

Sam was trying to cut the wheat down, but with almost no muscle mass, lifting and handling the scythe was extremely difficult. The fact that all his fingers were broken on his right hand didn't help.

"Hey."

Sam turned to see a woman approaching him. Sam put the scythe down, knowing exactly what was going to happen next.

And as expected, the woman grabbed Sam's arm and dragged him away from the other workers. When they were in a secluded area, the woman's eyes shined with lust. She threw the frail boy on the ground and quickly undressed him, ignoring the tears of pain that were falling down Sam's face.

Unable to utter a single sound, Sam's screams and whimpers of pain were nothing but exhaled air. The woman pinned his hands under hers, ignoring the fact that the broken bones were grinding against each other. She mounted herself on top of him, placing her now naked groin on his. Sam cried harder as the pressure of her weight pressed his freshly flayed back against the ground. Getting annoyed by the boy's weak struggles and tears, and she slapped him soundly across the face several times. Then she proceeded to hump Sam, getting her pleasure out of the helpless boy.

In this place of torture and despair, when you were a slave on the Winchester property, you had to do every you could to survive. That's why Sam was always prone to abuse of every kind. He was an easy target. Couldn't complain, couldn't report them. All he could do was take it. It was a dog eat dog world, and Sam was the weakest and most convenient of them all.

When she was finally done, she cleaned herself with Sam's clothes and returned to her work, not giving Sam a backwards glance.

Sam curled into a small shivering ball. He didn't bother getting dressed. All the slaves knew when Dean came out and they used that time to their fullest. It would only be a few minutes before someone else came and used him.

Sam accepted this reality long ago. Everyone had a role to play in this system and this was his. He was everyone's release. He was the one to save everyone from insanity. He, himself, was worthless. Even among the other slaves, he was just there for whatever they needed him for. Whenever one of them was stressed or recently punished, Sam was there for them to punch their grievances out on. When one of them failed to find a sexual partner amongst the other slaves to relieve themselves, he was to be their whore.

Lord Johnathan had his uses for Sam as well. Though, because Sam was so worthless, Lord Johnathan usually had to punish him. Lord Johnathan was more... creative in his punishments than his last master had been. While physical pain was a large part of them usually, Lord Johnathan loved to do other things. Sam had come to develop a deep fear of small dark rooms.

Then... there was Dean. Dean, who did nothing but talk. He never hurt Sam, used him, or ignored him. He treated Sam like a person. Sam didn't know why and didn't understand it. But he liked it. A strange feeling would fill up Sam's chest and the world would just seem so clear and bright. He didn't even realize the world was so dark before he met Dean. The feelings from before stayed, but even so, Dean made it better. Made it... Sam didn't even know how to describe it. It was like nothing changed, but then everything was better at the same time. Dean did this. Dean made the world like this and Sam wanted to be around him forever. Sam wanted the world to stay like this forever. But Dean would inevitably have to leave. And the world would grow dull and dark. The abuse would start again and Sam found himself wanting Dean. He had never wanted like this before. Sure, he used to pray for his mother to come back to him but this was different. Sam starved for Dean as a man in a desert starved for water. Sam wanted to latch on to Dean and never let go.

But that would never happen. As much as Dean made the world brighter, Dean still only talked to Sam like that to work out his own grievances. Sam was still worthless and still only there for the convenience of others. Someday, Dean wouldn't need to work out his problems with Sam anymore. Then he would never have to come back and the world would forever be dull and dark.

There were footsteps. And sure enough, a moment later, a young man was flipping Sam over, holding his ass in the air.

Sam screwed his eyes shut, his mouth open in a silent sob as the man forced his penis into him with a single hard thrust. It was time for Sam to be the convenience once again.

---

Dean stumbled through the tall stalks of wheat. He was hot, still shaking, and exhausted. But he wanted to see Sam. He needed to see Sam.

He found Sam easily, curled up at the base of a tree nearby where the other slaves were working. As usual, Sam was sweating and bright red. A thick, bitter, primal smell covered him. Dean knew it was the other slaves doing what Jack had done before, but he wasn't able to do anything about it. As much as it pained him to see his friend like this, he couldn't do anything without getting them both in trouble with his father.

Dean stared at Sam from a distance for a moment. The sound of the baby's neck breaking echoed in his head again, making him cringe. For some reason, he was imagining Sam's neck under that guard's hand. Sam, that Lord Johnathan was ordering to kill. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought, but he pushed them back. Instead, he walked up to Sam and swept him up into his arms and held him tight.

Sam stiffened as arms encircled around him. He knew it was Dean, but he had no idea why Dean was hugging him. It didn't seem like the slaves who wanted to touch in between his legs. But he had no idea whatelse this could be. Whatever it was, though, it felt good. Sam found himself closing his eyes and snuggling into the warm embrace.

