Chapter Text
Prologue9th of July, Year of our Lord, 1708
After our successful venture three days ago, spirits remain high. The cache of gold and silver coins and nuggets was shared and the three maimed crewmen have been set ashore with sufficient funds to see them to their old age if they don't fall prey to their old ways of spending every half penny in their pockets. The bolts of fine silk that were acquired are in the hold and shall be sold at the next friendly port. Our food stores will soon require replenishment and the sale of the silk will offset the costs. The Vengeance had taken some minor hull damage which should be fully repaired in the next few days. In short, the lady of good fortune has been smiling up on us this month.
Dean put the quill pen back into its stand and after letting the ink dry, closed his journal, pushing it to its place on the large desk. From his quarters on the upper deck, he could hear the crew's raucous laughter and the music coming from the main deck. If he stood up and looked out the line of narrow windows that a shorter man might have trouble seeing from, he knew he'd see the men drinking and dancing. That included the handful of women they had along with them. Two were crew and the other three were wives or doxies. He didn't hold by the superstition that women were bad luck and so far, he hadn't been proven altogether wrong as they hadn't suffered an extraordinary number of reversals of fortune upon taking any of them on. So long as the non-crew wives agreed to share their men's hammocks and food allotments, or to work for more and did not create trouble, they were allowed on board.
The gentle rolling of the ship, and the familiar soft creaking sounds from wood and the ropes binding them together eased the last remaining tensions of the long day. Pouring some rum into a glass and giving the aromatic liquid an appreciative sniff, the Captain pushed his comfortable chair back and put a booted foot onto the desk.
Unfolding The Lawrence Gazette, he took a drink and started to read. It was more than just an old habit, keeping up with the goings on at his birth place on the coast of New England. As always, he searched for news of the Royal Governor, his dear father. Too often the paper described the social events that John Winchester and his family hosted or went to. That usually had Dean's jaw tightening until he was in danger of cracking his teeth, but once in a while, there would be a gem. An opportunity to get back at the bastard. The follow up articles about the 'Winchester bad luck' always made Dean chuckle, but never with any mirth.
Turning the page, he read about the measures that were being considered to keep shipping lanes more safe. That had him giving a snort of disbelief, but he took note of the forces that might come into play. Unconsciously, he was nodding to the beat of the music as he continued to read. When he reached the last page of the paper, he started to skim quickly down over the announcements but the name Winchester registered, and he looked back up.
Lord Winchester, Governor of Lawrence, announces the betrothal of his son, Lord Samuel Winchester, to Miss Elizabeth Peden.
Reading between the lines, he gathered that his brother was entering a mariage de convenance and would be collecting his bride to be from England. His lips pressed into a flat line at the thought of Samuel, in his finery, dancing and making merry, without a thought for the mother he'd killed and the brother whose life he'd stolen. Dean's eyes turned to flint as the past came rushing back.
Dean hung over the crib, teasing his eight month old brother with a silver rattle. His own eyes were red with days of crying but he smiled at Sam. "It's alright. Promised mom I'd take care of you, and I will. Cause I'm your big brother, and that's what brothers do. You want this? You want this Sammy?" He shook it again, then let the baby catch it, holding onto it and making Sam fight for it before releasing it.
The door to the nursery opened and a woman walked in. "Master Dean."
Slipping off the side of the crib, Dean turned and looked at their nanny. Her hair was pulled back and she looked paler than usual in the black mourning clothes that she'd been wearing for the past fortnight. "I wasn't annoying him," he said quickly.
She gave a bleak smile and gestured from him to come over to her. When he did, she stroked his face. "Lord Winchester is asking for you. He's in the study. Whatever he says, agree with him child. He is in a foul mood."
Giving her a nod, he walked out of the room and headed down the wide hall. His home looked different with all signs of color having been removed and all of the large mirrors covered with black velvet. Everyone wore only somber colors, colors his mother would have hated. He passed the large sitting room and went past the parlor, his steps slowing a little. He knew from the servants that his father had been drinking, that he hadn't stopped since the burial. John Winchester was a cruel man when he was in his cups and the only one who could control him had been Dean's mother, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. She'd been bedridden since she gave birth to Sammy and had never recovered.
When he reached the elaborately carved double doors, he straightened his clothes and spit on his hands, then flattened his hair. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and walked inside. "Father?"
Sitting behind the enormous desk, his father looked up and stared at him through blood shot eyes. Dean took another few steps and then gripped the back of a chair. The look of pure hate pierced through him and had Dean flinching in surprise. He wished his father would say something. Anything.
*
Dean didn't know why his father had brought him here, to this rude part of town. He didn't like the man who'd let them into the warehouse and lead them up the stairs to his living quarters. He did as he was told and went to the other room and closed the door, but pressed his ear against it, listening to the whispers and only half understanding them.
