![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
writingbyebonioTitle: Whore Academy [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter One: Failing
[029.Ditzy]
Everything was bright white, like someone was shining a light with the purest white filter directly into his eyes until they ached. In moments, though the white faded and he found himself sitting in a desk in the middle of a classroom. It felt vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it and as his eyes did a quick flash around the room, he took in the windows on the left, the blackboard up front, and the cluttered wall and door on the right. The space between those walls was filled with desks occupied by a sea of people he only vaguely knew, all in khakis, white button-downs, and maze and burgundy ties. Sam, though, was sitting next to him and Dean sighed some at the sight of him diligently organizing his notes in outline format and sincerely seeming interested in the teacher's words.
Dean blinked, though, suddenly realizing that he didn't hear anything, not even his own breath or the faint hum of white noise. The only thing reaching his mind was silence. Cautiously, he turned his view to the front of the room, fingers twirling in his ears as if that would help clear them. The teacher's back was to him, his broad shoulders stretching his burgundy sweater vest and his dark medium-length hair swaying with the intensity of his speech. Dean watched as he slowly drew a large seven pointed star on the board and proceeded to fill its center and peripheral spaces with words that were somehow blurry or jumbled from this distance. Panic began to creep under his skin as he found himself not only unable to hear whatever was going on, but also unable to read what the teacher was writing down. When the teacher spun around, however, Dean's heart nearly stopped and the sound blared on, instantly, with the teacher's final, "any questions?"
It was Sam, another Sam, a different Sam … a cocky, strict, formally-attired, teacher version of Sam … and Dean just knew he was called 'Mr. Winchester'.
It felt strange for a moment, and his mind tried to puzzle things out, but Sam and this teacher were separate people and it seemed like it had been that way for a long time, even if he couldn't exactly remember how long. In fact, he couldn't remember how he'd ended up in a school anyway. Sam, maybe, but even for him, this seemed too young, too British boarding school or something. If he'd gone back to school, it would have been college-like, with a lecture hall and definitely no uniforms. There weren't even books here, just blank desks with that star symbol inked, darkly red, into the blond of the wood. Nothing about the place made immediate sense, but he knew it was real, that they were in a school for some reason, as students.
Had something happened on a hunt? They'd been hunting after Jessica and … something. Dad had … died … somehow … but he'd said … something … something important. Then … something … Sam had … something happened to Sam or … something. Dean's brow furrowed deeply, straining, as he tried to remember anything that had happened recently. It was all just blank space, though, white, like it had been wiped clean or covered with a masking layer of snow.
He turned to ask Sam if he could remember, but Sam was no longer engrossed in his studies, he was glaring at him.
"What?" Dean's voice was quiet but almost annoyed. He hadn't done anything … yet.
"Pay attention!" Sam whispered, but it carried the force of most of his shouts.
"Why? This is your thing, not mine." He hated school stuff, especially … what was this class anyway? Dean knew Mr. Winchester was answering questions about his lecture, but he couldn't actually make anything out. That fact didn't really bother him, though. His focus had zoomed in on his the student brother beside him.
"What are you talking about? You need to know this stuff more than I do. I've already passed three qualifying rounds. You're the one holding us back." Sam's expression was one of exasperation, as if Dean should already know all this.
"Huh? Qualifying rounds? What- … How am I holding you back?" He and Sam had never been in the same class and if they ever were, he was sure Sam would sky on his own while he hung back and skidded only a half inch over the passing line. It wasn't like it was a secret, so what was the big deal all of a sudden?
Thwack!
They both nearly jumped as Mr. Winchester's double-length ruler came out of nowhere to slam down on Dean's desk, narrowly missing his fingers. "Boys!"
Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, blaming him, but his shoulders slumped as they looked up to face the teacher. "I was just trying to get him to focus on the lecture, sir."
"Oh, but you shouldn't have to work so hard at failing so miserably, Samuel." Mr. Winchester smirked, almost chuckling, bringing up a faint flush of embarrassment on Sam's face and making Dean's eyebrows tilt in with distaste.
The guy was clearly an ass if he couldn't see how good a student Sam was. As the teacher went on, though, Dean found his dislike slowly replaced by utter confusion.
"If you give him an order, you should be able to simply state it and rest assured that it'll be carried out. Right, Sam?"
"Yes, sir."
"You can't do that with Dean, though, can you?"
Dean just had to duck into the conversation. The guy was making no sense at all. "Wait. What? Why would he-"
"You! Shut up!" Thwack! The ruler came down again, but this time it connected with the back of Dean's hand and he gasped at the sting, but then he was nearly out of his seat with stirring anger at the audacity of this so-called educator.
"What the-"
"Dean! Don't!" The irritation in Sam's voice wouldn't have stopped Dean from getting in the teacher's face, but there was a thread of intense fear running through Sam's words that Dean didn't understand and yet trusted implicitly. He pulled back, settling into his chair and eyeing Mr. Winchester even more suspiciously now.
"Well … it looks like he's at least on some kind of leash, but it seems a bit long to me." Mr. Winchester's arms went wide as he looked around the room, inviting everyone into their conversation. "What do you say, class? Does Dean need a shorter leash?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Winchester!" They all chimed in together like a sickly perfect morning kids' show.
Dean had a screaming urge to say some things that would get him thrown out of most classrooms in five seconds or less, but the embarrassment, resentment, and fear playing over his brother's face held him back. He was missing something here, something that just might be big enough to fill all that empty space in his memory.
