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Pray For Us Sinners, Part 2

*headdesk*
Title: Pray For Us Sinners, Part 2
Author: kaasknot
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean, OC, Kubrick & Creedy (BDABR), Bobby
Kink: Bondage, sensation play, edgeplay, D/s, DP (sort of), humiliation (not the good kind). I think that covers most of it.
Words: ~8,300 for this part, ~17,000 total.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: *deep breath* NON-CON. Epic non-con. Torture, graphic rape, misuse of BDSM kinks, Costco-sized tubs of angst. I'm not kidding when I say there are triggers in this thing.
Summary: An answer to this prompt on the spnkink_meme. Sam and Dean get kidnapped, and are then tortured by a variety of BDSM kinks.
Notes: This is my first foray into BDSM, and I surprised myself by how much I enjoyed writing it---which isn't to say I didn't have to step back and read some fluff every so often. Let that be a warning to you. Also, it got kind of out of hand.



Motherfucking hell it hurt. Sam tried to pull away, yanked brutally on the chains to try to, but the demon rode out his contortions with aplomb. Wherever he went, the poker followed without wavering, and soon he could smell his flesh burning.

Finally the demon pulled it away and thrust the tip of it in front of Sam's face. "Look at all the charred bits of your own skin, Sam! Isn't it pretty?" It yanked the poker back. "Hell, it half makes me want to go out for barbecue." Dean was so white he was almost gray.

It stepped away and returned to the table, re-lit the blow torch and poked the faded red head of the poker back in the flames until it was searing white once more. "Sammy, Sammy, you okay?" Dean muttered frantically. He grabbed Sam's hand and shook it, rattling the chains. "You okay, man?"

"Think m'gonna puke," Sam mumbled. His stomach was roiling from the pain. At least the odds for him getting another hard-on were slim.

"Hold off on that until I'm not chained to you," Dean said, working for a grin but mostly failing. Sam grunted and rested his forehead against the cool iron bars in front of him.

"Time for a history lesson, boys," the demon called, strolling up to the dividing bars and leaning a shoulder against them. "Oh, before we begin---you sure you don't want to make out even a little? It'd probably go easier for you." It paused, took in both their closed, pissed-off faces, then tilted it's head, as though considering something. "Actually, I think I like it more, this way." It shrugged and launched itself upright, then snatched a handful of Sam's hair, yanking his head back. Sam grunted. He was getting tired of his hair getting yanked on. Dean's face was probably getting tired of being slammed against the bars, too.

"Have you ever heard of Edward II?" the demon asked. The name was vaguely familiar to Sam, but he couldn't draw it forward. "No? Well, he was the King of England back in the early 12th century. Not very good at it, either; he was deposed by his own wife after twenty years on the throne." it let go of Sam's hair and stepped back, lowering the poker. "That's not really what most people know about, though. Our Eddie was probably homosexual; he had a couple boy-toys he kept bestowing favors upon. It made the nobles so pissy that they eventually executed him by shoving a hot poker up his ass. They figured it was the best way to kill him without leaving a mark." It looked square at Dean. "They say you could hear his screams for miles around. Can you imagine that? Miles."

It raised the poker; Sam felt the heat of it singe the air under his butt cheeks, and he felt himself clench tight. He found himself very, very aware of his skin, of Dean, the smell of their combined sweat and of the metal between them. Dean's eyes were huge and impossibly green as he stared at them.

"Kiss," the demon said, "or we find out how loud Sammy can scream. Don't worry, I'll make it slow."

Sam swallowed, Dean blinked several times in quick succession.

"Time's a wastin', boys," the demon calls, bouncing the poker up and down in its palm.

"Shit," Dean murmurs, then leans forward through the bars. Sam mimicked him, and pressed his mouth against Dean's chapped lips.

It was the most awkward, unappealing kiss they'd ever shared, and that included all the fumbling when they'd first started... whatever it was they had. In his rush to get it done, Sam actually missed, bumping his brother's chin hard enough to bruise. Dean let out a grunt that washed warm air over Sam's face.

The demon sighed. "Like you mean it, boys," it said, and edged the poker closer to Sam's cheek. He felt the sting of the heat, felt the hairs on his thighs curling up and charring against his skin. He whimpered and lurched up as far as his bonds would let him, almost accidentally slotting his mouth against Dean's at the right angle. All of a sudden the kiss changed, going from awkward to desperate, and Dean was there, trying to lick the fearful taste out of Sam's mouth, and Sam took the comfort his brother offered with both fists. The adrenaline rush flared through his body, boiling his blood, and to his shame he started to harden once again. Dean whimpered back at him, shifted, and Sam discovered he wasn't the only one sporting ill-timed wood.

