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annietook · 3 months ago

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A scream has been screamt

The new Mrs. Winchester (17)

Word count: 3.4K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: It has been so long, but I still believe this story needs to be told. So, here we are!

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist

“... And do you know what he said? He said, ‘Who the hell is this Jackass? You need to hire Mrs. Winchester.”

You dropped the pencil in your hand. “Did he really?”

Sam nodded, smirking at your reaction. “He enjoyed his time working here. I know he secretly wants to come back…”

But for that to happen, you must also be back at work.

“Did you know his daughter got into USC, too? He’s very proud.”

“That’s wonderful!” Your mind reeled back to the days in the dorm, laughing with Carmen on the quad bench, stealing her cookies when she wasn’t looking.

“Is there any way that you could convey my apology for the delayed work?”

Sam looked over at you. “You don’t need to apologise. Besides, Walter and his men already have a new project down south. He was cranky about being away in a different state right before the holidays, but I think it’s more to do with having to work with a shithead architect… who isn’t you.”

You had to beam at that.

Sam sighed a happy sigh.

You raised an eyebrow at him, and he shook his head. “It’s very corny. I can’t tell you.”

Scrunching your nose, you shoved at his arm. “No, you have to.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“Alright,” he said, and then his eyes did that thing where they basically sucked the air right out of your lungs. “It’s good to see your smile, Y/N. It’s like I can finally breathe.”

Why did he have to say things like that? Why? Wasn’t it enough that you loved him more than the water that yearned for the moon?

And why did he have to say it while sitting right next to you, under the warm blanket of your bed, feet touching, body so close that you could feel the heat, and when you knew the exact taste of his lips.

Two kisses. If those were all you got, maybe you’d die a happy woman, but you certainly wouldn’t die satisfied. Because the moment his lips touched yours, your skin tasted fire, all hot, everywhere. You didn’t think about the ‘why?’ You’d asked for it the first time, and initiated it the second… he’d only obliged. What good would delving into his reasons do? He certainly didn’t do it for pity or charity. You understood men and their touches by now. But Sam hadn’t touched you with his hands then… just the lips.

And it most certainly wasn’t friendship. So you just lost yourself in the sensation of it, every little brush, every little breath, committing it to your memory.

Truth be told, you were scared of asking what it meant to him. Because if it wasn’t love, you would be shattered, left without the ability to meet his eyes ever again. But would you be able to look at him if it was anything close? Wouldn’t having him feel affection for you be even worse?

You cared for Sam, wanted only the best of things to touch him… and you weren’t. He deserved so, so much better than you. But oh, that hope still kept you next to him under the blanket, heart beating so fast, he must certainly know it.

Then he went ahead and said things like those… as if your smile really held his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. But in all fairness, I did warn you.”

“What girl in this world wouldn’t want to hear those words from you, Sam Winchester?”

“Well, I’ve only ever wanted to say them to one girl,” he said, and you felt that sweet, sweet breath on your face once more. “I got to say them, too.”

How very easy it would be to lean in now and kiss him a third time, but you refrained. It would have to be him now.

When you were with Sam, everything felt better. It was like the last few weeks simply hadn’t happened. The wound on your hand only hurt if you touched it. Sam had been true to his word– no one entered your room save him. He brought your food and took out the dishes while you remained confined to the bed– a dark irony as you saw it. Abby’s fairy tale didn’t have the beauty being serviced by the beast in her ivory tower. Only once you caught glimpse of a man standing guard outside your door… the beige of his jacket reminded you of Jack. But you were too afraid of asking if it really was him— hating the fact that your friend stood outside the door, but unable to confront him either, and yet feeling safe knowing it just might be him after all. Jack wouldn’t let anything happen to you when Sam wasn’t around.

You didn’t want to dwell on that thought, not when Sam was next to you. If watching you smile relieved him, you had to smile for him… so you brought some teasing in your voice… “No other girl?”

He shook his head.