"I don't care how he's disposed of." Lord Winchester put a stack of coins onto the dirty table and wiped his hand on his jacket.
"Your Lordship?"
"He bears the mark of the devil and has brought bad luck upon my family. I want him gone. I don't care where. Whip the devil out of him then take him far, give him away, sell him, or drown him. I--"
Bursting through the door, Dean headed for his father. It had to be a joke. But the heavy hand that struck him and the blinding pain in his jaw that sent him into the arms of darkness proved him wrong.
Blinking, Dean imagined he felt the sting of every whipping he'd taken over the years. The burning pain from each time he'd been knifed and nearly killed. The panic from lack of air from being pushed under the water, from being made to crawl into chimneys to clean them, from playing human target for sportsman who wanted a new type of 'game.' His father had thought to have the devil whipped out of him? He'd created one instead. One who had all the time in the world to play with Lord Winchester, to hit him where it hurt financially, and now to take aim at his one and only heir.
Getting up abruptly, Dean crossed the large room and grabbed his hat from behind the lacquered panels that divided the sleeping area of his quarters from the rest. Putting it on, he walked out and headed down the outdoor stairs, roaring for his Quartermaster. "Rufus!"
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Chapter 1
Samuel Winchester stood on the deck of Destiny, the tall ship carrying him toward England. They'd left port two days prior and a strong wind carried them eastward. Sam wished they were further south and could end up in the doldrums, with no wind and a glassy sea. Better that than the fate that awaited him.
He was going to England to collect one "Miss Elizabeth Peden" who would soon become "Lady Elizabeth." He had never met her, nor she him, not that it mattered. The Winchester family fortunes were depleted and the Pedens were well off. Miss Peden's dowry was quite a tidy sum and the union of Lord Winchester's shipping endeavors combined with the Pedens' contacts and distribution capabilities in England would lend to a profitable union for both families, or so his father hoped. His father had a long history of bad investment choices, many of his ships waylaid by pirates or struck by other misfortunes, so Sam was less than confident in the fact. He wondered glumly about Miss Peden's temperament. Due to the size of her dowry, he feared she might well be less than attractive, physically or in personality. He didn't suppose it mattered. He would do his duty as a husband, give her children to continue the Winchester lineage, and see that the family was never without. He could only hope she was intelligent and well read. It would be easier if he at least enjoyed her wit and company. Her looks were of little concern to him if she had a personality he found bearable or even pleasant. No doubt she had similar worries about him.
"Gabe! We need fresh rope up here!" one sailor yelled to another.
Sam clutched at the railing, his knuckles tightening until they were white. Gabriel... His eyes misted over, but he kept his face stoic. He was very good at doing that, he had had a great deal of practice around his father. He knew when to smile, when to bow, when to be charming. This was his own fault in so very many ways. He had never chosen a lady to court in Lawrence. Perhaps if he had, Gabriel would still be alive.
He'd been about eleven when he and some other boys in his company were in a less than savory part of town and came across the brown haired lad of nine. Gabriel was obviously poor and alone on the streets, and the others circled 'round the young man, taunting him, then hitting him. Lord Winchester's carriage had come along then and Sam joined in with the rest in beating the boy. Sam had seen some measure of pride in his father's eyes that day when he climbed into the coach, even though he had discretely tossed the boy a few half-pennies as he left. Guilt ate at him though and a week later he went back to that section of town by himself. It took him some time, some hunting, but he finally found the boy. He had apologized for being a prick and an ass, and told the young boy there was a position in the stable open and that Sam would have him hired if he wanted it. Surprisingly, a week later Gabe had come to the manor and asked for him. They became fast friends after that. Gabriel had loved the horses and cats and dogs as much as Sam did, and initially was more than a little shocked when Sam helped him with his chores. Sam even made sure Gabe learned how to drive a coach. Everything had been wonderful until four months ago, when Sam's father came out to the stables unexpectedly.
Gabriel had died sometime during the night from the beating. Sam had only become presentable to be seen in public after a month or so of healing. He was not permitted to go anywhere unchaparoned, and often was forced to be at his father's side, 'learning the business,' or so Lord Winchester claimed, though Sam had spent much of his youth following his father around, traveling to England a handful of times, and knew the business as well if not better than his father. Now though, if his eyes ever wandered toward a man for whatever the reason, he was soundly cuffed. Even Mr. Cooper, his 'bodyguard,' was traveling with him to ensure Sam followed his father's wishes. Mr. Cooper was just as stern as his father and Sam had already suffered a blow or two from him in private. Sam wouldn't be at all saddened if the man took a mis-step on the deck and fell overboard. He had entertained the thought of reaching England and just leaving, heading off into the countryside to make his own way in the world. Unfortunately his father knew him too well and had threatened the welfare of some of his other friends among the servants if Sam did not return with Miss Peden.