The demon pulled back the poker, but Sam didn't notice, caught up in his brother's slick heat. The rope about their waists kept him from thrusting up against Dean's hip, from getting completion, and he growled in frustration against Dean's lips. He wrenched in his bonds when the demon wrapped its hand around both their cocks, and Dean keened into Sam's mouth at the sensation. They were both so desperate, so hungry for contact and any kind of release, that it wasn't long before Sam shot his load, streaking Dean's chest, and Dean followed soon after, his spunk hot against Sam's skin.

They sagged against the chains, spent, but the demon kept stroking them, teasing out the last ounce of pleasure. Reality surged back to Sam, and he gaped at Dean, horrified, then at the hand still jacking them to the point of pain. He couldn't help the twitch of his hips as the demon pulled another, torturous spasm from his sensitive cock; the grimace on Dean's face told the same story.

The demon pulled back its hand, letting them drop; it licked at the mess of mingled come in its palm. Sam felt his gorge rise, and his shame threaten to suffocate him. He couldn't look at Dean.

"Fear can be a potent aphrodisiac," the demon said simply, then stepped out of the cage. Both doors slammed shut behind it to lock, and the chains and rope holding the brothers fast fell away from their limbs. Sam stumbled back, overbalanced, and went down sprawling. He looked up from the floor to the demon's satisfied, content face.

"I think that's enough for today," it said, hands behind its back. "I'll leave you two to mull over what you've learned." With that, it turned on its heel and walked out.

Sam looked down at the come drying on his chest, craned his neck to try and see the burn on his shoulder, still aching with a deep, seeping pain. What he could see of it was red, inflamed, and leaking clear fluid. He sighed and gave up.

Turned his eyes to Dean, who was carefully avoiding his gaze.

Sam flopped back against the concrete in a wash of mid-morning sunlight. It had been an hour, maybe two at most. It had felt like years.

That was the end of the first day. What they didn’t know was how close, and how far, from salvation they were.

***

It was the first night Sam slept without touching Dean in any way. It was almost more torturous than anything the demon had done, and he didn't sleep, just mulled over, as the demon had told them, what had happened.

"Kubrick wasn't very good at bondage, either," the demon announced when it came in the next morning, clapping its hands together and rubbing briskly. "We'll be exploring that, today, I think." It flicked its fingers, and Sam went skidding across the floor until he was spread-eagled and facing the ceiling.

"Sam!" Dean cried, seizing the dividing bars. Sam writhed, but the demon's bonds were even more irresistible than the chains from the day before. The demon picked through the table and extracted four spikes, pitons, if Sam felt like being picky, and a roll of duct tape. Walking to Sam, it bent down and rammed one spike into the concrete by Sam's left wrist. Sam flinched, fully expecting it to go through his wrist, but wasn't sure if being chained to the spike was better or worse. It certainly hurt less. The demon repeated the maneuver three more times, once for his other wrist and twice for his ankles, and then the pressure bearing down on his chest vanished. The demon cocked its head at him and smirked.

"Like a starfish," it said. "We might do something sometime so you vomit up your stomach like one, too." Sam choked and felt his eyes bug out. The demon giggled and tore off a strip of tape that it slapped across Sam's mouth. It was tacky and bitter to the taste.

The demon stepped out of Sam's side of the cage, and, scooping up a coil of rope, appeared in Dean's side.

Dean stumbled back into a fighting stance, but the demon flung him against the wall and pinned him there. It whistled as it worked, throwing a coil over the crossbars overhead and pulling the ends until they were even. Then it looked at Dean, and, darting over, dragged him to the center of the cage before forcing him to his knees. Peering down his chest, Sam could see Dean's muscles straining and the tendons in his neck bulging, but no matter what he did he bent to the demon's will. First the demon chained his wrists together behind his back, then looped the rope through. It hauled Dean upright by his wrists, his arms raised behind his back, and he rose to his feet by necessity of keeping his shoulders in their sockets. He tried to straighten, but the demon took the slack out of the rope, and he was forced to bend over at the waist.

"This particular configuration is called the strappado," the demon said, voice pedantic. "It's adapted from a popular medieval punishment, wherein the condemned was hauled up by his arms, dropped from a great height, and stopped with a decidedly abrupt jerk." It brushed its fingers through Dean's hair.