Mr. Winchester leaned down some, close enough to make Sam sweat, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Sounds like your classmates think you need to reign in your boy, Sam."
"He's fine now. He just got distracted. Don't worry. He won't interrupt the class again." Sam's head turned and he smiled tightly at Dean. "Will you, Dean?"
Dean tried to read his brother's eyes, but they revealed little beyond his silent pleading for him to behave.
"Dean … ?" Sam's voice slipped down a notch, a heftier warning mixing with the plea.
Dean's jaw set into a hard square, but he shrugged and tried not to glare as he gave in, though to what he wasn't sure. "No, I won't interrupt the class again." His voice was an unenthusiastic monotone, but he had no idea what was going on and wasn't about to encourage this craziness.
Sam seemed satisfied enough, his curt nod signaling the end of the discussion, but Mr. Winchester straightened back up, peering at Dean intently. "We'll see." One eyebrow angled upward as his lips slid into a falsely sweet smile. "Are you ready for your recitation?"
"My what?" Dean froze, his features scrunching together in confusion.
"Your recitation." Mr. Winchester said. "Your … presentation. Your … oral exam. However you would say it in laymen's terms. Your … talk to the class, I suppose."
Dean was no more enlightened after hearing the definition of the unknown vocabulary. "Okay, but … on what exactly?" He knew he had bullshitted a few - okay, a ton - of presentations and other things during his time in school and he could probably pull something out of his ass right then, if he really needed to.
Sam, of course, was just slouching lower and lower in his chair, as if Dean was trying to be an embarrassment.
"Your recitation on the content of this class up to this point." Mr. Winchester spoke crisply, with a hint of a smirk, as if he knew very well that Dean hadn't the faintest idea how to handle the task in question.
"Okay … well … umm …" Dean stuttered, stumbling over his words, and reached up to scratch at the back of his head, forehead creasing as he thought.
Mr. Winchester chimed in, wearing a look of concern and what seemed like a slightly mocking bit of compassion. "Well … I suppose I could be somewhat lenient for the moment and … offer you prompts during your examination. But I'm only giving you this option because your brother is such a good student now and I'm sure that if he attended to the quality of your recent training that you'll be very well prepared." He gave a short, sarcastic little nod of confidence and smiled even wider. "You must have the answers locked away in that tiny little brain somewhere."
Dean's eyes narrowed some, but he was stuck in a rough spot. His performance had something to do with Sam and the presentation seemed to be required, so he just nodded slowly and offered a shrug, figuring he could make it up well enough if he was prompted. "Something like that."
Mr. Winchester gestured toward the front of the room, making way for Dean to squeeze by him. "Well then. Head up to the front of the class and … we'll begin."
Dean was fairly certain that the sudden cheery smile on Mr. Winchester's face did not bode well for his chances of passing this test and though he didn't tend to mind failing, in theory, he usually preferred not to do it in front of a group of people. He rose, though, making his way slowly to the front of the room.
Even with the prompts, he was still rather unsure about how things would go. He couldn't remember anything whatsoever about being in the class in general, let alone what had actually been taught, but it was pretty clear that he had no real choice in the matter. So, he just swallowed and took a deep breath as he turned around at the teacher's desk to face his classmates and the mysterious exam.
Looking out over the sea of faces, he realized that there were a few he knew, though he wasn't sure from where, and a few more gave him a kind of vibe, some good, some bad, so perhaps they were acquaintances of sorts. There was an impossibly curvy redhead down front who he resisted the urge to wink at, but he didn't fight the smirk his lips wanted to tilt into. When he caught his brother's eye, half a second later, though, he found himself the object of a disgusted glare and he couldn't help rolling his eyes some, shrugging, as if to say "get off my back". It wasn't like he was gonna fuck her, even though her mouth looked so damn perfect when she'd smiled back at him. He knew Sam didn't like that, wanted him all to himself.
Dean blinked, gaze skidding down to the flecked tile on the floor as he tilted his head and tried to understand when that rule had come into play, and why the hell he'd agreed to it in the first place. The instructor's cough of impatience brought him out of his thoughts, though, and his eyes snapped up to meet the intensity of Mr. Winchester's own.
"Are you with us, Dean?"
"Yeah." Half nodding, half shrugging, Dean tossed the word out carelessly as he kept mulling over all the missing puzzle pieces. "Just, uh … trying to remember."
Mr. Winchester seemed momentarily impressed. "That's good. It would be nice to finally get you on to another level after so many failed attempts."
Dean felt his head fall back a bit, but he steeled the expression on his face as he continued to pretend as if nothing was particularly awry. Maybe that was why Sam was so pissed. Maybe he'd failed all the tests Sam had already passed.
Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Mr. Winchester slid a hand into his pants pocket and drew out a small spiral-bound notebook and a pen. "Let's begin." Deep breath. "Please respond to each question with the best answer considering the current state of world affairs. … First question: What are you?"
"Umm …" Dean's eyebrows knitted together at the oddness of the question, but he plunged in anyway, hoping that a detailed response would most easily cover the answer that the teacher was looking for, even if it was only briefly mentioned. "I'm a … male American student - and obviously human, so … animal, rather than vegetable or mineral, and … mammal, as opposed to reptile or bird or something." He really didn't mean it to be funny, though there may have been a slight hint of amusement in his tone, but really? How was he supposed to answer a question like that?
Mr. Winchester nodded excruciatingly slowly. "Well … that's all true, but … none of those are considered to be the 'best' answer to that question in this context." He paused a moment with a soft breath. "Do you even know what this context is, Dean?"