Sam had never hated his father, not until Gabriel's death. He could only take comfort that the old bastard couldn't live forever.
****
Black smoke rose from the deck of the Destiny now that the crew had doused the flames. The pirates had thrown thick ropes on deck and the two ships were tied together. The bloodshed had been to a minimum, though the deck was wet with crimson here and there and it was likely to get worse. A whole lot worse as more and more pirates crowded onto the merchant ship.
Captain Jackson wiped away the blood running from the corner of his mouth as two pirates stood guard behind him. Of all the pirate ships on the high seas, why did it have to be the Vengeance that they had fallen prey to? He straightened as his eyes scoured the faces of the scoundrels and ruffians, waiting for the "Pirate King" to make himself known. Rumors abounded as to what the man looked like, so the captain had no real idea what was truth and what was fiction. He could only pray the Pirate King was in a good enough mood to leave the ship sufficiently intact to sail and enough crew alive to sail her.
Dean was already on board the Destiny, ordering his men about with silent gestures. They knew what to do and Rufus kept them in line. The quartermaster had a loud bark, but his bite was just as legendary among the men. Dean's gaze shifted back and forth, searching, identifying the captain and the crew members with any authority whatsoever. He searched their eyes for signs of rebellion or fear. Saw those who eyed the weapons that had been collected, and noted the ones who took stock of his men just as surely as he was taking stock of them.
Once the deck was secure, Dean strode down the center of the ship to a few feet of where the ship's Captain was being guarded. His hand rested on the hilt of his now sheathed sword. "Is everyone on deck?" he asked, his tone as grim as his face and as somber as his clothes. Unlike his peers who favored color, the Pirate King wore black from head to foot, including his silk shirt and overcoat. The only relief from black was the fine gold embroidery that edged the sleeves, collar and went down the front of his coat, where it fastened.
"Almost Captain. Stragglers are being pulled out."
Dean turned, now standing with his legs apart . Once again, he was silent for a while, watching as goods were brought out of the hull and carried over to the Vengeance, but he mostly took stock of the people. When he got the nod from Rufus, he turned his head. "Your life, the lives of your men and your cargo are now forfeit," Dean said, his eyes glinting with a hardness that his men only saw once in a while.
"The cargo and my life, but spare the life of my men, please, Captain," Captain Jackson said, putting the honorable request forth from one Captain to another. "Put them ashore, unharmed. Many have families who will suffer deeply if they die, and many have but touched the beginning of their lives. Let them speak of the ferocity of yourself and your crew so others will continue to know of you. A man with nothing to lose will fight much harder if he believes capture means death. If it is known you may show mercy, it will increase the likelihood you will take future ships with little bloodshed." Jackson had no desire to die, but if it was his life versus that of his crew, he would pay the price to keep his men alive. They were good men and a crew he had sailed with often. They trusted him as he trusted them. He would not let them down now, no matter the price. He eyed the black-garbed captain and hoped the man would take his offer.
"Captain." Dean gave a mirthless laugh. "I have no doubt you were calling me anything but 'Captain' only a short time ago." His gaze raked over the older man. He knew the type. The man came from wealth. His office had been purchased, no doubt by his father. His hands would be soft and his successes would have come on the backs of the crew, not the volunteers but the many who had no choice but to work for hardly any wages, a crust of bread, and a boot to the head. Once... he might have grown up to be such a man. "Tell your passengers to step to the center."
Captain Jackson could see the disdain in the young man's face. The Pirate King was younger than he would have imagined and he could see the man was hard and cold and likely to give very little. His mind raced with possibilities of what he could offer the man to ensure safety for as many as he could secure. "The passengers are of no value to you or your men, and are my responsibility as well. Please Captain, leave my few passengers be. We carry cargo. They have paid for a trip back home or work for owners of some of the cargo which you now possess. Can we not come to a gentleman's arrangement of some sort?"
"You mistake me for a gentlemen. Ask them to step forward, Captain." He stared at those he thought didn't appear to be crew, either by their clothes or their body language. "I won't ask again, not in words." Turning once again, he locked gazes with the Captain. Both men knew he could not afford to lose face in front of his men and that this was an ultimatum.
The Captain gave a curt nod. It wasn't as if he had a choice in the matter. "Passengers of the Destiny, please do as the Captain of the Vengeance asks. Please, front and center." He watched as the six regular passengers stepped forward. Mr. Cooper and a sailor who was taking the place of the governor's son also stepped up with the others. Samuel Winchester was mixed in with the crew, dressed down and dirtied up a bit. The young man at least had the muscles to suggest he was a sailor and he had some calluses on his hands atypical of gentry, but they were not the hardened hands of a seaman.