"Get off me," Dean hissed, tossing his head. He stumbled, the position throwing off his balance. The demon patted his cheek before tearing off another strip of duct tape and silencing him.

The demon stepped back to admire its work. "It's not quite finished, though," it mused, then snapped its fingers. "I know." It vanished and reappeared next to the table, but instead of selecting one its own toys, it picked up the bamboo rod Kubrick had used so faithfully. It apparated back to stand in front of Dean and twirled it like a baton before his face. "It's your old friend, Dean," it gloated. "Not quite a poker, but this serves much better, I think."

Dean glared up at the demon, but the expression's effectiveness was diminished by the angle of his position. The demon knelt before him, twitched his feet apart, and with a few twists of rope, bound his spread ankles to the rod. Sam watched as Dean swayed, forced to split his attention between the demon and keeping his balance.

"Lessons for the day," the demon said, standing up straight and clapping a hand on Dean's bowed shoulder, sending him staggering. "Point one: Kubrick was crappy at bondage. He was uninspired, uncreative, and ineffective. I’ve already shown how one can use a variation on the same position he used to much greater effect; now I'm going to show you how the position he used was poor to begin with." It looked to Sam before saying, "I hope you don't mind if I use Dean as a visual aid."

Sam stared at it, an incredulous are you fucking serious? bouncing around in his head, but the duct tape over his mouth kept it in.

"Point two: gravity is a very interesting and overlooked tool," the demon said. "It can either help or hurt a position. The way Kubrick was using it, it hindered him. When you thrashed against your bonds, gravity helped you, even if only psychologically. That’s another point, by the way, one we’ll get to in a bit. The way I use gravity, however, it helps me." It leaned on Dean's shoulder, and he made a sort of high-pitched, squeaking grunt as he started tumbling forward. The rope holding him up caught his fall, but yanked his arms forward to an alarming angle. He groaned through the duct tape. The demon bent down and eased him back to equilibrium. "I'm using gravity against you, too, Sam," the demon said, "but it's far more passive and less delightfully graphic. You simply have to work harder to get up." It stroked Dean’s back, trailing fingers through the sweat beading up on his skin.

“Which leads me to point three: you cannot overlook the state of your victim’s mind if you want to torture them effectively.” Its fingers trailed down Dean’s spine before dipping into Dean’s crack. Sam watched as his eyes widened, pleading at Sam, and a tight whimper leaked out from around the duct tape. “Both positions, but especially this one, invite a feeling of vulnerability in the subject of them,” the demon murmured. It reached down, and Sam couldn’t see what it did, but given Dean’s muffled yelp he was willing to bet the demon had grabbed his junk. The muscles in his chest and abs were tight with tension, and his legs were taut. Even his arms and shoulders were corded, and Sam knew it couldn't have been easy on his rotator cuffs. He'd relocated Dean's shoulders often enough that he knew they were both loose as a whore's belt buckle; it wouldn't take very much pressure at all for them to come undone.

His skin trembled with sense-memory as he watched the demon run its hands over his brother's skin. He wanted to rip them off, Kubrick be damned. The man was already on Sam's shit list.

Dean's face was cracked open, now, his eyes wide and lambent with unshed tears, his jaw trembling under the duct tape. He looked for all the world like that little four-year-old boy who watched his mother die, and Sam strained against the spikes holding him down, but he couldn't get enough leverage. If he'd been upright, Sam realized, he would have been able to break something loose sooner or later---a weak link in the chains, an imperfection in the leather cuffs---but like this, he had to work three times as hard for half as much return. He wasn't getting up. He screamed in agonized frustration.

"Ooh, looks like Sammy's getting impatient," the demon said, pulling away from Dean's backside. "We'll have to take care of that, won't we? But first, something to keep you entertained." The demon reached for Dean's chest and seized one of his nipples, pebbled by the cool air of the warehouse. It pulled it down, twisting mercilessly, and Dean keened, high and thin, when it pulled an alligator clip out of its pocket and fastened it to his tender flesh. The demon repeated it on the other side, but Dean didn't react that time, just stared down at the floor, panting little mewls of agony through his nose, chest twitching.

"Sensitive, are we?" the demon chuckled, then as a final touch, whipped out a handkerchief and tied it around Dean's eyes. Dean made a soft, long whimper in reply.

