Chapter Text
Dean knew exactly how much money was left in the motel room before they ever walked into the store.
It was a habit he'd picked up at fifteen, when he realized just how bad John's paranoia was.
The oldest Winchester would pull out large amounts of cash whenever he got a new card. When he worked odd jobs, he would only take the ones that would pay him under the table in cash. John paid for everything he could in cash. He didn't want the authorities being able to track them, he'd say. He was doing it for his subs, because if they ever caught John they would take him away.
John never said what it was they would arrest him for. Dean just assumed it was because of the gambling.
John Winchester owed a lot of debts to a lot of people.
Despite how controlling John was over finances, he had a terrible habit of putting money down and forgetting about it.
A twenty in 'hiding' in a roll of his socks that he never wore. It's been there for two weeks. There was a ten in the trunk of Baby that had been there for a few months now. There were two fifties in the glove box pinned under one of John's unregistered handguns.
There were three crumpled singles and a five in the ashtray John put his cigarettes out in. They were singed around the edges because John didn't care to make sure that he wasn't nearly starting any fires when he was putting out his cigs. As much as they needed the money...Dean preferred when he did that over putting the butts out on their skin. There was fifty-seven cents in the cup holder of the Impala, but it was in the front seat where neither he or Sam was allowed to sit. Half a tank of gas was worth twenty bucks maybe. The bottle of cheap whiskey under John's bed that mattered more to John than food had in three days was also about twenty too but John would never part with his drink.
John had a couple hundred bucks in his wallet.
They had enough money for groceries and gas for the week as well as enough extra to feed John's vices until his next paycheck.
Despite that, John hadn't bought groceries last week. Dean and Sam had shared the last can of Soup and stale bread for breakfast the day before. John had been forgetting about food more and more lately.
Sam's shoulders had gone sharp again under his shirt. Dean had started lying about being hungry because it was easier to say he'd ate than admit that he got dizzy enough to see white at the edges of his vision every time he stood too fast. Sam knew he was lying but never called Dean out on it either.
Sam had been Dean's responsibility. John claimed he'd took over Sam's care when he turned thirteen, when Dean was almost seventeen. But it was a flimsy narrative even on paper.
The credit card John shoved into his hand that morning had been a startling surprise. The sliver of hope he felt was a welcomed one. It also made a trickling of dread pool in his gut. The only distraction had been John grabbing a fist full of his hair at the back of his head to force Dean to look up at him because Dean had been too hesitant, had waited too long to speak.
"Take Sam and go buy groceries. You know what I expect...And don't mouth off to anyone." His voice was gruff from just waking up and didn't sound all that much better. Hiis words were still slurred from drinking the day before.
Regardless, Dean knew what was expected of him. This wasn't a new routine for the Winchesters.
He knew 'don't mouth off' actually meant don't speak to anyone.
"Yes, Sir" His voice was little more than a murmur. He knew better than to raise his voice too loud but he had to be careful not to mumble either. John Winchester hated mumbling. John must have woken up in a good mood because he released Dean's hair quickly and shuffled off to the bathroom. It gave Dean enough time to get Sam, who was pretending to sleep on their makeshift bed, and get out quick.
The motel they were staying at this time was decent. The wallpaper was old and yellowed from people smoking but it wasn't peeling or moldy. The carpet was rough under their knees but the room was a decent size and the water pressure was good. The bedding didn't have any odd stains and there weren't any roaches. John only ever got a room with one bed, but there was enough space for them to make a nest on the floor to sleep. As long as they kept it looking somewhat orderly, John didn't bother it.
When he did bother...it was easy enough to ask the submissive housekeeper for new sheets and blankets. She even gave them an extra pillow without asking.
The card was warm from John's pocket. The numbers were worn nearly smooth. Dean looked at it, then at the bathroom door where John had disappeared, and instinctively knew better than to ask whether it would work. John always found a couple people willing to illegally gamble with him. He always had a little extra cash from it as well as random 'rare coins' and entire wallets that Dean suspected he got a hold of when the other player was too drunk to realize he was getting picked over.
John Winchester's word was their law...that didn't mean Dean was ignorant to his fathers faults.
As a dominant and as a father.
The walk to the small grocery store down the road was dreary. It wasn't raining but the sky was cloudy and gray as the seasons changed. There was a nip in the air that neither he or Sam was properly dressed for. They walked shoulder to shoulder, mostly in silence. Dean because he needed to memorize the grocery list and Sam because he was fascinated by the colors of the ever changing leaves.
Dean also needed the silence to brainstorm ways to ask John for new clothes for both boys, without implying that the dom wasn't providing for them. It was a careful dance they had to endure. John did not suffer his subs sounding ungrateful.