“What happened to Amy, Julia, Maria and the fifty others?”

Sam laughed in earnest, slipping out of bed. “You remember all that huh?”

He’d have to go to work, but the breakfast hadn’t come in and something he’d said earlier was creeping back into your memory…

“You’ll have to be by yourself for a bit later in the day–” he was saying

“Sam.”

He stopped mid-sentence. “Yeah?”

“You said ‘too.”

His brow furrowed.

“You said, ‘too’ that Walter’s daughter got into USC, too. I never told you that. I never told you where I went to college.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes before he deliberately closed them and slowly sat back down. “I made a promise, Y/N,” he said quietly. “I intend on keeping it. If I have to find them, I need to know all I can about you. You can’t tell me, I understand that… but I have my ways.”

Something about the look in his eyes had you wondering exactly HOW much did he know about you. And since when?

You desperately tried to snuff out the flicker of nervousness. This was Sam… How could his intentions be anything but well?

He closed the distance again, then lightly pecked your forehead. “Get some rest, okay?”

You nodded but maybe didn’t. Maybe it didn’t matter if you had.

The humid afternoon air brought with it a listlessness that wouldn’t go away. No amount of poetry, books, art or scrolling through videos distracted you from the nervousness. For the first time in weeks, you opened the door to your room and stepped out into the passageway outside. The arched windows looked exactly the same, with the same elaborately gothic tiles covering the floor underneath. How strange that the world hadn’t changed at all, while you’d completely fallen apart?

“Miss?”

Abby’s voice held concern, confusion and disbelief… but her expression showed all of that and fear. She took a hesitant step forward. “What are you doing outside?”

“Why? I can’t be?” The words came out sharper than you intended and she flinched.

“Of course, you can be… I was just…”

You realised you hated her worry. Not in the sense that you disliked Carmen’s constant badgering about Nick. No, you hated the fact that you had the power to cease her worrying, and you hadn’t. You hadn’t let her into your room when you easily could have. No, no, no… you chose to remain in bed and let her fester in her fear.

“Abby, I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

Her furrowed brows made you feel worse if anything. “I just am.”

Abby placed a hand on your shoulder. A heavy hand. “Miss, I don’t know if it’s my place to say this– but it took a lot to get you out of that… that prison. Don’t build one around yourself now.”

“Is… Who else is in the house right now?” You whispered

“No one,” she replied quickly. “Not since Mr. Winchester left in the morning. Just us– the usual Thursday staff, and oh, Martha is back.”

“Back? Where did she go?”

One corner of her mouth pulled down. “She had a bit of a health scare last week. Her son flew in from Italy to surprise her and found her unconscious on her living room floor– don’t worry… it was just low blood pressure and she’s perfectly fine now, but Mr. Winchester put her on leave.”

“But I thought… I didn’t know. The eggs were perfectly scrambled and the porridge.” You turned to Abby. “The other cook staff don’t know that I like dates in my porridge and overcooked eggs. They’ve been perfect all week. Only Martha knows.”

“And Mr. Winchester,” Abby added lightly.

Of course. Mr. Winchester. Who else?

Martha was delighted to see you, and you let her fuss over you, while she barely let you fuss over her.

“Oh, Mrs. Winchester. It was nothing. Just a tired old lady who decided to take a nap on the floor. I fail to understand why everyone has to be so up in my business about it. There’s a nurse following me around for God’s sake!” She vaguely gestured behind her to a scared-looking girl, nibbling on a bagel.

“Master Sam used to be so thoughtful as a kid,” she complained. “But your husband is starting to grow into a crazy man now. I think it’s the coffee.”

You laughed out, a happy, thoughtless sound. And you wished Sam had heard it.

“Wouldn’t you want him to look after you? After all, you’ve looked after him all of his life.”