Jackson returned his gaze to the Pirate King. "The passengers, Captain," he said simply. He was deeply grateful he had no female passengers on board.
As Dean walked toward them, a few of his men also approached the group but hung back a little. Searching the faces of the passengers, Dean's scowl deepened. He only saw one possibility, but his gut said 'no'. "You there, your name?" he said pointing at one of the men who seemed to cringe away. "Are you daft? Name."
The man started to stutter and dropped to his knees.
"Toss him overboard." Forgetting about him immediately, Dean pointed at the one he was more interested in. "Name?"
"Samuel Winchester, son of Lord and Governor Winchester," the sailor said, meeting the Pirate King's gaze boldly. He knew if the Pirate King was interested in ransom, playing the governor's son might just save his neck so he would have to be convincing.
"Samuel Winchester. Son of Lord John Winchester?" Dean walked in front of the man and stood inches from him. "The Governor must be doing quite badly, what with putting his own son to work like a field hand or sailor." Dean's skin was a deep bronze from being under the sun day in and day out, but this man's complexion was a much deeper hue. "He must have hired governesses and tutors off the streets. Let's try this again. Say your name 'correctly,' the way it should be pronounced."
The man's second attempt did not please the Pirate King any more than the first, that much was clear from Dean's dark look, and the fact that the man started to give his name once more. Dean didn't allow him to finish. "No." Reaching out, Dean tugged the cloth at the base of the man's neck, watching it unravel.
"Tie your neck cloth. Show us something fancy, and make it quick," he snapped, more sure by the minute that they were trying to dupe him.
The sailor's eyes widened a bit. "Servants...my, ah, servants tend to it for me." He fumbled with the cloth, having no idea how to tie it properly. His gaze slipped to Mr. Cooper and could tell by the man's look that that was the wrong answer, but he had no other to give.
Mr. Cooper stepped forward. "He never mastered the task, Captain. I tie it for him."
"Ah, I see. Lax tutors and over eager servants have ruined this poor fellow." Dean gave a mirthless grin, then focused once more on the man who couldn't tie his own cravat. "State your name... your entire name and all of the titles that will come to you on your father's death and I will spare every last person on the ship. Think hard, because if you get anything wrong, their blood is on your head. Starting with the captain."
He didn't have to give an order, one of his men put a cutlass to Captain Jackson's throat.
"Be quick about it, Samuel." His gaze slipped to the servant, then went back to the man in front of him. "Fucking hell, man, start talking," he shouted, making the man jump slightly.
Sam's jaw pulsed as he clenched his teeth. If it was his freedom or even his life to save everyone on board, he saw no other choice. "Stop!" He stepped forward from the crew. "The man doesn't know. I am the governor's son. I will recite the full titles if that is what you wish and if you will spare everyone as you have said."
Dean whirled around. His eyes narrowed as he looked the man up and down. He was tall and surprisingly well built. He'd given up his finery, but the clothes of a sailor could not hide his bearing nor his cultured manner of speech. Dean's hand snaked out to grip Samuel's jaw as he looked him over even more carefully. Dark hair. Eyes the color of the deep seas, constantly changing and hard to describe. Scarlet, sensuous lips that could smile sweetly, Dean remembered that. But he remembered even more clearly how they spewed cutting words for one who was beneath him. Beneath him only because Samuel had stolen Dean's birthright.
His eyes filled with hate and fury, Dean jerked Sam's face so hard that the man was all but shoved to the ground. "Gather his things... take him aboard and tie him to the masthead."
As men moved to do his bidding, Rufus called out to the Destiny's crew members to see if any wished to join them. He offered better pay and more freedom to those who wished to try the life of a pirate. Seven men stepped up, but he selected only two of them.
Dean barely listened, his gaze tracking Sam as the man was pulled up to his feet and ordered to point out his belongings. He motioned with his hand. "Clear the ship, take the sails and anchor, then set it on fire." With that, he strode away, his hands balled up at his sides as he headed for the Vengeance.
Sam pointed to the trunks that were his. One was filled with fine gifts for his soon to be wife and her family. They had cost his father a good bit, and he supposed he should leave it to be claimed as general goods, but in it were a few things of value to him. As he was escorted by Mr. Cooper, he tossed out, "Least I'm rid of you." Looking over at one of the pirates, he spoke, "Don't s'pose you could accidently skewer him or something could you?" but got no answer from the man. Glancing at Captain Jackson, Sam gave a brief smile and nod, telling the man he appreciated what he had tried to do and laid no blame on him.