The demon turned to Sam. "He carries the pain so well, doesn't he? I know you're simply </i>dying</i> to join in, but I've got something else in mind for you, Sammy-boy," the demon said, standing in Sam's line of sight. Sam glared at it. He could see Dean's legs behind it, wobbling back and forth as he tried to compensate for his offset balance.

The demon blinked to the table and rustled about in its contents, but Sam didn't pay it any attention. His only concern was Dean, and Dean didn't seem to be doing so well. What parts of his face he could see were bright red and lined with tension, and wet patches were blooming on the fabric of the handkerchief. His fingers clenched helplessly in the air.

The demon reappeared by Sam's side and squatted down, laying a bunch of candles and a small cooler by its feet. "I've got a particular purpose for you, Sam Winchester," it said softly, running a hand across his brow. "I'm going to hurt you, too, over the coming days, make no mistake; but above all else, be sure and watch your brother. He's the reason we're here." Sam's gaze flicked back to Dean, suddenly terrified for him, but the demon slapped him on the face, bringing his attention back to it. It held up one of the tapers so Sam could see. It was honey-brown, and Sam hazarded it was homemade, given the irregularities in the wax.

"This is beeswax," the demon said. "Here, take a sniff." it shoved it under Sam's nose, and Sam couldn't help but breathe in the pleasant, faintly sweet aroma. "Lovely, isn't it? It perfumes the room so nicely when it's melted." It set the candle back down, then produced another handkerchief. With a flourish, it tied it around Sam's head, taking care to tie the knot precisely where he rested his head. Sam lolled his head about, trying to find a comfortable way to lay against the concrete, but the demon was clever and tied some of his hair into the knot. It pulled when he tried to dislodge it.

Giving up, Sam lay back, neck tense to keep the knot digging into his skull, unable to do anything but wait. He felt horribly vulnerable, with both his sight and voice taken away; the rustle of the demon's clothes were amplified, and Dean's whimpers and the creak of his ropes tore at Sam.

"In the BDSM community this is referred to as sensation play," the demon explained, and Sam heard the snick of a lighter being flicked on. "We've been exploring a lot of BDSM activities, actually; they certainly have so many wonderful, pervertible ideas. Take yesterday, for instance. That was what we call edgeplay, or taking you to the edge of---and sometimes beyond---your comfort zones. Dean's was pokers in general, but yours was death, though not specific to the method therein. You have to admit, it made for a pretty damn awesome orgasm, right?"

Sam maintained his sullen silence. He schooled himself not to react to whatever the demon was planning, but the anticipation was crushing. He was trembling by the time the first drops of wax hit his stomach, and he arched skyward, digging the knot of the blindfold into his scalp, when the pain registered. He couldn't have stopped it, and he'd tried.

It was excruciating. He'd dipped his fingers into hot wax before, what curious kid hadn't? And working as he did in a field that dealt with the occult, he'd had hot wax spilled on him before, too. But this was different. This time he was naked, and the wax was so hot it felt like it set his skin on fire wherever it landed.

"Beeswax burns hotter, in case you were wondering," the demon said conversationally. "It's usually not recommended for wax play."

Sam growled, hoping to convey his heartfelt fuck you, but it came out more as a strained moan when a dollop of wax spilled into his belly button. He could have sworn it burned straight through his body to his cock, and he even felt pings of fire in the soles of his feet.

The demon ran a long line of wax up his torso to the base of his pecs, and Sam twitched. He was suddenly very aware of his nipples; Dean's reaction to the clips was still fresh in his mind, and the possibilities scampered around his brain like hamsters on speed. His train of thought was derailed, however, when the demon scraped a blunt edge along the trail of wax, prying it off his skin (and damn if it didn't hurt, getting all those little hairs torn out). He wasn't even given time to adjust before he felt a block of frigid winter made solid---an ice cube, his shocked brain supplied---placed against his belly button and slipped up the same path. He thrashed his head from side to side, moaning around the duct tape. It was too goddamn much, his head was going to explode. The demon pulled the ice cube away, and Sam sighed in relief.

Then the demon poured wax on his nipples.

Distantly he heard Dean yell through his screams, heard the panicked sound to his voice, and it was all Sam could do to shut himself up. He had to keep from freaking out Dean, he told himself hazily. The demon had something worse planned for Dean, he needed to be strong for his brother.

Didn't help much, when the next place the demon dropped hot wax was the tender soles of his feet.

That was the second day.

***

Sam had nightmares, that night. It wasn't the first time he'd had nightmares, excluding Yellow Eyes' blue plate specials, but it was the first time they'd been so vivid since Cold Oak.

