Sammy's Plaything

Chapter 6

 

Sam was not very good at waiting patiently. He drummed his fingers on the side of his gilded throne, a throne he privately thought ridiculuous, but had never bothered to get rid off. He was checking of spell ingredients in his head and running through the enchantment ritual in his head.

 

The door to the great hall swung open. Dean had made it all the way to the front door when he realized that his stealth was absurd, because when he thought about it there was no way that Sammy wouldn't figure out that he was coming. Sam knew better than to believe his brother would allow him to join the darkside without some sort of confrontation.

 

Dean studied his surroundings as a means of distracting himself from facing his brother. The white marble walls were hung with rich tapestries as if it were the throne room of some medieval castle. Ornate candleabras thrust from the walls and the way to the throne was paved with a rich purple carpet. Sammy's interior designer should definitely get the sack, he thought.

 

For his part, Sam was having a hard time concealing the powerful jolt of desire that raced through him as he watched his brother approach the dais. The desire was coupled with intense feelings of satisfaction, Dean would soon be his.

 

"What no white suit of evil for the great demon overlord?" Dean was attempting to break the tense silence with a joke. It sounded flat even to him.

 

Sam laughed anyway before responding, "Is that what you were expecting? Can't a demon overlord of humble origins keep his own wardrobe?"

 

"Is true you freed hundreds of demons from a Hell's gate somewhere in Wyoming?" There was no point in pussyfooting around the issue Dean decided, however hard he wished against it, this was going to end badly, might as well dive in.

 

"Yes, I do believe at last count it was 264 demons freed, largely scattered around this town and the outlying areas."

 

"Did the way I raised you mean nothing? I mean sure you made some dodgy decisions in the past, but joining up with the demon that killed our mother to lead a demon army, that is way beyond wrong!" said Dean desperately. He hoped that if he kept talking he could at least catch a glimpse of the old Sam, the one he knew, an exercise that was proving futile.

 

"You thought you could just waltz right in here and tell me I'd made a bad decision and I'd leave with you. That things could go back to the same old crap they were before, sleazy motels and bad diner food. That's not going to happen."

 

Dean looked away, unable to meet Sam's mocking gaze. He wished he were anywhere but here. Actually he wished he were holed up in some sleazy motel room after a filling meal of bad diner food, researching some shitty, depressing case with his brother. He concentrated hard on the marble tiles beneath his feet with the black veins twining through them.

 

Sam watched his brother's shoulders slump in defeat and felt somewhat sorry for Dean, but there was no going back. Sam could not be saved from the demons or himself. Dean theoretically needed saving from Sam but there was no way in Hell Sam was about to let that happen. Totally by accident, Sam had come up with yet another reason to exterminate the hunters. He certainly didn't want the calvalry to burst in and rescue Dean. That wouldn't do at all. Sam had tried in the past to find a replacement for his brother, some other object of desire to fixate on, but no matter how many guys he fucked in bar bathrooms there was no substitute for Dean.

 

Dean was running through his options in his head, he couldn't stomach a fight and as Sam had mentionned there were demon henchmen close by that left him with one choice, walk out. Dean was defeated, his life was such a failure not only had he failed to kill the demon that had killed his mother and his father, but he had let his join the forces of evil without a second thought. He was beginning to contemplate suicide, when something heavy struck him on the back of the head, knocking him out cold. There were no more thoughts only blackness.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sam unceremoniously slung his brother over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried him into the room he had prepared for the ritual. He laid Dean out in the middle of an inverted pentacle smeared on the floor with blood and reached for the spell book. Sam worked through the ritual very methodically and was only momentarily distracted when he reached the part of the ceremony that required him to smear a variety symbols onto Dean's golden skin with an herbal paste. A few quick Norman chants and his work was done.

 

Sam immediately set about undressing his brother, taking his time to enjoy the process, tracing each scar and studying each freckle. The more clothes he removed, the more Sam became certain that Dean was some sort of angel fallen to Earth, for surely none other than Heaven could have sculpted such perfection. When Dean was divested of every piece of clothing, even the necklace Sam had given him, Sam fastened a thick leather collar around Dean's next. Sam then settled comfortably on the cold floor to wait for Dean to regain conciousness. In the meantime, Sam contented himself with enumerating all the obscene things he would do to his new slave.