He gave the pirates no problem, crawling over the planks that lead from one ship to the other, then walked to the mast and tilted his head back to look up to the top. With a sigh he asked, "He wants me all the way up there?" Getting only steely looks, he began to climb, followed up by the two crew. He didn't fight them as they lashed him in place. How long would the captain leave him here, he wondered, and why hadn't he been thrown into the brig or chained below? No doubt his father would pay the ransom he was certain the Pirate King was going to ask for, but who knew how long that would take. A few days for his father to learn of his kidnapping, a few days to gather the money....a week, he surmised, at best, before he was free again. A day or two up here and he suspected he'd be babbling incoherently from dehydration. At least he didn't easily get seasick and heights didn't bother him. Maybe he could try to piss when the captain was in the area below him. Maybe he'd get lucky and some would dribble down and land on him.
* * *
Before the sun set, Dean had a tally of the cargo they'd hauled from the Destiny. It was a small fortune in tobacco and gold, no doubt intended to finance the ship's journey to the East after it docked in England. They'd also replenished their food and water supplies, which was always a good thing. Thrice, the quartermaster had reminded Dean that the prisoner was still lashed to the masthead and each time, Dean had ignored Rufus. His captive, on the other hand, was anything but ignored.
Each time Dean was on deck, his eyes sought out the brother he once would have protected with his life, before he'd known Samuel Winchester was a curse on his very existence. He watched closely as sailors climbed up to taunt and tease the prisoner and even laughed when old Jeb held a small knife to the side of Sam's head. Dean knew he was probably up to his old tricks, threatening to take Samuel's ear for his collection. By the time Jeb was done with Sam, Dean wouldn't be surprised if the man pissed his pants.
The deck was being cleared and crates were brought out. With victory on the heels of victory, there would be celebrating this night. Dean had just entered his quarters when the cabin boy knocked and opened the door.
"I don't need anything," Dean said, reaching for the decanter on his desk and pouring himself a drink.
"Aye Sir."
Dean turned and gave the nervous youth an impatient glare, expecting him to leave.
"Captain, I... Sir..."
"Spit it out, boy, I am in no mood for this."
"The First Mate asked me to... to ... sir, he said the men might not be steady enough to bring the prisoner down, later. He asked if he should be brought down n--"
"Any man who cannot hold his liquor does not belong on my ship," Dean snarled. "Get out."
The boy didn't have to be told twice. Right before the door closed, Dean gave him another order. "Have him brought down. He is to remain bound."
* * *
From his place tied to the mast, Sam had watched as the Destiny grew smaller as they sailed away. The fire on the ship seemed to be under control before he'd lost sight of her. Sam had been groped, hit, cut, and threatened during the time he was up on the masthead. He kept as stoic as he could, acting neither afraid nor angry nor anything else. They wanted him scared. Hah. Try living with Lord Winchester and not following his strict orders and guidelines. Besides, if they wanted to take his ear, or his finger or even his balls, what could he do to stop them? So he did nothing but take their abuse silently. Just as he did with his father.
When the sailors were not harassing him, he tried to enjoy the view. What else was he supposed to do? The ropes were tied too well and too tightly for him to escape and, if he did, where would he go? So he tried to content himself with watching the ocean, seeing the dolphins that danced on the waves cause by the bow of the ship cutting through the water.
He saw two sailors climbing up this time and schooled his face, wondering what the newest game of 'torture the prisoner' would be.
"Yer a fine looking lad," the first sailor said to him as he ran a hand over Sam's chest.
"Thank you," Sam said simply, his eyes focused out to sea. "How long can I expect your Captain to keep me up here like jerky drying in the sun?"
The two sailors looked at each other and snickered. "He's left men up here till 't'weren't nothing but picked clean bones."
"My bones won't garner him ransom," Sam said. With a soft huff he grumbled, "My nose itches."
"Ahw, poor bit o' fancy pants ain't used to such hardships."
"Do your deeds and leave me in peace," Sam snapped. He was thirsty, hungry, hot, uncomfortable and had to piss. He took a deep calming breath. No, he had to stay in control. He couldn't give them any pleasure in his discomfort. The one sailor who had caressed his chest, groped Sam through his tight pants. "Got yerself quite a wanger there. Bet you keep all the girls in yer town happy. Maybe a few men as well."
Sam ignored him but suddenly the filthy man was kissing him, his tongue stuck down his throat and his hand rubbing harder at his groin. Sam's eyes narrowed. He had little ability to move but twisted his head away. When the man's mouth followed, Sam snapped his head around, knocking it into the sailor's head with a solid blow. The man nearly lost his hold and fell. Sam kneed him, trying to shove the man further off balance. As the man struggled to regain his balance, his arm came with reach of Sam's mouth and Sam didn't hesitate digging his teeth in. The sailor howled in pain and suddenly fell away, the sails breaking his fall for the most part though he still landed with quite a thud on the deck, cursing and swearing up a storm.