"A … classroom? School? Prep school, maybe?" He threw out all the possible answers based on the evidence readily at hand, but that wasn't much and didn't seem to be at all what Mr. Winchester was asking for.
"But do you know what class this is?" Mr. Winchester spoke very slowly, seeming to choose his words with careful deliberation. "Do you know what subject it is that you were supposed to have studied for this recitation?" His eyes almost matched Sam's in their subtle pleading built on very little hope.
Dean dropped his head and eyes some, but furtively took stock of the room, as if the various props might give him enough information to answer what shouldn't be a loaded question. There was nothing to guide him, though, and he eventually let out a slow exhale and found himself shoving hands into his pockets as he examined the patterns on the floor. "No. Sorry."
He didn't need to lift his head to feel the weight of Sam's eyes, the burn of his disappointment, but he really couldn't remember anything about why they were here. As soon as he could get Sam alone for a minute, he'd explain the situation and they'd be fine again. He hoped.
He could hear Mr. Winchester's soft intake of breath, followed shortly by the ruffling of paper as he presumably put away his note-taking items. "This is Property 100. Well … in your case. Does that ring any bells for you?"
He blinked and …. he felt himself pressed against a wall, deep green eyes gripping at something deep inside him. "I'm your property." Then he blinked again and the image was gone, his eyes jumping to his brother's and finding them filled with that same commanding presence. It sent a flare of heat through him, part anxiety, part … something he couldn't yet name, but the flash didn't really help him see how the pieces fit together here. It only seemed to raise more questions.
"Dean?"
Dean shook his head as he yanked himself back to attention, looking Mr. Winchester over again. "Uh … no. Not really."
The instructor sniffed, momentarily looking as if he might have something to say, but then he just angled away and began conversing with Sam in hushed tones, each occasionally making cautious glances in his direction. Eventually, they both turned back to face him, but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
"Do what needs to be done, Sam." Mr. Winchester wasn't looking at Sam as he spoke, though. His eyes were raking over Dean in a way that made him shiver inside from the mixing of cold and heat.
"What does that mean?"
"I'm sure Sam will help you understand."
In moments, Sam was up from his seat and tugging him into the nearest corner of the room for what was obviously going to be some sort of stern talking to.
"What is he talking about?" Dean shrugged with confusion, peering at Sam.
Sam glanced away for a moment, but his voice was strong when he spoke. "You need discipline."
Dean blinked at his brother, eyebrows sinking towards his nose. "Discipline? I have discipline. What I don't have is memories." His eyes widened as he continued, hand gesturing between them. "Fuck, Sam, I don't remember anything. I don't remember being in this class for shit's sake, let alone whatever the hell I was supposed to study."
"I don't care, Dean. We've been over this." Sam's shoulders hitched up nearly to his ears as his voice rose. "If you'd just open your eyes and stop living in some delusion, then you'd see the same damn reality I do. So … if you can't remember, it's because you don't want to. "
"What?" Dean scoffed and inched closer to his brother as if his words might have more affect if they were closer to his ears. "Of course, I do. I'm losing my mind here, not knowing what's going on."
"Well, maybe you think you'd lose your mind worse if you did." Sam glanced off again, shrugging, before turning back to Dean with confrontation burning in his eyes. "I don't know. What I do know is that you need discipline. Hell, everyone here can see that you need discipline."
"Because I failed the stupid test on shit I don't remember?" He just really couldn't believe that Sam was riding his ass this hard about fucking up some test. Who cared? And, fuck, he was walking around with chunks of his memory gone. Wasn't that a bigger deal? And, no, he was not living in some fucking delusion. He just didn't remember. He didn't.
Sam tipped his head to the side, but nodded, eyes big and stamped with annoyance. "And because your attitude is way out of line. Yeah."
Dean's exhale was a huff of indignation. "Maybe that's because you people are all acting weird and it's freaking me out since I have no memory to go on, alright?"
Eyebrows flung upwards, Sam leaned in, his tone more banter than menace but still quite serious. "Or maybe someone just needs to bring you down a few notches."
Dean laughed. "Yeah? How? I'm pretty sure that you … and maybe that other you … are the only ones in here who it'd even be close to a fair fight for. Everybody else'd just go down."
Sam brought a hand up to rub his forehead as he breathed in and out slowly, not quite looking at Dean for a moment.
"Wait." Dean reared back a touch, tilting his head. "He wants you to 'discipline' me?"
"No." Sam shook his head, eyebrows caving in. "He wants me to get you to submit to discipline … from him."
Dean found himself breathing just a bit faster, shallower. "And you were gonna do it, Sam?"
Sam shrugged but nodded without hesitation. "I am gonna do it, Dean."
"Really?" Dean felt like he'd been surprised like this before and recently, but again the exact memory eluded him. "So … what is this 'discipline' about then?"
"Corporal punishment." Sam glanced down for a moment before detailing the act, eyes serious. "With the ruler … on your apparently undisciplined ass."
Bursting into laughter, Dean only quieted moments later when he noticed that Sam wasn't even smiling. He balked, huffing incredulously. "You're not serious."
Sam just continued to look at him, silently, eventually angling his head to one side and letting his eyebrows inch up.
Dean pulled back, air rushing out of him as he shook his head, body suddenly warm and anxious. "No. No way. No fucking way. Are you crazy? Hell the fuck no."
"Listen … these people are intense, okay? And he's gonna hit you with a ruler a few times, sure, and tell you to read some things from the board, but … we don't really have a choice here and it's not all that damn bad. So, just … suck it up and play your part, alright?"
