Sam is Snow White and Dean is the Evil Queen. Wait—Is that true? And if so, how can they possibly get a Happily Ever After out of the tale?

Author's Note: So that was the idea. But then that idea morphed into this. And this? Well it's not as close to a Snow White retelling as I'd like (and you definitely have to squint to see the Disney Snow White elements) but it is what it is. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: Sam and Dean are not related. There are some SPN names and some non, just so's you know. No canon warnings as this is obviously AU. This was my entry for the last round of the J2 Ever After challenge but I know some people prefer Dean and Sam so I'm in the process of changing it for here. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Abuse and rape and torture, slash, nothing extremely explicit but consider yourself warned anyway.

On with the story…

It was a moment. All it took to change Prince Dean's life forever was one moment. And it wasn't even a particularly outstanding moment either. Rather it was a moment that Dean had already lived many times over. He and his sister were at the market, searching for something fresh to serve for dinner that night. There was the sound of raised voices and what seemed to the young prince's ears to be stones crumbling. He quickly grabbed his sister's hand and whereas on any other day Giselle would have protested she clung to Dean's fingers, allowing him to pull her away from the fracas. Then a cry went up but before Dean could do more than turn his neck in the direction of the shout he was struck in the head with something so heavy and hard that he surrendered to blackness without even a token protest.

And upon waking inside a rolling carriage he had learned that he was a captive. Dean had found that his hands and feet were both bound and the discovery filled him with fear.

That discovery now paled in comparison to what he'd already been forced to do as a prisoner. Dean struggled to compose himself. He wanted nothing more than to let loose with a curse, knowing that his magic would help him revenge himself upon the one who had taken him captive and had already forced him to perform truly vile acts but he knew he couldn't.

"You are so quiet, my little whore," the man, who was actually King Marcus of Campbell, the kingdom to the north, said with a laugh, "Saving your energy for our next romp? That would be wise; for once we have returned and I introduce you to my playroom your energy shall be expended."

Dean froze in place though he couldn't help but feel his ire rise. If he had his way, he'd—

"Of course, should you refuse I am sure your sister will be only too happy to take your place," King Marcus continued, reminding Dean of why he wasn't blasting the carriage apart and ripping him limb from limb, repercussions of using his magic be damned. His younger sister Giselle, the very definition of a princess in his family, was also being held hostage in one of the carriages. If only Dean's magic wasn't so dangerous to use! But he'd been assured time and time again that to employ his magic was to risk repercussions he wouldn't soon recover from.

When the carriage finally rolled to a stop King Marcus secured a collar and leash to Dean, ignoring the futile twisting and thrashing as Dean tried to get away. Once the collar was tightly secured he cut the bonds on Dean's feet. The carriage door opened and he stepped out into the air, descending the velvet steps which had been placed for his use. He yanked roughly on the leash and Dean fell out of the carriage and down the steps.

"Mustn't bruise that pretty face," King Marcus mocked as Dean awkwardly got back to his feet. "You wouldn't like the consequences."

Dean was going to say something, although he didn't know what, when his attention was diverted by a young lad. Probably a few years younger than his own eighteen years Dean watched as he bounded over to King Marcus who scowled when he noticed him.

"Where is Mother? Did you find her?" the boy asked and Dean couldn't help the gasp which escaped as the King backhanded the youth and sent him sprawling.

"Enough! Every time I return you insist on plaguing me with the same questions! She is gone, do you hear me? She will never return and it is high time you learn to accept it as truth!"

When King Marcus' hand rose again Dean didn't stop to think what he was doing he simply stepped in front of the King, keeping the lad between them and out of range. For a moment King Marcus froze then he let loose with a loud booming laugh.

"Oh ho! What do we have here? A display of spirit, hmm? It seems, Sam, you have found yourself a champion. Well, hero, let us away and see if we can't find a way for you to expend some of that energy."

And Sam looked up in time to see his father leading a young man away by what looked to be a collar and leash, as if he was leading a beast of some kind. It was obvious the man was a prisoner but Sam couldn't help but wonder why the stranger had stepped in to protect him. He vowed to sneak to the dungeons at the first chance he had and find out for himself.

