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Once upon a time in a far away life you had a family. Two sisters who never spoke to each other, a mother with the maternal instincts of a glitchy toaster, & a father that drank until he had all but forgot that you all existed. But you were a family & that was all you knew. After your father died mother needed money so you were all sold off to the highest bidder. The oldest went to a well to do man that needed a wife, & a mother for his two children. The youngest to a church for the tax break, last you heard she became a nun who builds homes for the less fortunate. But you, that was a new hell all together. You were sold into slavery to a man who had no soul, a demon named Winchester.
Mr. Winchester desired exactly seven things in the morning. His clothes laid out, bed made, the paper, his breakfast, coffee, juice, & you under the table to take care of his manhood. You have heard people call it that before, but that is definitely not what he calls it. He says the most vile things & insists you do them in the most embarrassing way possible. The only mornings you get to yourself is when Mr. Winchester's brother is over. His brother is a kind man, the complete opposite of his older brother. If the family weren't so well known in the community you grew up in you'd question their relation.
Today thankfully the brothers are out in Sir's favorite car. Driving to who knows where to do who knows what. He often talks of business to vent to himself but never elaborates on what he does to afford such a home & a slave girl. He takes his frustrations of his employment out on you. Other than that he rarely ever talks to you.
You slip off the uniform that you wear when guests are over & soak in the bath. Leaving a window cracked despite the chill to keep an ear out for the distinct sound of the impala coming up the long driveway. Hearing nothing you bathe slowly, enjoying the experience. Making yourself as clean as you can in the little tub your bathroom was equip with. Humming to yourself while you do your required shaving & scrubbing. Your master prefers you to be completely smooth, any callouses or unwanted body hair are completely prohibited.
The slam of the front door knocks you out of your wandering daydream of a better life. One where you become mistress of a house such as this. Rushing out of the tub you slide on the floor a few times. Dressing quickly in your usual uniform, scrambling up the stairs to kneel at your cushion by the entry way. Mr. Winchester's boot tapping impatiently almost in tune with the terrified thump of your heartbeat.
He shrugs off his coat, you make to take it from him to hang it up but he snaps his fingers in the way that makes you feel like a disobedient dog. Slowly kneeling back on your cushion you avert your eyes, waiting for instruction while you watch him carefully from your peripheral vision. He hangs up his coat in the closet, places his driving gloves in the basket on the shelf, then kicks his snowy boots into the bottom of the closet. Seeing this gives you a moment of relief, you do not want to be kicked with those boots again. Bruised ribs are no joke.
"Well, well... Good of you to finally show up." You don't look at him, but you do place your hands flat on the floor like you are supposed to in order to apologize. "Why in the hell are you wearing that when you know full well that my brother was here today." You cringe without moving, you completely forgot in your panic. Wearing instead of a traditional french maid type outfit, your usual collar and short white robe, plus your wrist & ankle cuffs. He preferred to have easy access to any part of you he wished, but found it to distracting to have you walking or crawling around completely naked. "Get. Up." He hisses out around his clenched jaw. Slowly standing behind your cushion he yanks it from the floor, then storms to the closet & throws it inside slamming the door making you jump slightly. "On your knees." Falling softly to your knees on the unforgiving hardwood floors you place your hands behind your back. "Crawl, black room. Now!"
You hate the black room. Every room in the house has a different wall color, he will give you a color of where he wants you to go. Any detours are strictly forbidden. Red is his bedroom, white is the kitchen, blue is the living room, green is the library, every color has a purpose. But the black room, that is where your master goes to play. Instruments of torture of various kinds. Ropes, shackles, paddles, barbed wire, knives, needles, the chair... The chair, where you have been left for days without food or water. Unexplainably worse than being strung up on the wall, every part of you getting terribly sore as you hang from your wrists & neck.
Crawling to the middle of the room you stop to sit on your ankles in wait. You could be waiting for a great deal of time, for all you know he could have gone to bed & forgotten you here in the scary dark room. Without warning his hand grabs your hair roughly & pulls, you hadn't heard him coming. Your feet scramble along behind you as you are dragged along. Your arms desperately clutching his forearm to keep your scalp from being ripped from your skull. He throws you into the chair, the attached shackles jangle loudly as you scramble into position. Normally you are tied to the chair for days, perhaps weeks. But when he turns & walks towards the door your stomach drops. Being tied down is merciful, having full use of your limbs & having to choose to not use them or suffer further. That is the real torture.