John didn't often let the two boys go to the store by themselves, much less together but Dean was grateful for the reprieve as Sam pushed the squeaky cart through the aisles. Dean loaded the cart with what he knew would fit into the motel room's mini fridge.
The cheapest loaf of white bread, an off brand jar of chunky peanut butter, and a small case of chicken flavored cup noodles. He threw in a few cans of soups as well but not too many because he had to be mindful about how much they would have to carry back. It was all cheap and easy microwavable stuff. Dean keeps track of everything that they eat. Dean knew that he would be able to choke down a peanut butter sandwich even when it felt impossible and John would eat anything.
Sam was a little trickier to pin down when it came to food.
A bag of honey crisp apples was added to the cart. They were more pricey but Sam visibly brightened at the sight. Sam would eat those even when his nerves made everything else impossible. Dean made sure to get the brand of peanut butter that Sam would eat and at least two soup flavors that John wouldn't care for but Sam would happily have. While John wouldn't like the price of the apples on the receipt, Dean would just meekly point out that almost everything else was discounted. The bread was slightly smooshed, and the soup cans were dented. A couple cents off here and there to make up for the price.
It might earn him a few smacks but it would be worth it if Dean managed to get Sam to eat one on the way back to the motel. Before John could decide they didn't earn a meal today.
The last thing they grabbed from the regular part of the store was instant coffee for John. If Dean came back without it the whole day would surely tilt mean.
Sam and Dean's days seemed to revolve around trying to keep John's moods from tilting.
He shook his head as he refocused on his surroundings. He kept the list folded in the pocket of his worn jeans, though he'd memorized it before he left. Habit. Proof, if John asked, that they hadn't wasted time. It wouldn't matter that Dean couldn't actually read much of the list anyhow.
Around them, the store moved in the casual, public rhythm of the world. Sam was too distracted to notice, he was comparing the labels of different cups of ramen to make sure that they didn't have anything that John wouldn't like.
It was funny...how john was a picky eater but didn't care about what food went in when he was drunk, or how if came back out for that matter.
A businessman in a dark suit stood at the end of the dairy aisle with one hand tucked into the back pocket of the submissive leaning against him. Absentmindedly the dom was kneading the curve of the subs ass while they compared brands of yogurt. No one else looked twice at the sight. Near produce, a woman in a fitted skirt murmured a correction into her collared boy's ear, then slid two fingers beneath the front of his open shirt to pinch one nipple hard enough to make him yelp and blush. He thanked her automatically, loudly. She went back to inspecting avocados as if nothing had happened. And he obediently held open a produce bag.
That was normal. Public touch, public correction, public use. It was as ordinary as checking expiration dates. Or sending a text and reading over restaurant menus.
The two unaccompanied subs tried to ignore it, like they always did. John rarely used them like that in public, unless he was around his 'friends'. He would rant in private about how Dean and Sam were his. Submissives who let themselves be displayed and touched like that in public were dirty whores. Not worthy of a Dom and their Doms were just as terrible for doing such things. Even if the touch was as innocent as a hand on the back.
John never made much sense when he went on tangents like that. He often called his own boys sluts, whores, and anything else that suited his moods but neither Sam or Dean dared ask why it bothered him so much. Dean remembered vaguely, that once in a grocery store just like this, that John used to do the same thing.
With their mother.
He would stand behind Mary, arms wrapped around her and hands shoved into her front pockets. His chin would be hooked over her shoulder as they compared prices of the mushrooms and the looks of the green peppers while Dean sat in the cart, feet swinging. He used to think his parents were the perfect couple...up until she'd died of course.
He shoved the thought out of his mind quickly. It wasn't his place to question. John's word was the law. They needed to get back before John got suspicious and thought they were up to something.
"Come on Sammy, You can have an apple on the way back if we walk fast." Dean promised with a smile. Sam didn't talk much in public but he smiled and bumped their shoulders together.
Sam's smile was a wonderful thing. Dean would happily get a million apples if it made Sam smile like that.
The last aisle they swung through is the liquor aisle and Dean quickly buys a bottle of bourbon. A medium sized bottle that was cheap enough. If they come back without it there will be hell to pay. Dean just has to hope that the cashier isn't too much of a stickler. They weren't with a Dominant and they weren't properly dressed for public, not in their old jeans and ratty t-shirts with no jackets to block out the early autumn chill. Their collars were two cheap, simple thick strips of black leather with tarnishing metal clasps that pinched skin. Dean's was older, the leather worn and cracking in places. It was given to him when he was designated at 13 and hasn't been replaced since. It was too tight now and chafed his neck uncomfortably but he knew better than to ever consider taking it off.