His companion punched Sam with the fist that clutched the knife. "If he's hurt..." the man hissed.
"Yeah, yeah, early grave, whipped, cut, castrated, beaten within an inch of my life." Sam leveled his cool gaze on the sailor. "You can tell the prospect frightens me."
The sailor glared at Sam but at a yell from Rufus, the sailor began undoing Sam's ropes. "The Captain's ordered you brought down. Give me no trouble or you'll take the same route as Clancy just did."
Sam said nothing. When the ropes were loosened Sam took a moment to stretch his stiff muscles then began to climb slowly down the mast until he reached the deck. The sailor, Clancy, flew at him with dagger in hand. Sam side-stepped and as the man passed him, he slammed his hand into the man's back. The man ended up face down on the deck amid laughter from the rest of the crew.
Dean had just come down to the main deck to find out why the gold had yet to be delivered to him for safe-keeping when he heard the laughter and saw the cause. Before he said anything, Sam was swarmed by men, his arms pulled behind his back, and Clancy punched him in the gut. Dean had to admit that the man's grunt of pain was satisfying, even as he demanded, "Why is this man running free? I was clear on my orders."
"He was just brought down," someone explained.
Giving a nod, Dean was about to accept that when Clancy cupped Sam's groin and loudly announced, "Fancy pants here needs a lesson that he ain't no fancy-pants aboard this ship." With that, Clancy squeezed Sam's dick hard enough that Sam let out with a cry of pain and found Clancy's tongue inside his mouth as the man continued to grip his cock hard. The pain radiating from his groin made it hard for him to do anything at first but after a moment he managed, barely, to stomp on the man's foot. He wasn't certain but he thought he might have felt a bone or two snap.
Clancy let out with a yelp, releasing Sam's dick and pulled back his fist. "I'll learn you your place, boy!" he snarled.
In a few strides, Dean was right there, grabbing Clancy by the shoulder and shoving him to the ground. "No one is to touch him, but me. Is that clear?"
Many eyes were on the Captain and on Clancy. They knew the Captain hadn't said the prisoner was off limits, in fact he'd seemed to enjoy it when they'd taunted him.
"Sir?" Clancy asked, standing up, his eyes smoldering with a fury that rivaled the Captain's.
"He's mine. Not for you to play with, not like that," Dean clarified, staring Clancy down.
"You haven't claimed him as yours. Captain--"
Flushing to an angry shade of red, Dean took another step, grabbed Sam by the shirt and dragged him close. His mouth slanted over the captive's in a brutal kiss meant solely to dominate and punish. He felt Sam try to pull away, though he was being held by the other crew members, and he sensed when his tongue was in danger of being bitten and broke the kiss, ending it with a backfist to Sam's jaw. He spit on the deck, mostly blood from the damage he'd done to Sam's lips. "He is claimed."
Clancy's wasn't the only voice of dissent.
"Share alike... it's our contract with you," Clancy reminded.
"I yield my share of the cargo from the Destiny. He and his belongings are mine." When he saw Clancy start to argue again, Dean pulled his sword out and trained its tip on Clancy's throat, touching it lightly. "I am the Captain here until a vote says otherwise. Do you want to call a vote?" Dean knew damned well he would win any vote. They'd been lucky in their ventures and the men liked him, they felt safe and confident with his decisions. "No? Good. If I have to tell you again, I will have your dead carcass nailed to the mast." Sheathing his sword, he turned and looked at the crewman holding Sam. Immediately, they started to shove Sam off to the stairs that lead downstairs.
*
Sam was given a chance to piss and change from his sailor garb to that of gentry. Looking through the trunk with his clothes, he pushed the wig aside and decided he wouldn't wear the hat either since they'd likely only take it from him. He changed his shirt and put on his coat since they'd told him he'd be back on deck. When he asked for some water, he was given a single mug and used a bit of its contents to wipe his face down before drinking the rest of it. He used some salve he had in one of his trunks on his lip but found his hands were shaking. The others didn't scare him. The captain...the captain was another matter.
He is mine... That didn't sound like a man planning on ransoming him. The kiss had been harsh and distasteful, not at all like the sweet kisses of his Gabriel. He pulled his hair loose, combed it through, then retied it. Admittedly, he felt a little more human, a little more normal again. His pirate guards brought him back out and up to the deck where he was bound standing to the bottom of one of the smaller masts. He was shocked to see women on board, some obviously crew members. There was quite a party going on and the liquor was steadily flowing. Pipes were being played and the crew was dancing and rowdy. Sam watched the crew a little enviously. It was so unlike all the prim and proper parties he had been forced to attend through the years. It was much more like the rough bars he and Gabe managed to slip off to upon occasion. He smiled to himself, though he kept it from showing on his face, as he watched the crew dance and sing and drink.
