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Love and Duty	By : rae_roberts Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 3443 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and make no profit from this story. Just borrowing Papa Winchester and his boys for fun.

Chapter List
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“Rise and shine, Sammy!”
Sam cracked his eyes open at the cheery, over-loud voice, shutting them again hastily as the light stabbed into his skull like one of Dean’s hunting knives. He groaned.
“Come on, Sam, it’s past noon,” Dean smirked from the doorway.    “You going to sleep the day away, or what?”
“Apparently not,” Sam grumbled, mortified and tempted to insist that his fiancé must be lying about the time to tease him, but the angle of the light filtering in through the curtains--far too brightly--indicated that it was indeed well past noon. Sam groaned again as he sat up, running a hand through his hair. His head throbbed and his stomach churned. “I don’t feel so well.”
“You’ve got a hangover.” If anything, Dean’s voice was even more relentlessly cheerful. “What you need is a big plate of eggs, fried in about an inch of bacon grease--”
Sam shuddered.   “Stop--” he protested.
“...all served up in one of Rufus’s ashtrays,” Dean concluded mercilessly.   He chuckled as Sam flopped off the edge of the mattress and fumbled beneath the bed for the chamber pot. Moments later the unmistakable sound of vomiting reached his ears.
“I hate you,” Sam muttered a short while later.
Still chuckling, Dean soaked a hand towel in the basin on the dresser, wrung it out, and passed it to his suffering fiancé. “I know.”

Several hours later Sam was mostly recovered from his overindulgence.   He and Dean were sitting on the front porch, as had become their habit as part of John Winchester’s enforced ‘courting’.     As usual, Sam had a book open on his lap, not that he was making much progress reading it today. Dean had brought along something to work on with his hands, also as usual. Today, Sam noted, he was cleaning riding tack, working oil into the worn leather.
“I wanted to thank you,” Sam said.
“Yeah? For my awesome hangover remedy?” Dean smirked.
“No. I still kind of hate you for that. Jerk.”
Dean just grinned, unrepentant. “So…” he prompted after a moment.

“Last night. I was a little brazen,” Sam admitted, choosing a word he knew would amuse his fiancé.
As expected, Dean chuckled at the term. “You were. A little brazen, and a lot drunk,” he said lightly.
“Yeah, so, thank you.”   Dean’s eyebrows rose, questioning.    “For not taking advantage,” Sam clarified.
“You were drunk, Sammy.” The bridle Dean had been working on dangled forgotten in his work-callused hands. Sam had his full attention now, but Dean wasn’t smiling any longer.
“I was drunk. But not so drunk that I don’t remember.” Sam’s cheeks flushed. He remembered all too clearly the way he’d groped his fiancé on the dance floor--brazen, just as he’d said--and later, how he'd pulled Dean down on top of him in the grass, the taste of his kisses and the weight of his body, the hard bulge of his cock grinding up against him. And later, after Dean had helped him up the stairs and into bed, how he’d begged him to stay.    He couldn't really have blamed Dean if he'd accepted the wanton invitation.
“Well if you remember, then you remember nothing happened.” There was a dangerous glint in Dean’s eyes.
“I know.” Sam wasn’t sure what was wrong.   “That’s why I’m trying to say thank you.”
“How many times have I got to keep telling you? I’m not a rapist, Sam!” Dean’s cheeks were flushed now, too, with anger.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sam protested.
“Really? Then how did you mean it?” Dean dropped the bridle to the porch floor and glared, clearly spoiling for a fight now.
Sam dropped the attempt at conciliation, his own temper rising. “You’re awful high and mighty about consent, but you’re forgetting something. I’m only here because your father bought and paid for me. Dean, I’m a slave! My opinion on whether or not we have sex--my opinion on anything--doesn’t matter!”
“It does to me!” Dean bristled.
“No it doesn’t, not really. All that matters to you is your pride, this image you have of yourself as the dutiful son. The reluctant but oh, so honorable bridegroom! Because when I recite those wedding vows and say ‘yes’, that will make it all okay, isn't that right, Dean?”
The heated flush drained from Dean’s cheeks, leaving him looking shaken and far less belligerent than he had just a moment before. “I--I thought you were okay with it. We agreed to make the best of the situation,” he said quietly.
Sam remembered his first morning on the Winchester estate and felt a pang of remorse, knowing Dean was remembering, too. They’d shaken hands in the peach orchard, agreed to make the best of the arranged marriage. And they’d done more than just endure one another’s company in the days since, Sam thought. They’d started to become friends...As much as any slave could be considered to be friends with his master, he thought bitterly.   Sam shook his head, his own stubborn pride flaring, and he let the pang of guilt go, focusing on his outrage. “Yes, I went along with it. Just as I’ll go along with the wedding… And the wedding night,” he said just as quietly, his voice cold. “Because I don’t have any other choice.”
Dean’s temper flared right along with his fiancé’s.   “Well if that’s the way you really feel about it, don’t bother putting on a show for my sake,” he snapped back. It hurt, this realization that the growing attraction between them had all been one-sided, with Sam just pretending in order to make the best of his situation. Dean stood up deliberately, gathering the riding tack and cleaning rags, pushing the hurt down deep and focusing on his fury.   He stepped off the porch.   “You’re awful high and mighty yourself if you think I’m looking forward to this wedding any more than you are,” he flung over his shoulder as he walked away.