If the cashier was a stickler it could turn into a very bad day. John had only made Dean buy his alcohol for him once before, in a smaller more progressive town.
They hadn't stayed long, and the only reason Dean got away with it was because the submissive cashier felt bad for him and the massive shiner he'd been sporting at the time.
Sam's collar was in slightly better shape, thankfully and loose enough to not chafe his neck due to his slimmer build. Sam was seventeen, going on eighteen soon. His collar was newer and has seen less wear than Dean's has. Dean was twenty-two. His collar was almost a decade old now.
The cheap rings John insisted counted as collars sat wrong at the base of their throats. They were too ugly to feel like anything except ownership without actual care. John didn't bother with tags or polished leather or engraved plates. The ring was a thick black band with a clasp that pinched skin if Dean swallowed too hard. 'Be grateful I've claimed you both. The Dom's out that door are a whole lot worse than me' he'd slurred drunkenly one night. Dean was kneeling on the floor at his feet with a bruised face. He had dared to ask that John remove the lock, and let the skin of his neck breathe because of how red and raw his skin was.
He hated how visible the collar him feel.
He hated, more than that, the way people glanced at it and then at the rest of him when they thought he wouldn't notice. They'd look at the yellowing bruise under his jaw and the thinness under his flannel. They looked at the cart full of budget food and figured him for what he looked like: an unmanaged submissive running errands that he would inevitably screw up without a Dom watching his every step. If he had an involved Dominant they would be faring far better.
At checkout, Dean directed and Sam listened like the good boy he was. He arranged the food with practicality so the cashier could scan it in the right order, the fragile things last. The total climbed, then stopped, blinking red. Dean did the math and knew it was still low enough that the card should have covered it if the card was real. John's budget when he sent them to the store was usually fifty bucks. Dean was sitting at $47.56.
The issue was when her hand closed around the bottle of bourbon. She blinked at it, then at both of them, hand hovering far enough from the scanner to show her hesitation. Dean's hope of getting out of the store without too much trouble flew out the window.
"Do you got ID for this? I can't sell it to you unless you're a Dom or with your Dom." She was clearly trying not to assume but her gaze lingered on their collars and the empty space behind them where a Dom usually lingered.
Dean's fingers closed around the handle of the cart so hard his knuckles ached. "No. My—" He swallowed. "My Dom has it..."
It wasn't a lie. And it wasn't uncommon for a Dom to hold their submissives ID or handle their money. Dean did have a designation card and a drivers license. John made sure of that, mostly because having a few, real official documents meant fewer questions from anyone who might noticed something off. John kept a hold on all of that stuff though, including their birth certificates and social security numbers. Dean couldn't think of the last time he even saw his own ID card.
Dean hadn't gotten it from John before they left the motel.
"Is he with you? Outside maybe?"
"No."
The cashier hesitated. There was a policy script scrolling behind her eyes now. Dean could see it unfolding. Sam's breathing had gone a little fast and weary like he was on the verge of panic but Dean couldn't comfort him right now...not yet.
"Then I can't sell you this but you boys can buy everything else. Okay?" She was a switch, only a switch could go from uncaring to assertive so quickly.
John would be pissed but Dean couldn't cause a scene in the middle of the grocery store. They would have to leave the bourbon."Okay"
She finished the transaction and the little beeping machine asked for him to swipe his card. He followed the prompts, desperate to get the rest of their stuff paid for and out of the store before anyone started asking too many questions. The machine beeped angrily and a single word flashed across the screen.
DECLINED
Dean froze for half a second, brow furrowing. John wouldn't have given them a card that wouldn't work. It would draw too much attention.
"Try again, please?" he said, before the cashier could say anything.
Her eyes flicked to his collar. To Sam standing at the end of the lane, already finished bagged and then back to the card. She tried again, he swiped the card and another angry beep followed.
A slow heat climbed his neck. Behind him, somebody sighed. Somebody else shifted a basket to the other hand. Dean could feel every second passing like a hand tightening around his spine. It was embarrassing to get this far, with all these people watching them and to know that they couldn't afford basic foods.
"Do you have another method of payment?" She asked, clearly getting impatient with them.
"No...my Dom gave me this card to pay with" He had no other answers for her.
"Hold on a moment" She reached for a phone, clearly meaning to page someone on the stores intercom.
Her voice rung out robotically on the system, calling someone by name. She got him the manager...