As the liquor flowed, the crew grew more bold. Some approached Sam, demanding he sing and when he didn't, he was struck. Some simply taunted him. He took a sharp elbow to the gut from Clancy at one point when the man walked by. Glancing at the Captain, he saw the man was staring at him, his face dark and unreadable. Whatever the Captain wanted with him, he knew it wasn't going to be pleasant, but he didn't understand why he was tied up on deck. Better on the deck than in chains in the hold, he mused, at least for now.
Whenever Sam glanced at the captain, that gaze was boring into him. It unnerved him and he couldn't bring himself to stare down the man so he tried to distract himself by continuing to watch the crew have their fun.
Despite the cajoling from his men and the antics that usually amused him, Dean neither participated nor was he lulled out of his dark mood. Instead, he brooded and stared at the reason for his discontent. Try as he might, he couldn't muster up even a slight warmth toward the man who had once been a babe, his little brother. He vaguely remembered the servants calling him whenever Samuel cried. He'd make faces and get him laughing in no time. Both Sam and their mother. But once their mother had died, thanks to Sam, Dean's life had gone to hell. Taking a jug of grog, he finally got up and walked through the dancers, shoving aside two men settling their differences by fisticuffs, and came to stand next to Sam.
He didn't say anything for a while, only watched him, enjoying the signs of his nervousness. Oh, he had a lot to be nervous about. Plenty, Dean thought as he recalled that single day they'd crossed paths. It hadn't been coincidence. After being sold, Dean had been put to work from morning until night, sometimes sleeping on the hard ground, sometimes in worse places. When he'd grown older, he'd risked beatings by stealing the time it took to learn about the whereabouts of his younger brother. He'd found out that Sam was brought to their father's warehouse several times a week. From then on, he'd spent as much time as he could taking the routes around the warehouse or running by it when he was on an errand, always looking for Sam. Occasionally, he did see Sam but chasing a carriage would have been useless. Then one day, when Dean had been about thirteen, when he'd finally caught sight of Sam walking, he'd forgotten his own errand and followed. Maybe he'd get a few minutes to speak with his brother, that's what he'd thought. Maybe the governess would look away, or stop to look inside a shop. Well she had, and then Samuel had wandered into the street. The little fool... at eight, he should have known better. Dean had dashed into the street and shoved Sam out of the way of an oncoming carriage. They'd both fallen into the mud. The package Dean had been carrying.... delivering... was destroyed.
Dean got up and put his hand out to help Sam up.
Sam batted his hand away, giving him look, a sneer. "Look what you've done! My clothes are ruined! Torn!" Sam pushed himself up and looked down at his now bedraggled appearance. "I almost look like one of ...you," Sam sniffed haughtily and glared at the older boy. "You should be made to pay for these clothes you, you, you ragamuffin! That someone like you would even think to touch someone like me! Who do you think you are?"
Dean's ready smile was gone. 'Lady Mary Campbell Winchester's first born, he wanted to shout back, but the words stuck in his throat. He'd never been ashamed of his clothes, never cared much about them, but the way Samuel looked at him, the sheer disgust in his voice, or maybe it was the situation, but he suddenly felt no bigger, no more important than the vermin that crawled over him and his pillow at nights. "Apologies, I was wrong to believe your life was worth more than your clothes," he gave a humble bow. "If you would just pay for the package... five pence, I'll be on my way." He didn't trust himself to say more. His eyes were already stinging, and it wasn't because of the punishment he'd receive if he didn't replace the lost goods.
"You want me to pay you for ruining my clothes? For scraping my knees? My hand is bleeding! I wouldn't give you even a half-pence after what you've done! Get away from me or I will call for the constables and have you arrested! I will, too! Have you made to work to pay for these clothes you've ruined!" Sam stomped his foot, splashing more mud about. He saw his governess and ran back toward her, wailing about the boy who'd tackled him into the mud and pointing back at Dean.
Seeing the governess kindly take hold of Sam's hand and her gaze sharpening on Dean as if she was about to have him hauled away, and faced with the sheer contempt in his brother's eyes, Dean felt his heart freeze until he could feel nothing at all. Before she could call for help, he turned and ran, ran from them, ran from the looks in their eyes, ran from the shattered remains of dreams he'd made up about a future with his brother, his family. That day, one dream died, but another was born. One day, he'd be the one showing his contempt for that boy.
"Back in your finery I see. A snow white shirt, no flecks of dirt. A fine mask for a black heart." Raising the jug to his mouth, Dean took a few long drinks, trying to wash away the memories that would never stay buried under the sands.