"No. That's just nuts. You always have a choice, Sam. And this sure ain't mine." Even as he said it, Dean felt like he was saying it about so many things, most beyond this room and this situation.
Sam read into his eyes, just breathing for a moment. "You really believe that, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do." Thought you did too.
"Fine." Sam swallowed, but shook his head like none of that mattered. "The truth is, though … this is the best choice of the very few available right now. Period. Maybe you'd like that not to be true, but it is."
"Then you're overlooking something." Dean said it with a shrug because … he just had to be.
Sam breathed in slowly, held it for a moment, then let it back out in a sad sigh. "I wish I was, Dean, but I'm not."
Dean looked down for a minute, but then his eyes strayed off toward the door before coming back up to his brother's. "We could just … walk out that door over there."
"No, we can't." Sam's hair flopped back and forth with the swish of his shaking head, but his eyes found a way to push their intensity on Dean anyway. "It might look like some sweet door to some reasonable classroom, but there's a serious hex on it, removed and replaced at whim by our instructor." His lips pressed together tightly for a moment, but then he just shrugged. "We're sealed in until we learn."
"What?" Dean was trying, without success, to wrap his head around the idea of a school with hexes on the doors, forcing people to learn or remain imprisoned. "What about the windows?"
One of Sam's eyebrows angled upward. "Do you see anything out the window for you to get to … or stand on … or even just hold on to? There's nothing out there, Dean. Literally. It might be part of the hex, I don't know, but … there's no way to open the windows and even if there was, I'm pretty sure we don't want to let the Nothing in here."
Dean nodded slowly, amusement wholly subdued now. Whatever the hell was going on wasn't going to be some breeze in the park and had somehow reduced Sam to a state of total compliance. It probably would have been bad enough even if he did remember, but not understanding why his brother refused to fight all this was seriously freaking him out. Something pretty fucked up must've happened for Sam to say getting spanked by some psycho teacher was their best fucking option.
"There's really nothing you think we can do."
"I know there's nothing we can do, Dean."
Processing things, Dean's eyes wandered some, flicking back to the teacher, now engaged in quiet conversation with a few students near the back of the room. "So … we can't leave until we learn, but … what are learning?"
Sam drew in a breath, looking down then back up again. "It's … different for everybody. We're all in different situations … so we all need to learn different things … about the world … and ourselves."
"What am I supposed to be learning?" He was disturbed by the whole situation, but … he couldn't help but be curious about whatever it was that he supposedly needed to learn.
Sam sighed, offering an apologetic smile. "You have to figure that out on your own."
Dean offered a hint of a smirk with a wagging eyebrow. "You can't even give me a hint?"
"I could, but … honestly? I think it would do more harm than good, Dean." For a moment there was something in Sam's eyes that almost seemed like guilt, but it was quickly replaced by a plea for understanding. "Things tend to come clear when you're ready for them and not before."
"Come on, Sam. You want me to just - what? Bend over a desk? And let this guy whack me with a ruler until he feels better about himself and … you can't even tell me what I need to know to get off his shit list?" This made no sense at all. He'd be taking punishment for not producing adequate results from a process that he didn't even remember going through in the first place. Why couldn't Sam see that?
Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times before succeeding at getting words out, stumbling though they were. "Just … be cool. Don't fight it. Whatever he does, whatever he says, just … don't let yourself get all worked up, okay?" His voice was gentle though full of anxiety, but in his own way he was all but screaming for Dean to just … not be himself. "You'll only make it worse if you talk back or try to fight him on things. So … stay … calm."
"You say that like you expect him to do stuff that'll rile me up." He didn't like the idea in the first place, but getting 'disciplined' and getting insulted or manhandled at the same time was definitely something to dread.
"He probably will, but … he's only doing that to see how much you've really learned versus how much you're just faking it all. If you react, he's going to try to think of …" Sam took in air as he licked his lips, eyes slipping away and back, slightly more haunted now. "More extreme methods for getting you to learn the material."
Dean couldn't help but laugh at that, because, seriously, what would that even be? "More extreme than a public spanking?" A public hanging in a pink tutu perhaps?
"Dean, will you just- …" Sam was shaking his head more vigorously, teeth grinding visibly before he opened his mouth again and shoulder's tense despite the regulated calm of his voice. "Trust me. … Please."
Dean breathed in deep for a moment, taking in his brother's intense sincerity, and let his lips tip into a smirk as he exhaled. "Bare-assed?"
The tension in Sam's body seemed to deflate some as he puffed out half of a laugh with a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Sorry."
Dean just shrugged and pushed his way around Sam with a sigh, heading back to lean against front of the teacher's desk. He waited for Sam to finish the walk back to his own desk, though, before throwing his voice over the quiet din of the room. "So … I need discipline, right? Can we get this over with? 'Cause I kinda have a date later."
Header - One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Author:
eboniorchidFull Header for the Series
Chapter One: Failing
[029.Ditzy]
Everything was bright white, like someone was shining a light with the purest white filter directly into his eyes until they ached. In moments, though the white faded and he found himself sitting in a desk in the middle of a classroom. It felt vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it and as his eyes did a quick flash around the room, he took in the windows on the left, the blackboard up front, and the cluttered wall and door on the right. The space between those walls was filled with desks occupied by a sea of people he only vaguely knew, all in khakis, white button-downs, and maze and burgundy ties. Sam, though, was sitting next to him and Dean sighed some at the sight of him diligently organizing his notes in outline format and sincerely seeming interested in the teacher's words.