A few tears leaked out of Dean's eyes as he squeezed Sam impossibly hard. He wanted to say something to Sam. Tell him how much he meant to Dean. Tell him how much of a difference he's made in Dean's life in such a short time. How grateful he was for Sam. Anything. But for some reason, he couldn't get anything out.

"Y-you..." Dean swallowed hard. He slowly let go of Sam, sitting back on his legs. Sam looked at him with a worried, wide-eyed expression. Dean saw the broken fingers on Sam's right hand and gently grabbed and cradled the hand in his own. The hand was hot, purple and swollen. His father must have been really angry... He swallowed back his tears again. "You have no idea how much you mean to me."

Sam frowned, not understanding what Dean was trying to say. He raised his left hand and tentatively grabbed the sleeve of Dean's shirt, looking back up at Dean's face. He licked his lips as if he were about to say something, but they both knew he couldn't. So Sam just gently tugged on Dean's sleeve.

Dean shook his head, tears brimming his eyes again. "I-I... I saw something awful today. I think my Dad just wants me... to learn." Dean shook his head. "I don' wanna learn..." Dean squeaked out. "I want out. But I can't. I've thought it through and... I'm stuck."

Sam didn't know what Dean was talking about, so he just tugged on Dean's sleeve again, egging him on.

Dean swallowed the extra phlegm that was building up in his throat. He looked directly at Sam. "And you..."

Sam looked down, as if suddenly remembering his place on the social order. He took his hand away from Dean's sleeve and his broken hand out of Dean's and rested his hands onto his lap.

Dean placed a finger under Sam's chin and lifted his head, making sure Sam was looking into his eyes. "I wanna help you," Dean said quietly. "I wanna hurt everyone whoever stuck their pecker in you," Dean said with more anger in his voice. He grabbed Sam's injured hand again, handling it with extreme care. "I wanna stop my dad from trying to make you his new personal slave."

Sam looked beyond bewildered, Dean's words not making any sense. Not only that, but the way he handled Sam's abused hand like a piece of delicate glass to be cared for was just beyond confusing. Why should Dean care about Sam like that? Why is he treating Sam like he cares. Sam shook his head. He looked a little panicked as he started to mouth words, trying to speak.

"Sam, Sam!" Dean said, trying to calm the boy down. "I know you feel worthless. You must feel like the most worthless person on earth. Even slaves treat you like you're lower. Like you're just an animal," Dean spat with tears in his eyes, remembering the day he found Sam with Jack... treating him like that. "But you're not. You're not an animal. You're not worthless." Dean's voice started to break, but he didn't care. He shook his head and gave Sam the most serious look he could muster. "Not to me."

Sam's eyes started to burn and hot stuff started to fall down his face, but he didn't even notice. He was simply too overwhelmed, his mind barely even comprehending what Dean just said to him. Not worthless? Not to him? Wh-what does he even mean by that?? Sam brought his uninjured hand up and clutched his head in confusion, his breathing starting to quicken.

Seeing Sam break down and becoming overwhelmed, Dean leaned forward and wrapped his arms him, being careful of Sam's wounds. Sam curled up in Dean's arms, his shoulders shaking with broken sobs. Dean shook his head, more for himself than for Sam. "Not worthless..." he said, barely audible.

When Sam's sobs were quieted, or more accurately, ceased, Sam sat up a little, staying in Dean's arms. He placed a hand on Dean's chest and patted it lightly.

Dean frowned. "Sam? What is it?"

Sam indicated himself before touching Dean. He repeated the action several times, trying to get him to understand. He touched Dean in different places, his chest, his lips, his forehead...

Dean frowned. "Something... about me?"

Sam nodded. He more earnestly touched Dean's chest, looking at Dean with longing. He licked his lips and tried to mouth some words, but he was going too fast for Dean to catch them.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, Sam. What are you trying to say?"

Sam swallowed. He mouthed one word several times until Dean got it. "I?"

Sam nodded. He mouthed the next word.

"Air?"

Sam shook his head. He mouthed it again.

"Air... hair... care?"

Sam nodded eagarly. He mouthed the last word, touching Dean's chest for emphasis.

"You?"

Sam nodded, smiling broadly.

"I care you." Dean looked at Sam in surprise and... honestly, Dean was more touched than he's ever been before. "You care about me."

Sam nodded again, looking down as if he just did something wrong.

Dean hugged Sam again, reassuring him that he hasn't done anything wrong. And as his thoughts started to wander, an uncomfortable pressure was born in his chest, and he had a feeling it wasn't going to lead to anything good.


I really like this story, and I hope you do too :)

Sooo...? Review and let me know what you think :)