"I have no other clothes with me," Sam said. He frowned at Dean's accusation. "It seems that I am not the one with the black heart, Captain. I have not intentionally wronged any man, woman or child. I do not thieve, or throw men overboard, or tie prisoners to the masthead and let those under me torment them, beat them, cut them and fondle them in a way a man should not touch another man. No, Captain, I think you best look in a mirror to see a black heart, for it does not beat in my chest." He swallowed hard, looking into those cold eyes. Here was a man who could torture another, gut him slowly and think nothing of it. "What...what do you intend to do with me, Captain?"
Dean gave a mirthless laugh. "Oh but you have, you have done all those things, every last one," he ground out as memories of his punishment for having lost the package and gotten his clothes dirty crowded his mind. He'd expected to be beaten. Whipped maybe. Then forced to sleep on the cold floor without a blanket and with his bloodied flesh sticking to the ground. That would have been heaven compared to what had happened. He hadn't even known back then that a man could rape a man... a boy, that it was even possible or a thing that happened. When he'd given the big, burly man his back the way he'd been ordered, when his face had been slammed into the wall and when his clothes had been torn off him... he'd still had no idea of what was to come. That night, and every night after, until he ran, until he took to the sea.
Barely seeing Sam, Dean blinked away the memories. "It's an eye for an eye, around here. And your father's protection means shit. You're nothing, just like all the ragamuffins you step on."
"I think you confuse me with my father," Sam said quietly, frowning slightly at the 'innocent' term the pirate used. He would have expected stronger language. "I am not my father. You know nothing of me, except what tripe you might read in the papers of my family. You know nothing of my life or my heart. If you wish to punish me for his evils..." Sam stared at the deck. "...then so be it." He lifted his gaze and met that of the black garbed captain, fire suddenly coming into his eyes. "But if you accuse me of evils, then at least give me the opportunity to know what evil I have done that I must lose an eye as it were. If I have truly wronged you--me, and not my father--then do your worst. I deserve no less. But know that If I have wronged you or your family or that of your crew, I am sorry. I would make amends if I could. If I can."
"If?" Dean snarled, slamming his fist into Sam's face and hardly noticing the blood that splattered from his nose and marred his shirt. Grasping the shirt, he pulled Sam as far from the column of wood he was tied to as he could, so his face was only inches from Sam's. "There's no if. You have wronged me and I know you well, I know you very, very well. Well enough to know your pretty little speeches mean nothing. That because of who you are you've learned to explain away anything. Kill someone, you or dearest papa comes up with a good tale and you have a hundred witnesses backing up your story, or the people at your beck and call will get rid of the body. Competition you don't like, they disappear. Knock up the wrong girl, and she conveniently breaks her neck in a fall. There is no 'if,' and I hear you deny it again, I will have you flogged, then dragged through the salt water. And that's for starters." His nostrils flared as he drew in his breaths. Dean remembered every last person that he ordered overboard, had flogged, or otherwise punished. Samuel cared so little for anyone he considered beneath him that he couldn't remember that day. That day when bad things went worse. Releasing him, Dean knocked back some more liquor, glaring at those sailors looking in their direction.
"I have never killed a man! And if I had ever gotten a young woman pregnant I would be married now rather than have been on that damnable ship headed to England to marry some rich man's daughter and thus ended up in your twisted and spiteful hands!" Sam yelled at him, knowing the Pirate King was likely good for his word and he would be flogged for his denial. But he was long accustomed to punishment when he spoke so defiantly. "You know nothing of me!" Sam spat at him, his bloodied spittle hitting the captain square in the face.
"Sonovabitch!" Fury sent Dean's blood straight to his temples. Almost instantly, he swung the jug at Sam's head, shattering it across his brow. A sheet of blood poured down Sam's face, but Dean wasn't satisfied. Wiping the spit off, he struck Sam again, and again, until no more sounds passed between the man's lips and he was out cold. "Take him down, shackle him in my quarters. Get me another drink!" He shouted his orders.
The music suddenly died down and men scrambled to do as they were told. Rufus made his way to the Captain's side and didn't flinch at the warning in the man's eyes. "A wise man would keep him alive until he collected the ransom."
"He's still breathing," Dean ground out.
"Barely."
There was silence.
"Will he still be breathing, come morning?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way." Curling his fingers around a bottle that was brought to him, Dean drank deeply. "Death would be too easy. Too quick." With that, Dean walked away and waved at the musicians to resume their play. He felt the weight of Rufus' gaze on him, but steadfastly ignored both it and the questioning gazes of his men. It wasn't often that they saw him out of control, but they'd known he couldn't lose face in front of them and Sam had spit in his face. Many a Captain would have fed him to the fish for that; he'd shown mercy.