The unforgiving lights flash to life & you close your eyes, counting in your head as you try to steady your breathing. One. Two. Three. Four. Fi... Please tell me that wasn't the hammer I just heard being removed from the toolbox. His cheerful whistling interrupts your mental count down. Trying to slow your breathing so you can hear what he is so damn cherry about. You really tried not to but when he grabbed your left foot you jumped nervously in your captivity. Please, please, please, just not the hammer. You limped around for months last time, broke your leg in one swift stroke.
Leather binds wrap around your ankle & you resist the urge to sigh in relief. He ties your ankles down, leaving your arms free. "Raise your dominant hand." He states blandly. You comply nervously & he binds it over your head to an unseen hook above. "Count out loud, when you get to ten I want you to pull."
Dumbly you respond when you weren't supposed to. "What?" Usually you know better than this. It's been 2 years sense the last time he asked to you speak. When his brother was visiting you were permitted to ask him questions on what he would like, but that was all.
You heard a crunch & a snap as he dislocated your non-dominant shoulder. You couldn't help it you screamed, you cried. He loves it when you scream. "Count." He demands. You stumble as you comply. "O-One, two, th-three, four, five, six, seven, e-eight, n-nine, t-t-ten." Hesitation will only make it worse, you take a deep breath & pull as hard as you can. Nothing happens, you're unable to hide your relief.
He leaves you sitting in the chair long enough that your arm is going numb as it hangs above you. Later that night when he comes back into the room he unbinds your legs. He scoots your bottom to the edge of the chair & roughly takes what he wants from you almost every night. When he finishes he cleans himself up, leaving you feeling dirty & well used. He unbinds your arm & it falls dead & useless into your lap. When the blood begins rushing back to revive your limb it is much like being stabbed with billions of needles from the inside. Howling & screaming in excruciating pain until you fall asleep. You are not permitted your usual bedroom. You must sleep in the black room tonight on a cushion like a pet.
You manage to pop your non-dominant arm back into its socket in the morning, fashioning a sling from part of an old sheet. Running through the morning routine in a robotic, automatic fashion. The snow outside has melted some, then frozen over once again. You can see from the window that your masters car is parked at the bottom of the impossibly long driveway. That is how he surprised you yesterday afternoon, why you didn't hear the car.
When he has finished dressing & shaving Mr. Winchester opens the closet by the door to pull out his coat, boots, & gloves. You kneel where your cushion once sat obediently as he readies himself. He does not so much as spare a glance in your direction. Not a word exchanged, just like a normal day. When he opens the door to leave slamming it behind him you exhale in relief but do not dare to stand in the case that he may return unexpectedly.
A sudden yell from outside sparks your interest. Beginning a brand new mental debate. It could be a trap. A trick to get you to move from your position. But if you don't move & he requires your assistance he could beat you for not coming to his aid. In the end your curiosity got the better of you. Knees creaking slightly when you haul yourself up carefully from the floor with your good arm.
You peak out the window by the door to find your master flat on his back in the driveway surrounded by a large patch of ice. You are not permitted shoes, so you think long & hard about going outside in such frigid temperatures. You hug your thin tiny robe tightly before opening the door tentatively. "S-sir?" You brave the first steps into the shocking cold. Just a little louder "Sir?" Your skin prickles & tightens as you reach out to touch him with your good arm. "Are you ok?"
He groans & you flinch, turning onto his side you then see the small pool of blood behind his head. You see his eyes flutter open as he stares at your feet, freezing as you stand directly on the ice. He looks up at you with a suspiciously soft confused face. When he speaks it's much softer than his normal tone. "Can you help me?" He's never asked you to do anything before. Demanded, but never asked. This must be one of his new games. You offer him your good arm to help him stand.