Dean blinked, though, suddenly realizing that he didn't hear anything, not even his own breath or the faint hum of white noise. The only thing reaching his mind was silence. Cautiously, he turned his view to the front of the room, fingers twirling in his ears as if that would help clear them. The teacher's back was to him, his broad shoulders stretching his burgundy sweater vest and his dark medium-length hair swaying with the intensity of his speech. Dean watched as he slowly drew a large seven pointed star on the board and proceeded to fill its center and peripheral spaces with words that were somehow blurry or jumbled from this distance. Panic began to creep under his skin as he found himself not only unable to hear whatever was going on, but also unable to read what the teacher was writing down. When the teacher spun around, however, Dean's heart nearly stopped and the sound blared on, instantly, with the teacher's final, "any questions?"
It was Sam, another Sam, a different Sam … a cocky, strict, formally-attired, teacher version of Sam … and Dean just knew he was called 'Mr. Winchester'.
It felt strange for a moment, and his mind tried to puzzle things out, but Sam and this teacher were separate people and it seemed like it had been that way for a long time, even if he couldn't exactly remember how long. In fact, he couldn't remember how he'd ended up in a school anyway. Sam, maybe, but even for him, this seemed too young, too British boarding school or something. If he'd gone back to school, it would have been college-like, with a lecture hall and definitely no uniforms. There weren't even books here, just blank desks with that star symbol inked, darkly red, into the blond of the wood. Nothing about the place made immediate sense, but he knew it was real, that they were in a school for some reason, as students.
Had something happened on a hunt? They'd been hunting after Jessica and … something. Dad had … died … somehow … but he'd said … something … something important. Then … something … Sam had … something happened to Sam or … something. Dean's brow furrowed deeply, straining, as he tried to remember anything that had happened recently. It was all just blank space, though, white, like it had been wiped clean or covered with a masking layer of snow.
He turned to ask Sam if he could remember, but Sam was no longer engrossed in his studies, he was glaring at him.
"What?" Dean's voice was quiet but almost annoyed. He hadn't done anything … yet.
"Pay attention!" Sam whispered, but it carried the force of most of his shouts.
"Why? This is your thing, not mine." He hated school stuff, especially … what was this class anyway? Dean knew Mr. Winchester was answering questions about his lecture, but he couldn't actually make anything out. That fact didn't really bother him, though. His focus had zoomed in on his the student brother beside him.
"What are you talking about? You need to know this stuff more than I do. I've already passed three qualifying rounds. You're the one holding us back." Sam's expression was one of exasperation, as if Dean should already know all this.
"Huh? Qualifying rounds? What- … How am I holding you back?" He and Sam had never been in the same class and if they ever were, he was sure Sam would sky on his own while he hung back and skidded only a half inch over the passing line. It wasn't like it was a secret, so what was the big deal all of a sudden?
Thwack!
They both nearly jumped as Mr. Winchester's double-length ruler came out of nowhere to slam down on Dean's desk, narrowly missing his fingers. "Boys!"
Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, blaming him, but his shoulders slumped as they looked up to face the teacher. "I was just trying to get him to focus on the lecture, sir."
"Oh, but you shouldn't have to work so hard at failing so miserably, Samuel." Mr. Winchester smirked, almost chuckling, bringing up a faint flush of embarrassment on Sam's face and making Dean's eyebrows tilt in with distaste.
The guy was clearly an ass if he couldn't see how good a student Sam was. As the teacher went on, though, Dean found his dislike slowly replaced by utter confusion.
"If you give him an order, you should be able to simply state it and rest assured that it'll be carried out. Right, Sam?"
"Yes, sir."
"You can't do that with Dean, though, can you?"
Dean just had to duck into the conversation. The guy was making no sense at all. "Wait. What? Why would he-"
"You! Shut up!" Thwack! The ruler came down again, but this time it connected with the back of Dean's hand and he gasped at the sting, but then he was nearly out of his seat with stirring anger at the audacity of this so-called educator.
"What the-"
"Dean! Don't!" The irritation in Sam's voice wouldn't have stopped Dean from getting in the teacher's face, but there was a thread of intense fear running through Sam's words that Dean didn't understand and yet trusted implicitly. He pulled back, settling into his chair and eyeing Mr. Winchester even more suspiciously now.
"Well … it looks like he's at least on some kind of leash, but it seems a bit long to me." Mr. Winchester's arms went wide as he looked around the room, inviting everyone into their conversation. "What do you say, class? Does Dean need a shorter leash?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Winchester!" They all chimed in together like a sickly perfect morning kids' show.
Dean had a screaming urge to say some things that would get him thrown out of most classrooms in five seconds or less, but the embarrassment, resentment, and fear playing over his brother's face held him back. He was missing something here, something that just might be big enough to fill all that empty space in his memory.
Mr. Winchester leaned down some, close enough to make Sam sweat, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Sounds like your classmates think you need to reign in your boy, Sam."
"He's fine now. He just got distracted. Don't worry. He won't interrupt the class again." Sam's head turned and he smiled tightly at Dean. "Will you, Dean?"
Dean tried to read his brother's eyes, but they revealed little beyond his silent pleading for him to behave.
"Dean … ?" Sam's voice slipped down a notch, a heftier warning mixing with the plea.
Dean's jaw set into a hard square, but he shrugged and tried not to glare as he gave in, though to what he wasn't sure. "No, I won't interrupt the class again." His voice was an unenthusiastic monotone, but he had no idea what was going on and wasn't about to encourage this craziness.