The manager was a broad Dominant with a woman tucked under his arm. She was clearly his submissive if the silver day collar around her neck was anything to go by. She stayed tucked under his arm with the calm, expensive stillness of somebody who had never once wondered whether her next meal depended on a bottle running dry. He looked at the card that was handed to him, then at Dean. The cashier turned her head to say something to him in a low tone that Dean couldn't hear but it made the guy frown.
He examined the faded numbers and the rubbed off name with a furrowed brow. He stepped around the cashier to push a few buttons on her screen before turning back to Dean and Sam. His expression was stern and his voice was tense in a way that made fear trickle down Sam's spine.
"This card has been flagged son." He didn't sound angry but Sam's shoulders rounded at the tone. Dean and Sam both knew that that tone was a prelude to a difficult night.
Dean stared at him.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," the manager said, voice flattening, "that I need you to come with me to my office."
A pulse jumped in Dean's temple. "We didn't steal anything." He defended, hoping they could at least get out of the store, preferably before any cops were involved.
"You attempted to purchase alcohol without a dom and with a fraudulent credit card."
"My dom gave me the card."
"Then your dom can explain that but I need you to come with me to the office while we sort this out or I'll have to call the police"
The word felt like it did to hear glass cracking under heavy pressure, startling enough to make him realize just how carefully they had to tread right now.
Dean thought of John drunk. John mean. John with no groceries and no patience. He thought of going back empty-handed and knew that his and Sam's punishment would be severe. He wished now that John hadn't sent them to the store together. At least then it would only be Dean getting punished and not the both of them.
"I need to take the food," he said. "You can call him from the register can't you?"
The manager's submissive glanced at Dean with something like pity. Dean hated that too.
"Boy," the manager said, "leave the cart and both of you come with me. Now."
Before either Sam or Dean could hesitate or refuse, a security guard appeared with the efficient certainty of a man who was used to handling difficult submissives in public. Not that he was needed. Calling them 'boy' was a quick way to ensure compliance...It worked for John anyway.
For one bright, stupid second, running sounded easier than being brought back to John by strangers who would believe whatever John told them. Then Sam rose in his mind so clearly Dean stopped moving altogether. Sam who was looking to his big brother right now with wide fearful eyes because he didn't know what to do either. Sam counting on him, on them being together. Sam fared worse than Dean at dealing with anybody unfamiliar, anybody official, anybody who tried to separate them for even a minute.
Never mind the fact that if John found out they ran from store security he would still belt them a good one. Regardless of why they had to do so.
Dean followed them to the little office behind customer service with a defeated sigh. His shoulders were slumped and at his side Sam obediently followed his brothers lead with the same slouched posture. The posture of a contrite sub trying to behave. Sam's hand clutched Dean's like a lifeline. The walls of the office were painted an institutional beige and the chairs they were directed to was made out of molded plastic. The air smelled like stale coffee and Dean hated the room on sight. The security guard stuck around but didn't interfere too much. Two submissive detained for fraud but not violent wasn't a big deal for them. Not when one was an adult. Collars present but Dominant absent. It was no different than a Friday night where there were procedures for them to follow. Just rebellious misguided subs who needed a firm hand. It was a state the world recognized. A category into which Dean and Sam fit badly and too well all at once.
The manager sat at his desk and his sub kneeled at his feet. Neither talked to Sam or Dean, the manager just told them to sit and wait for a moment.
A moment.
Ten.
At twelve minutes the manager checked his buzzing phone and left the office with his submissive who didn't return.
Fifteen minutes later a set of police officers came in, accompanied by a woman in a grey suit jacket and slacks. She wore a clean white button down under her jacket. She didn't wear a collar or show any signs of being a submissive but she wore a wedding ring on her finger. If she was a dom, her ring would smart if she smacked anyone with it. She had a tablet and file tucked under her arm and a recognizable blue badge dangling from her jacket that drew more attention than her ring had.
The sight of the badge made his stomach drop harder than it had for the police and Sam made a strangled, wounded sound.
"I'm twenty-two," he said immediately, before either she or the officers could speak. "Why is Submissive services here?"
The liaison didn't sit. She didn't blink at the rudeness of his outburst. She looked at him the way medical staff sometimes did when John finally dragged one of them into a clinic: not unkind, but with a wary habit of observation.
"I'm Naomi with Submissive Protection and Welfare" she tried to reassure, not that it worked. That was just a subdivision of Submissive Services, one that would certainly get them in trouble if John knew they were talking to them. "Detained submissives are assessed if they're unescorted and the responding officer has any concerns. "It's just protocol we follow, nothing to worry about"
Dean laughed once, ugly and short. "Concerns? You both just walked in"
The officer had the card in his hand, the one that Dean had tried to pay with. "This yours?"