Maybe you should have ran while he was unconscious? No, no you'd tried that before. There's a tracking chip in you somewhere, you're sure of it. You tried to run your first month in. He found you instantly. Let you run, thought you were safe, thought you'd made it. Then you turned the corner in town & there he was. Staring at you in the clothes you stole from his closet. He'd never beat you so hard, your neck had snapped with the force, fractured your jaw. He bandaged you up himself, got a brace for your neck. But no, that was not a kindness. He couldn't have a slave that was laid up for to long.
Even now as he rolls to his knees clutching his head you back away slowly. Every muscle in your body, even those to cold to move ache with the instinct to run. But you know that running would make it worse. The chase excites him, makes him hard with desire. He groans as he stands, "Son of a bitch, that hurt." He looks you over with a concerning look. "Aren't you cold miss?" Wait, what did he just say? Miss? Trap. Definitely a trap.
He leads you inside & stands there looking away awkwardly as you readjust your robe, you had just noticed that it fell open while you were helping your master into the house without to much slipping. As the adrenaline wore down your teeth chattered loudly, you pulled your legs together & wrapped your arms around yourself tightly. You almost didn't hear him speak, confusion written all over your face. "Could I trouble you for a cup of coffee?" Nodding you made your way to the kitchen, he followed behind while seemingly keeping his distance. You don't know what he's playing at but you are not falling for it.
Once the maker had finished & he'd sat in his usual chair you placed a hot cup in front of him. He clutched it with both hands, holding it there before taking a sip. "Ahhh. Thank you. I'm sorry, I'm sure I must have started you. Not to mention having a strange man sitting in your kitchen." He chuckled awkwardly & rubbed the back of his neck like he was nervous.
Your kitchen? Seriously, what he playing at? In all the years you have lived here every little thing has belonged to master. Even the meager rations of food & soap you were given for washing belonged to him. Your thoughts were interrupted by the clearing of his throat. "Aren't you going to have any? You should sit down, you look like you're going to fall over."
Tentatively you made a cup for yourself, second guessing the decision to sit but as you placed the cup down you practically fell upon the chair opposite Mr. Winchester. He looked at you with a curiosity blank expression as you held the cup close, hugging the warmth before taking a tentative sip. Coffee has never really been your favorite thing but it's hot & a luxury you have never been awarded before.
When you'd warmed up some you placed your empty mug back on the table, attempting to relax into the chair you glanced at your master from across the table to find him watching your every move. He does this when he feels predatory & it never fails to make you uncomfortable.
You try to break the ice a little. "So, uh- where are you from?"
He sinks down in his chair, playing with the mug. "Lawrence, Kansas."
"Oh really?" You honesty had no idea, you barely even know his name. "Small world, I'm from Midland."
An honest small smile breached his tense face. "Yea, small world."
Awkward conversation was had along with more coffee. Before you had realized another mass of show had fallen outside.
"Thank you for the coffee, I should probably get going miss..."
You held out your hand to shake his for the first time. As though you were equals. "(Y/Ln), you can call me (Y/n) if you come by again."
He laughs heartily as he holds onto your hand, you've never heard him have a genuine laugh, you rather like it. "If? What do you mean if?"
You haven't smiled so much in all the time you have been here, it's been years. "Oh, you know. I'm sure you'll be back sometime soon. You are welcome any time. It was nice talking with you. I'm sorry, what was your name?"
"Dean." He lets go of your hand, brushing a strand of hair behind your hear making you blush.
"It was lovely to meet you Dean. Don't forget me ok?" You step back waiting eagerly for him to exit the door so you can run & grab some supplies. You think you have found a way to disable your tracking chip & finally disappear.
When he doesn't move to open the door you reach for the handle, opening the door for him to finally leave. You stand there expectantly, eager to run the second he is on the other side. Your vanes flood with ice water as he ends his little game. "Oh, one more thing (Y/n). I'll give you a head start, if you can successfully hide from me in my own house for twenty four hours you get to live. I might even let you go. But if you can't..." A wicked grin sets in, his eyes shining with malice. "I'll burry you with the ones who came before you."