Martha blinked, lining her forehead. “It’s different now,” she said. “In this mansion, rules seem to apply that never existed in the little outhouse. My own boys take after their father, they never wanted to leave Italy, you see? I’ve stayed all these years only because Mrs. Winchester’s boys remind me of my own kids. Oh, my sons have families of their own… they don’t need me breathing down their wives’ necks about how the pasta should be al dente. So, I moved here, all the way across the ocean when they left for college. Got big offers from restaurants. But Mr. Winchester agreed to pay a lot more so I could cook for his wife. She wasn’t keeping very well in her second pregnancy, you see?

“She wasn’t?”

With a pinched face, Martha shook her head. “Oh, no, Ma’am. It was touch and go for a while. Master Dean would hang by her bed all day. The maids all said that the boy would hate his little brother when he was born… but, oh how he adored the baby. I saw that little kid eyeing my pie crusts that first evening and I knew I wanted to work for this family. Been cooking for the boys since.”

“You lived with them in the outhouse?”

“Some days,” she nodded. “Mrs. Singer stayed a few nights, or had them over at hers. After a while, Master Dean said he was old enough to look after his brother and refused to set foot out of the house even when none of us could stay over. But he was only a boy of twelve then.”

What on God’s green earth could they have fought about?

“How did he leave?”

“I wish I knew,” she sniffled. “The boys have fought before. Which brothers don’t fight? But that night was ugly. I have never seen Master Sam so angry. He broke a door, kicked it so hard, he did. Everyone heard that crash… But…”

“But?” You pushed.

“It’s nothing,” she said weakly. “I thought I might have heard Master Dean around the house the next morning… but then, he was simply gone. No trace of him left behind. Pictures, clothes, everything. Like he’d never existed. I can’t sleep some night wondering where he could have gone off to.”

Martha lapsed into a worried silence, and only when one of her assistants reminded her that dinnertime was upon them, she flew into a flurry of instructions. You knew it was then time to leave.

When Sam returned that evening, he was elated to see you in the dining room, dressed and serving dinner.

“I have decided it’s not fair that I should be the one to suffer again,” you told him.

“You shouldn’t have suffered in the first place,” he said.

After the initial surprise wore off, Sam seemed to be getting increasingly nervous by the minute. His eyes listlessly scanned everything around… from the people to the food and then to you, your every minute change in expression. You didn’t blame him. If the situations were reversed, you would have been demanding to come clear. After all, one night you were close to professing feeling then you locked yourself in a room, kept him out for days, then had a meltdown on him, kissed him, tried to kill yourself (in his eyes), confessed about kidnapped siblings, tasked him to find them and then begged him to debar anyone from coming into your room. All without any kind of explanation whatsoever.

Yes, in his place, you would have lost your mind.

“Y/N,” said Sam, not touching his plate. “I need you to sign some papers.”

“What papers?”

He pulled out a file from his briefcase. “It’s only a formality.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

Sam sighed, and then said reluctantly, “It’s a share transfer document.”

When you merely gaped at him, he sighed some more. “I am transferring twenty per cent of the company shares to your name. That’s half of mine. But you need to have an account for me to be able to do that. Hence, the papers.”

When Sam had opened his mouth, you thought he was about to confront you… Not this! What would you do with a bunch of shares?

“I am not going to sign papers!”

He looked about himself, not even a little surprised at your declaration, but checking to see how many people were around.

“I think we should take this conversation upstairs,” he said, getting up. You followed.

Back in the room, you locked the door and rounded on him. “The hell, Sam? Why are you transferring these… these shares or whatever in my name?”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned back against the wall with one foot propped against it. “You’re my wife, aren’t you? Why shouldn’t I make you a nominee?”

Glaring at him wasn’t enough. How did you go from being sweet to each other in the morning to this? So, you moved forward and got right into his face.

“You know perfectly well what we are– just married in name. You said you would divorce me when whatever it is that you want me to do is over. So, why are you burdening me with your favours? I don’t want your money!” Suddenly your throat became painfully tight. “I am not a charity case.”