"It was given to me."
"By your registered Dominant?"
Dean's jaw set. "Yes"
They had to be careful with what they said. John told them frequently in his tiraids about the things submissive services would do.
They would do whatever they could to get Sam and Dean to talk to them and then they would use everything they said against John and take the boys away from him. The boys would get thrown into a system much worse than what John provided.
"Name?"
He was quiet for a long moment but still answered. "John Winchester."
The officer looked at the liaison. The liaison looked at Dean's throat, then at the dark smudge near his wrist where a bruise had climbed above his sleeve.
"Are you currently under contract?" she asked.
Dean stared at her, unfamiliar with the phrase. "What?"
"Formal or informal bond. Custodial arrangement or maybe a dependency filing? Anything on record." She had pulled her tablet from under her arm when he gave John's name but she didn't make any readable faces as she looked at the screen.
"No?"
That answer did more than the fraudulent card had. He saw it land.
Dean wouldn't know it, but he more or less opened her case for her.
Everyone was designated a dynamic at the age of thirteen after a series of tests that started at eleven and got confirmed by a final test at age fourteen. Dynamics was a sliding scale of sorts. It was determined by the mindset that the brain lived in that usually settled at thirteen, which was why doctors did a final confirmation test at fourteen.
Dominants were at one end, determined by certain hormones, chemicals, and which part of the brain was most active. On the other end of the scale was submissives who had a mix of the opposite hormones and chemicals than Doms, the other half of the brain was more active in them. Neutrals and Submissives were the middle of the scale but they were two different things. Neutrals were the less common of the two, they were people who stayed steady in the middle of the scale. Switches were able to slide along the scale freely but never to the degree that a Dom or submissive slide on it.
This was all stored in a private database, that helped track the percentages of each dynamic and a few other things that was generally understood by the general public.
By age eighteen, formal paperwork was usually filed. Or a informal dynamic was declared for those who had a relationship with no official bonding.
Every submissive had to have a registered dominant in the database. Whether it was a parent, sibling or partner, a close dominant who was seen as a legal guardian or caretaker. Every submissive had a dominant on file for cases like this, or for medical emergencies. The submissive on paper, had to give consent to have that person as their dominant and the dominant also had to agree to be their dominant. it wasn't an automatic thing...not that Sam or Dean knew that.
John never got into the specifics of such things with them.
They were pulled out of school when Dean was 13, when he was first designated as a submissive. John had never bothered to get his confirmation test at fourteen because he claimed it was just a formality...something that wasn't actually needed and just a reason to charge good money on overpriced blood tests. Sam's designation process had followed a similar process a handful of years later.
It meant that there was no contract. No legal domestic partnership or institutional residency records when she typed the name John Winchester into her tablet.
Just a collar and two submissives who had slipped through the cracks that were trying to use a flagged card, trying to push themselves through a mess that they didn't create.
The officer leaned back a little. "Listen, you boys aren't in trouble right now. We just need to confirm your story and if everything checks out, we return you home, no fuss"
Relief came too fast and wrong, chased immediately by dread.
"No," Sam whispered but in the quiet room they all heard him. Dean quickly placed a hand on his thigh, quieting him, despite the odd look that passes over one of the officers face at the intimate touch.
"He means you can call him. He'll answer if it's a number he doesn't know. Just—"
"Just what?" the Naomi asked.
Dean licked dry lips. "We were supposed to be back with the groceries already...our Dom will be upset we took so long...and got in trouble with the police"
That, more than anything else, made the womans face go still before she tried to reassure them. She didn't have a good reassuring face.
The officer rose from his seat. "Let's go boys, we'll explain to your Dom that you aren't in any trouble and we'll clear up the issue with the card."
Dean looked toward the windowless wall as if he could somehow see through it, through the parking lot, through the houses that lined the streets and all the way back to the motel where John was waiting. Every minute he'd been gone was another minute John was stewing with the last of his liquor. Another minute for John's mood to curdle.
He stood because they told him to. Sammy stood because he always followed his older brother's lead.
He kept his mouth shut because he had learned long ago that panic said out loud only made other people firmer. Sam stayed quiet because these were strangers, strange Doms who were in control of the situation and they were people that they weren't supposed to be talking to. John would have their hides. He wouldn't care if they weren't the ones in trouble.
All they could do was sit in the back seat of the police cruiser and pray that John was sober enough to be charming and quick on his feet. Just enough so that he could talk his way out of the trouble but not enough that he would take the full force of his anger out on them once the cops left.
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