That moment came before long, sooner than Sam would have believed but he'd been so intent on finding the young man he had fallen into silence at dinner, wondering how soon he was going to get to him. His silence had apparently pleased his father who had sent him off to bed without another lecture on his mother. Sam had long since memorized the guards' schedules so it was all too easy to wait until the wee hours of the morning, when the nightly guard was at the end of their shift and so more tired than ever to sneak away and down to the dungeons. When he arrived he had to clasp both hands to his mouth to keep the sounds inside.

The young man lay on the floor, his clothes torn and dirtied, and there was blood. Enough blood that Sam knew the man was injured seriously enough that he should by rights have been sent to the healer. But that wasn't going to happen so Sam resolved to find out what he could. And so he looked his fill of the prisoner and decided his earlier guess was right, that this was indeed a young man of a few years more than his own sixteen but no more than mayhap four. And he was fair of face, and would be fairer still without the grime and dirt which smudged his visage. He had a smattering of freckles which betrayed a love of the outdoors, a love Sam shared, and the most intense green eyes Sam had ever seen. Green eyes which were staring right into Sam's gaze and with a start Sam realized the lad had woken up if indeed he had ever been asleep.

"I am Sam," he told him softly, "What is your name?"

For a moment it seemed as though Sam would receive no answer. And then the stranger sighed.

"Dean, Prince Samuel. My name is Dean."

"What has happened to you? And please, call me Sam," Sam asked, unable to think of anything else when faced with the sight of this young man in such pain.

"Do not ask me to tell you," the young man (Dean, his mind reminded him, his name is Dean) said in a flat voice. Sam understood from that tone that he would not be hearing the answer to his query any time soon, if at all. He felt saddened for Dean and vowed to visit this courageous man until such time as he learned something which would keep him away.

"Why did you step in front of my father?" Sam asked.

"You did not deserve the abuse. I merely sought to stop that which I saw as unjust."

Sam nodded, pleased to hear the explanation as it confirmed his gut feeling that this young man was a good soul. Now he had to wonder why Dean was a prisoner.

"What happened that caused you to be placed in our dungeons?" Sam asked and he was surprised at the flare of anger which sparked in Dean's features.

"I was taken prisoner," Dean told him, "do not ask me more for there is no more for me to tell."

Sam frowned but respected Dean's request and fell silent. On that subject at least.

"I can tell by your freckles you enjoy being outside. It is something we have in common, though I wonder if we enjoy the same outdoor activities. What do you enjoy doing which causes your skin to freckle so?"

Dean was surprised at the prince's question, having thought the younger boy would simply leave after hearing no answer from Dean. He apparently wanted to get to know Dean which was yet another surprising thing although Dean was beginning to suspect that Prince Sam was quite unlike anyone he had met. And so to assuage his own curiosity and to hopefully distract himself from the not inconsiderable amount of pain he was in…Dean responded. The two young men began to talk and time began to slip away.

But despite his pain, or maybe because of it, Dean was determined to sneak out and return home. He knew he only had a short window and so he waited for the young man, for Prince Sam, to return to his own chambers. By the time Dean had managed to sneak out and learn the devastating truth—that his sister was not in fact being held prisoner as he had been led to believe—it was too late for him. He'd been gone too long for his disappearance not to have been noticed, and he could only hope Arthur had been able to find Giselle.

If Giselle had not been found then Arthur would most assuredly send out a search party, and word of that search would reach Dean. He knew just from the short amount of time he'd been in Marcus's castle that the guards were highly prone to gossip, and word of a royal search party would surely prove worthy fodder. As for Arthur sending out a search party for Dean? Well that was much less likely as both brothers had long since had an understanding that their sister's welfare was to be placed above their own.

Dean felt tears prick at his eyelids as he realized he was going to have to remain a prisoner. For escaping and returning home would mean war, plain and simple. He could not return and simply expect his brother to ignore what had been done. But war was impractical for their people, to say the least. They had an army of course but it was a small one and they were in the process of transitioning out older members who wished to retire. A war now meant recruiting young lads from the villages, untrained youths who would be asked to fight and lay down their lives for Dean, essentially. And so though he had serious doubts about his own ability to withstand a prolonged captivity Dean knew it was the price he had to pay in order to keep their people safe. As he curled up on the cot in his dingy cell the sun's rays broke through the small window and felt cold where they landed on his skin.

It was the first of many sunrises Dean would experience as a prisoner.

End Chapter One