“Good morning, Sam.”
“Good morning, Ms. Barnes.” Sam moved to pull out her chair for her, their unwelcome, daily morning ritual, bracing himself for one of her usual degrading advances. Instead, he startled as Dean shouldered in, seating Pam Barnes at the table with a pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach his green eyes. Dean repeated the courtly gesture for Sam, pulling out the chair in his customary spot next to the captain of the guard. They hadn’t spoken since their argument the afternoon before, and for an instant Sam wondered if the unaccustomed courtesy was Dean’s attempt at an apology, but Dean ignored him, leaning down to speak to Pamela.
“I’d appreciate it if you kindly kept your hands to yourself around my fiancé,” he murmured, so quietly that Sam could barely make out the words.
In an instant he felt her hand settle on his thigh beneath the tablecloth, and she turned to wink her good eye at him. “If I didn’t know better, Dean, I’d say you got bit by the green-eyed monster. I’m just being friendly, and Sam doesn’t mind, do you, Sam?”
“No, ma’am,” Sam said tonelessly, his eyes fixed on his plate as her fingers gave the muscle of his leg a squeeze. She’d been groping him since his first morning in Winchester territory, and no one had said a word until now. What was Dean trying to prove?
“See, Dean? No need for jealousy. Nothing wrong with a little flirt--” but Dean cut her off, still in that same quiet, pleasant tone.
“He’s a slave, Pamela. He doesn’t get a say. So, seeing as he’s soon to be my personal property,”--Sam flinched at the words but Dean was ignoring him completely--”I’m asking you, on his behalf.”
“If it matters so much to you,” she said dismissively, but Sam felt her remove her hand from his thigh. “Pass the jam, Bobby.”
“Thank you.” Dean stalked back to his usual seat at the other end of the table, leaving Sam to eat his breakfast in mortified silence.

“What’s up with you and Dean?” Jo asked as she strode beside him to the schoolhouse.
“Nothing’s up with me and Dean,” Sam sighed, knowing it was hopeless.
Sure enough, Jo scoffed and continued her line of questioning. “Dean always carries your books to school. What, did you two have a spat?”    The fourteen-year-old’s eyes lit up with glee. “You two did have a spat. What did you fight about? You can tell me, Sam,” she urged.   “I’m your sister! ...Was it your old boyfriend, Max?”
“Max? No!” Sam protested. “How do you even know about Max?”
Jo swung her lunch pail as she clomped along in her boots, easily keeping up with Sam’s longer strides. “I know things,” she said smugly. “So… What’s up with you and Dean, if it’s not an old flame?”
“Max Miller is not an old flame,” Sam corrected her with exaggerated patience, “and Dean and I just decided to stop ‘courting’, that’s all. It’s stupid to pretend to care about an arranged marriage,” he said loftily, willing himself to believe it.
“No, it’s stupid to pretend you’re not fighting,” Jo countered. “And what do you mean, you don’t care? You cared enough Saturday night when I saw you and Dean making out in the trees!”
Sam felt his face heat up and he stopped short at the edge of the clearing that held the little country schoolhouse. “We were not--”
“Were too!” Jo’s voice was much louder than Sam would have preferred. A few younger students, early arrivals playing on the rough-hewn playground equipment, turned to look curiously at the Harvelle siblings.
“All right, so we were. So what?” He hissed, pulling her back a few feet into the shelter of the little copse of trees. “And how did you know that, anyway?”
“I saw you… While I was in the trees making out with Matt Pike,” Jo smirked.
“You’re too young to be making out with anybody,” Sam lectured.
“Pfft. Dean was making out with people when he was even younger. Besides, me and Matt were just kissing,” Jo said dismissively.
“Matt and I,” Sam corrected her automatically.
Jo’s brown eyes rolled, then narrowed.   “Are you going to tell Mom on me? If you do, I’ll tell John Winchester that you and Dean had a spat and quit courting,” she threatened.

Sam sighed. “He’ll figure it out himself soon enough.” And that made him wonder, what would Dean do then, when the Winchester patriarch insisted his son keep up the sham. Dean would give in to his domineering father's will, Sam thought as he walked into the schoolhouse, rolling his eyes nearly as hard as Jo had earlier. Dean Winchester, the dutiful son. Sam decided then and there that he didn't care what John Winchester did. He wasn't going to play along.
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- 14
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Love and Duty