“Have you considered for one goddamned minute that this might be about more than your incessant urge to put yourself down?” Sam unpeeled himself from the wall and closed what little distance was left between you. And boy, could he get in your face. “You don’t tell me anything, and expect me to go along with what you want. Why can’t I expect the same treatment from you?”

He’d never taken that tone with you. Hell, in all these months, he’d never taken any tone with you. Always polite, always careful. Physically, yes, but even more so with his words.

Hadn’t you wanted him to always break that carefulness? And now he was. Sam still wasn’t being disrespectful, but he was done with your double standards, and with mere inches between the two of you, he seemed to realise it, too.

He deflated. “I–”

“It’s alright. I started it,” you said, clapping him on the arm. “Get change. I’ll send for your coffee. And then if you want to, you can tell me what’s bugging you. We’ll… well, we can see about the papers.”

Sam moved forward fast and engulfed you in a hug, his arms completely covering your body. You tried to wiggle to get a look at his face, but he didn’t budge. “It’s just dealing with the board feels like a wolf fight day in and day out and I can’t do it by myself… I just can’t do it alone anymore.”

You felt proud of yourself for understanding more than what his words were saying.

“The reason why I want to transfer the shares,” admitted Sam, “is so you have some monetary autonomy here. I’m gone most of the time. It’s unavoidable. If I have to manage and keep the wolf-snapping at bay, I have to run the business. If I falter or miss a single step, it won’t be long before I’m thrown out of the game completely. It’s ruthless out there. There’ll be a new CEO before I so much as blink. But with me gone, I need to know you have some power, and not just in name, but actual power to makes decisions, so no one can take this away. A lot depends on this power, Y/N. Our lives are in a gamble right now and this might decide if we win. We’ve got to keep this power.”

“So, you want another player on the chess board to fight for your side.”

He released you. “Not just any player. I want the queen.”

Later, when Sam had passed out on the bed, you lay awake, gazing at his face. He had explained the process and you had signed the papers. Along with the shares, Sam had transferred to you the right to decide for him in his absence.

‘I can’t do this alone…’ he’d said. Dean. Sam was shouldering the burden of two brothers, all by himself.

The two of you had been sleeping in the same bed for quite some time and you hadn’t realised it until today, wrapped in your own misery as you were, that you were beginning to resent Sam sharing the same mattress as you now.

How you had yearned for him to be right next to you in all the nights spent on the floor on either side of the bed. Now that he was, you hated the fact. If Sam had given in to his passions and crept under your sheets one night to touch you, that would have been one thing. But he’d made the decision to sleep beside you to comfort you because you’d been screaming at the top of your lungs. At that point in time it was everything you had ever wanted, having him against your body. But you realised now, that you might have permanently altered the way he looked at you. Not a sensual woman, worthy of the passion, but a needy, broken person, he had benignly decided to care for… like a sick patient, with sympathy.

God damn his sympathy.

So much for the red dress with a plunging neckline hanging in the back of your closet.

Was it too much to ask for? To see Sam’s eyes widen at your appearance… For him to lick his lips, have his pupils blown, and be visibly attracted to you?

Even you, after everything, had the right to wish for his lust. That right had been cruelly robbed from you, as he lay there, like every night, ever so careful of the distance between.

You fiercely vowed to drag yourself out of the pity party you had been throwing yourself. What the hell was even different now? You already knew this life was temporary. You knew Nick existed somewhere in the world. All that had changed was that he had appeared before you and reminded you of the temporary nature of your current luxury. For this one simple understanding, you had dragged Sam through weeks of mental and emotional disturbance, to the point of losing his composure. And over whom? That bastard Nick?

You closed your eyes, body two feet away from Sam, and resolved to make the most of the luxury you were being afforded. After all, while the game is on, the queen can move in any direction on the board, can’t she?

*****************************

A/N 2: It has been so long, I know. But even if a few of you are still waiting for an update, I couldn't not give one

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