Sam seemed satisfied enough, his curt nod signaling the end of the discussion, but Mr. Winchester straightened back up, peering at Dean intently. "We'll see." One eyebrow angled upward as his lips slid into a falsely sweet smile. "Are you ready for your recitation?"
"My what?" Dean froze, his features scrunching together in confusion.
"Your recitation." Mr. Winchester said. "Your … presentation. Your … oral exam. However you would say it in laymen's terms. Your … talk to the class, I suppose."
Dean was no more enlightened after hearing the definition of the unknown vocabulary. "Okay, but … on what exactly?" He knew he had bullshitted a few - okay, a ton - of presentations and other things during his time in school and he could probably pull something out of his ass right then, if he really needed to.
Sam, of course, was just slouching lower and lower in his chair, as if Dean was trying to be an embarrassment.
"Your recitation on the content of this class up to this point." Mr. Winchester spoke crisply, with a hint of a smirk, as if he knew very well that Dean hadn't the faintest idea how to handle the task in question.
"Okay … well … umm …" Dean stuttered, stumbling over his words, and reached up to scratch at the back of his head, forehead creasing as he thought.
Mr. Winchester chimed in, wearing a look of concern and what seemed like a slightly mocking bit of compassion. "Well … I suppose I could be somewhat lenient for the moment and … offer you prompts during your examination. But I'm only giving you this option because your brother is such a good student now and I'm sure that if he attended to the quality of your recent training that you'll be very well prepared." He gave a short, sarcastic little nod of confidence and smiled even wider. "You must have the answers locked away in that tiny little brain somewhere."
Dean's eyes narrowed some, but he was stuck in a rough spot. His performance had something to do with Sam and the presentation seemed to be required, so he just nodded slowly and offered a shrug, figuring he could make it up well enough if he was prompted. "Something like that."
Mr. Winchester gestured toward the front of the room, making way for Dean to squeeze by him. "Well then. Head up to the front of the class and … we'll begin."
Dean was fairly certain that the sudden cheery smile on Mr. Winchester's face did not bode well for his chances of passing this test and though he didn't tend to mind failing, in theory, he usually preferred not to do it in front of a group of people. He rose, though, making his way slowly to the front of the room.
Even with the prompts, he was still rather unsure about how things would go. He couldn't remember anything whatsoever about being in the class in general, let alone what had actually been taught, but it was pretty clear that he had no real choice in the matter. So, he just swallowed and took a deep breath as he turned around at the teacher's desk to face his classmates and the mysterious exam.
Looking out over the sea of faces, he realized that there were a few he knew, though he wasn't sure from where, and a few more gave him a kind of vibe, some good, some bad, so perhaps they were acquaintances of sorts. There was an impossibly curvy redhead down front who he resisted the urge to wink at, but he didn't fight the smirk his lips wanted to tilt into. When he caught his brother's eye, half a second later, though, he found himself the object of a disgusted glare and he couldn't help rolling his eyes some, shrugging, as if to say "get off my back". It wasn't like he was gonna fuck her, even though her mouth looked so damn perfect when she'd smiled back at him. He knew Sam didn't like that, wanted him all to himself.
Dean blinked, gaze skidding down to the flecked tile on the floor as he tilted his head and tried to understand when that rule had come into play, and why the hell he'd agreed to it in the first place. The instructor's cough of impatience brought him out of his thoughts, though, and his eyes snapped up to meet the intensity of Mr. Winchester's own.
"Are you with us, Dean?"
"Yeah." Half nodding, half shrugging, Dean tossed the word out carelessly as he kept mulling over all the missing puzzle pieces. "Just, uh … trying to remember."
Mr. Winchester seemed momentarily impressed. "That's good. It would be nice to finally get you on to another level after so many failed attempts."
Dean felt his head fall back a bit, but he steeled the expression on his face as he continued to pretend as if nothing was particularly awry. Maybe that was why Sam was so pissed. Maybe he'd failed all the tests Sam had already passed.
Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Mr. Winchester slid a hand into his pants pocket and drew out a small spiral-bound notebook and a pen. "Let's begin." Deep breath. "Please respond to each question with the best answer considering the current state of world affairs. … First question: What are you?"
"Umm …" Dean's eyebrows knitted together at the oddness of the question, but he plunged in anyway, hoping that a detailed response would most easily cover the answer that the teacher was looking for, even if it was only briefly mentioned. "I'm a … male American student - and obviously human, so … animal, rather than vegetable or mineral, and … mammal, as opposed to reptile or bird or something." He really didn't mean it to be funny, though there may have been a slight hint of amusement in his tone, but really? How was he supposed to answer a question like that?
Mr. Winchester nodded excruciatingly slowly. "Well … that's all true, but … none of those are considered to be the 'best' answer to that question in this context." He paused a moment with a soft breath. "Do you even know what this context is, Dean?"
"A … classroom? School? Prep school, maybe?" He threw out all the possible answers based on the evidence readily at hand, but that wasn't much and didn't seem to be at all what Mr. Winchester was asking for.
"But do you know what class this is?" Mr. Winchester spoke very slowly, seeming to choose his words with careful deliberation. "Do you know what subject it is that you were supposed to have studied for this recitation?" His eyes almost matched Sam's in their subtle pleading built on very little hope.
Dean dropped his head and eyes some, but furtively took stock of the room, as if the various props might give him enough information to answer what shouldn't be a loaded question. There was nothing to guide him, though, and he eventually let out a slow exhale and found himself shoving hands into his pockets as he examined the patterns on the floor. "No. Sorry."