He steps beyond the door' closing it behind him as he counts out loud. Frozen you stare at the door in shock until you hear him bellow out "Twenty." Your kings ache as you frantically run up the stairs. He lost the key to his second closet months ago, you hid it up above the door frame to the rarely used guest room. You grabbed the key making a mad dash to Sir's bedroom. Shaking hands & fingers you dropped the key as you fumbled the lock. "Ready or not bitch here I come!"
Taking a deep breath you unlock the door & pull the key out. Swiftly stepping inside before silently closing the door. You hit the interior lock, feeling secure in the small click that hides you inside. You feel around the floor silently looking for anything that could be used as a weapon but find nothing. Trying & failing you try to control your breathing, each breath sounding deafeningly loud to your own ears.
Trembling in the dark of the closet you don't hear the footsteps that quietly approach your hiding spot. The handle jiggles making you startle, you hope & pray you stayed quiet, that he doesn't know you are inside clutching the lost key so hard that the teeth cut into your palm.
The muffled voice of your master calls through the door. "You in there sweetheart? You think you're a cleaver little devil don't you?" There is a sliding noise, you think he is sitting up against the door. "But what you really have to ask yourself is did he really loose the key or did I leave it out to trap you in here?" There was enough silence to make you think that maybe he would move on & look somewhere else.
Wishful thinking wasn't going to help you, waiting in that closet for the rest of your life wasn't going to keep you alive. You need a plan. As much as you hate to admit it he's right. He has you exactly where he wants you. There is every possibility that he will simply kill you whenever you decide you have hidden in the closet long enough. You didn't think this through, you panicked.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You must have fallen asleep. Woken up by the delicious smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen. You have no idea how long you have been in this closet, your stomach growling violently. You can't remember the last time you have had a real meal.
The stomping of boots making you panic, scooting to the back wall of the closet. He sounds well rested & taunting. "I made breakfast. You must be hungry (Y/n), I left a plate by the door... I guess you showed me, huh? You win." When you hear him leave you are tempted to open the door to get the food. But you can't bring yourself to open the door. It could be poisoned. It could be a trick, he could have done this in every room with a hiding spot.
To keep from hunger you sleep once more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Surely you have waited more than twenty four hours, with trembling nerves you reach for the handle, practically hyperventilating as you attempt to turn the handle. You raise & drop your hand six or seven more times before you can finally bring yourself to open the door. Peaking around the corner you look into the room to find it empty.
The first silent step into the room leaves you barely breathing as you slink into the hall. Past masters private bathroom, down the stairs. Your cushion sitting in its usual spot by the stairs. Has he really decided to set you free? Perhaps you should wait for him to deactivate your tracking chip.
Dropping onto your cushion you sit on your heels in wait, grasping your hands behind your back out of pure habit. When Dean eventually walks around the corner out of his office he simply stares at you for a moment as if he was not expecting you to be there. You clear your throat before breaking the awkward silence. "Mr. Winchester, Sir. Would you remove my tracker please?"
He leans up against the door frame, his arms crossed in front of him. "You wanna leave then?" You take a deep breath to steel your nerves, carefully considering your words though stumbling over them slightly. "Y-you promised... Sir."
He hums in acknowledgment. "So I did. Come this way then." He passes you by, waving over his shoulder for you to follow him to the kitchen. Rising from your usual perch by the stairs you follow slowly. Keeping with the house rules still seeming smart. You walk into the kitchen to see him opening one of the locked drawers that you were never permitted in.
Glancing over his shoulder in curiosity you are surprised to find a drawer full of shining cutlery. His fingers brush over the beautiful knives before they curl around a well oiled wooden handle of a hunting knife covered in strange runes.
In fear & panic you break out into a full out sprint for the front door. You did not hear him give chase but before you could open the door he has you pressed against it. His low voice grates out in your ear. "How do you think I'm going to get it out from under your skin? Now you've gone & made me chase ya." You hiss in pain as he glides the knife down the side of your thigh. "Now all I wanna do is slice that pretty neck of yours open."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You are now buried in the back yard with the others. Line after line of nude bloody beaten bodies one after the other. The new kid Castiel was purchased yesterday. You sure hope he makes it, he's a sweet kid, only two years older than you when you were sold to this man. No, not a man, demon named Dean Winchester.