He didn't need to lift his head to feel the weight of Sam's eyes, the burn of his disappointment, but he really couldn't remember anything about why they were here. As soon as he could get Sam alone for a minute, he'd explain the situation and they'd be fine again. He hoped.
He could hear Mr. Winchester's soft intake of breath, followed shortly by the ruffling of paper as he presumably put away his note-taking items. "This is Property 100. Well … in your case. Does that ring any bells for you?"
He blinked and …. he felt himself pressed against a wall, deep green eyes gripping at something deep inside him. "I'm your property." Then he blinked again and the image was gone, his eyes jumping to his brother's and finding them filled with that same commanding presence. It sent a flare of heat through him, part anxiety, part … something he couldn't yet name, but the flash didn't really help him see how the pieces fit together here. It only seemed to raise more questions.
"Dean?"
Dean shook his head as he yanked himself back to attention, looking Mr. Winchester over again. "Uh … no. Not really."
The instructor sniffed, momentarily looking as if he might have something to say, but then he just angled away and began conversing with Sam in hushed tones, each occasionally making cautious glances in his direction. Eventually, they both turned back to face him, but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
"Do what needs to be done, Sam." Mr. Winchester wasn't looking at Sam as he spoke, though. His eyes were raking over Dean in a way that made him shiver inside from the mixing of cold and heat.
"What does that mean?"
"I'm sure Sam will help you understand."
In moments, Sam was up from his seat and tugging him into the nearest corner of the room for what was obviously going to be some sort of stern talking to.
"What is he talking about?" Dean shrugged with confusion, peering at Sam.
Sam glanced away for a moment, but his voice was strong when he spoke. "You need discipline."
Dean blinked at his brother, eyebrows sinking towards his nose. "Discipline? I have discipline. What I don't have is memories." His eyes widened as he continued, hand gesturing between them. "Fuck, Sam, I don't remember anything. I don't remember being in this class for shit's sake, let alone whatever the hell I was supposed to study."
"I don't care, Dean. We've been over this." Sam's shoulders hitched up nearly to his ears as his voice rose. "If you'd just open your eyes and stop living in some delusion, then you'd see the same damn reality I do. So … if you can't remember, it's because you don't want to. "
"What?" Dean scoffed and inched closer to his brother as if his words might have more affect if they were closer to his ears. "Of course, I do. I'm losing my mind here, not knowing what's going on."
"Well, maybe you think you'd lose your mind worse if you did." Sam glanced off again, shrugging, before turning back to Dean with confrontation burning in his eyes. "I don't know. What I do know is that you need discipline. Hell, everyone here can see that you need discipline."
"Because I failed the stupid test on shit I don't remember?" He just really couldn't believe that Sam was riding his ass this hard about fucking up some test. Who cared? And, fuck, he was walking around with chunks of his memory gone. Wasn't that a bigger deal? And, no, he was not living in some fucking delusion. He just didn't remember. He didn't.
Sam tipped his head to the side, but nodded, eyes big and stamped with annoyance. "And because your attitude is way out of line. Yeah."
Dean's exhale was a huff of indignation. "Maybe that's because you people are all acting weird and it's freaking me out since I have no memory to go on, alright?"
Eyebrows flung upwards, Sam leaned in, his tone more banter than menace but still quite serious. "Or maybe someone just needs to bring you down a few notches."
Dean laughed. "Yeah? How? I'm pretty sure that you … and maybe that other you … are the only ones in here who it'd even be close to a fair fight for. Everybody else'd just go down."
Sam brought a hand up to rub his forehead as he breathed in and out slowly, not quite looking at Dean for a moment.
"Wait." Dean reared back a touch, tilting his head. "He wants you to 'discipline' me?"
"No." Sam shook his head, eyebrows caving in. "He wants me to get you to submit to discipline … from him."
Dean found himself breathing just a bit faster, shallower. "And you were gonna do it, Sam?"
Sam shrugged but nodded without hesitation. "I am gonna do it, Dean."
"Really?" Dean felt like he'd been surprised like this before and recently, but again the exact memory eluded him. "So … what is this 'discipline' about then?"
"Corporal punishment." Sam glanced down for a moment before detailing the act, eyes serious. "With the ruler … on your apparently undisciplined ass."
Bursting into laughter, Dean only quieted moments later when he noticed that Sam wasn't even smiling. He balked, huffing incredulously. "You're not serious."
Sam just continued to look at him, silently, eventually angling his head to one side and letting his eyebrows inch up.
Dean pulled back, air rushing out of him as he shook his head, body suddenly warm and anxious. "No. No way. No fucking way. Are you crazy? Hell the fuck no."
"Listen … these people are intense, okay? And he's gonna hit you with a ruler a few times, sure, and tell you to read some things from the board, but … we don't really have a choice here and it's not all that damn bad. So, just … suck it up and play your part, alright?"
"No. That's just nuts. You always have a choice, Sam. And this sure ain't mine." Even as he said it, Dean felt like he was saying it about so many things, most beyond this room and this situation.
Sam read into his eyes, just breathing for a moment. "You really believe that, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do." Thought you did too.
"Fine." Sam swallowed, but shook his head like none of that mattered. "The truth is, though … this is the best choice of the very few available right now. Period. Maybe you'd like that not to be true, but it is."
"Then you're overlooking something." Dean said it with a shrug because … he just had to be.
Sam breathed in slowly, held it for a moment, then let it back out in a sad sigh. "I wish I was, Dean, but I'm not."
Dean looked down for a minute, but then his eyes strayed off toward the door before coming back up to his brother's. "We could just … walk out that door over there."
"No, we can't." Sam's hair flopped back and forth with the swish of his shaking head, but his eyes found a way to push their intensity on Dean anyway. "It might look like some sweet door to some reasonable classroom, but there's a serious hex on it, removed and replaced at whim by our instructor." His lips pressed together tightly for a moment, but then he just shrugged. "We're sealed in until we learn."
"What?" Dean was trying, without success, to wrap his head around the idea of a school with hexes on the doors, forcing people to learn or remain imprisoned. "What about the windows?"
One of Sam's eyebrows angled upward. "Do you see anything out the window for you to get to … or stand on … or even just hold on to? There's nothing out there, Dean. Literally. It might be part of the hex, I don't know, but … there's no way to open the windows and even if there was, I'm pretty sure we don't want to let the Nothing in here."
Dean nodded slowly, amusement wholly subdued now. Whatever the hell was going on wasn't going to be some breeze in the park and had somehow reduced Sam to a state of total compliance. It probably would have been bad enough even if he did remember, but not understanding why his brother refused to fight all this was seriously freaking him out. Something pretty fucked up must've happened for Sam to say getting spanked by some psycho teacher was their best fucking option.
"There's really nothing you think we can do."
"I know there's nothing we can do, Dean."
Processing things, Dean's eyes wandered some, flicking back to the teacher, now engaged in quiet conversation with a few students near the back of the room. "So … we can't leave until we learn, but … what are learning?"
Sam drew in a breath, looking down then back up again. "It's … different for everybody. We're all in different situations … so we all need to learn different things … about the world … and ourselves."
"What am I supposed to be learning?" He was disturbed by the whole situation, but … he couldn't help but be curious about whatever it was that he supposedly needed to learn.
Sam sighed, offering an apologetic smile. "You have to figure that out on your own."
Dean offered a hint of a smirk with a wagging eyebrow. "You can't even give me a hint?"
"I could, but … honestly? I think it would do more harm than good, Dean." For a moment there was something in Sam's eyes that almost seemed like guilt, but it was quickly replaced by a plea for understanding. "Things tend to come clear when you're ready for them and not before."
"Come on, Sam. You want me to just - what? Bend over a desk? And let this guy whack me with a ruler until he feels better about himself and … you can't even tell me what I need to know to get off his shit list?" This made no sense at all. He'd be taking punishment for not producing adequate results from a process that he didn't even remember going through in the first place. Why couldn't Sam see that?
Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times before succeeding at getting words out, stumbling though they were. "Just … be cool. Don't fight it. Whatever he does, whatever he says, just … don't let yourself get all worked up, okay?" His voice was gentle though full of anxiety, but in his own way he was all but screaming for Dean to just … not be himself. "You'll only make it worse if you talk back or try to fight him on things. So … stay … calm."
"You say that like you expect him to do stuff that'll rile me up." He didn't like the idea in the first place, but getting 'disciplined' and getting insulted or manhandled at the same time was definitely something to dread.
"He probably will, but … he's only doing that to see how much you've really learned versus how much you're just faking it all. If you react, he's going to try to think of …" Sam took in air as he licked his lips, eyes slipping away and back, slightly more haunted now. "More extreme methods for getting you to learn the material."
Dean couldn't help but laugh at that, because, seriously, what would that even be? "More extreme than a public spanking?" A public hanging in a pink tutu perhaps?
"Dean, will you just- …" Sam was shaking his head more vigorously, teeth grinding visibly before he opened his mouth again and shoulder's tense despite the regulated calm of his voice. "Trust me. … Please."
Dean breathed in deep for a moment, taking in his brother's intense sincerity, and let his lips tip into a smirk as he exhaled. "Bare-assed?"
The tension in Sam's body seemed to deflate some as he puffed out half of a laugh with a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Sorry."
Dean just shrugged and pushed his way around Sam with a sigh, heading back to lean against front of the teacher's desk. He waited for Sam to finish the walk back to his own desk, though, before throwing his voice over the quiet din of the room. "So … I need discipline, right? Can we get this over with? 'Cause I kinda have a date later."
Header - One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Tags:
- !fanfic,
- category: slash,
- challenge: 100moods,
- challenge: 365wprompts,
- challenge: 50kinkyways,
- challenge: other,
- challenge: sam_slut_a_thon,
- character: dean winchester,
- character: ofc,
- character: omc,
- character: sam winchester,
- fandom: supernatural,
- fic series: whore academy,
- fic universe: spn evil!sammy,
- genre: amnesia!fic,
- genre: angst!fic,
- genre: apocalypse!fic,
- genre: au!fic,
- genre: challenge!fic,
- genre: dark!fic,
- genre: dream!fic,
- genre: established-relationship!fic,
- genre: future!fic,
- genre: hurt/comfort!fic,
- genre: kink!fic,
- genre: plot!fic,
- genre: smut!fic,
- genre: wincest!fic,
- kink: bdsm,
- kink: domination/submission,
- kink: doubles/twins/clones,
- kink: dubious-consent,
- kink: exhibitionism,
- kink: humiliation,
- kink: impact play,
- kink: manipulation,
- kink: non-consent,
- kink: orgasm control/denial,
- kink: public sex,
- kink: roleplay,
- kink: service,
- kink: spanking,
- kink: threesome/moresome,
- kink: voyeurism,
- pairing: sam/dean,
- rating: nc-17,
- type: multi-chapter,
- warning: blood,
- warning: violence