He saw Dean thrashing in his bonds, the demon holding his nostrils closed above the duct tape. Saw the way he fought, eyes wet and panicked, but inevitably sagging, like all his tendons had been severed; he relived the horror of thinking his brother was dead before the demon removed its hand and lifted him up so he wouldn't dislocate his shoulders.

Relived his own torment, the involuntary spasms of his lungs and limbs as they fought to remove the blockage and suck in even a tiny thread of air. Recalled the effervescent pulse of black against his vision, the fuzzy feeling in his mind, and then the last moment of awareness before he jerked awake, crying.

The worst part of it, though, was not the fact that he had thought that his brother was dying five months ahead of schedule. Wasn't that he'd nearly died, himself. No, the part that scared him, kept him from sleep, was the flash of tender compassion on the demon's face as it bore Dean up and cradled him until he regained consciousness; the flash of shared pain as it pinched Sam's nostrils shut.

And it hadn't been the first time he'd seen it. What did it mean for Dean, when their torturer tortured itself with every cut, but did it anyway, and even enjoyed it? What would Hell do to him?

***

Sam let his head sag, exhausted. Dean looked just as drained on the other side of the bars, and Sam bleakly reminded himself the demon hadn't even gotten started. The demon tested their chains, a disturbing anticipation about its features as it strung them up. It brushed a finger down the side of Dean's face when it finished. Dean jerked his head away, and shared a dark, apprehensive look with Sam. Today was going to be different, they both knew it.

"In honor of the peculiar nature of your sins, I've been giving you two a first-hand introduction to hardcore BDSM," the demon finally said. "Painful, yes, but no worse than what any sub might experience." It pause, cocked its head. "Well, no, that's not quite true. A sub consents." A nasty smile creased its face, then vanished as it went on. "What marks BDSM from true torture is the degree of degradation involved. Doms and subs pride themselves on their practice of humiliation, but it is never intended to form lasting scars; that's torture, boys. The art of leaving scars, both mental as well as physical." It cozied up behind Dean; Dean immediately tensed up, struggling impotently to dislodge it. It carried on as though Dean's struggles were no more than the buzzing of a fly. "It's the art of breaking someone when the scar tissue builds up and becomes inflexible." It ran a finger over an old scar on Dean's side. Sam remembered when he'd gotten that one; they'd been hunting a black dog, and Dean had impaled himself on a decorative spike while vaulting an old, wrought iron fence. Dean shivered.

"I've been priming you for this moment," the demon crooned in Dean's ear. "Teaching you to expect the unexpected while dangling the threat of worse before your nose." It bit down gently on the meat of Dean's shoulder while its gaze burned into Sam's eyes. Sam couldn't breathe. It pulled back just enough to say, "Now, it's time to do worse."

Dean let out a tiny sob, and Sam's eyes flashed to his face. A single tear, squeezed out from under closed lids, tracked down his brother's cheek before getting lost in his scraggly, untrimmed beard. Sam reached out and threaded his fingers with Dean's, and Dean clamped down desperately.

Sam glanced back at the grinning demon, too sickened and scared to glare. The demon stared straight back, caressing Dean's sides.

"I think that's enough foreplay, don't you?" the demon asked Dean, and Dean let out a trembling breath, turning his face away. Another tear followed the first. Sam squeezed his fingers.

"You son of a bitch," he hissed. He knew better than to offer threats, anymore.

"Don't you know it," the demon said cheekily, stepping back just enough to undo its belt. The clank of its buckle sounded like cannon-fire in the still air.

Sam watched, every moment graven in his mind, as the demon returned its hands to Dean's ass, spreading him, and the forward tilt of its hips as it positioned itself. Dean threw himself as far forward as he could, eyes terrified. "Sammy," he he whispered. "Oh God, Sammy, don't look, close your eyes, Sammy, please, Sam--!" His litany cut off into a scream as the demon rammed its hips forward, and Sam jerked against his bonds as Dean did, tears pouring out of his own eyes.

Dean's face was frozen into a rictus of pain, eyes clouded and dark as the demon settled itself against his back. He twisted and bucked, trying to knock the demon off, trying to tear free, anything---but the demon clamped down, grabbing the bars on either side of Dean's chest to slam both of them against the barrier. Sam reared back when Dean's body collided with his, his hands white-knuckled around Dean's fingers.

"Just think, Dean," the demon said, as though it wasn't buried balls-deep in his ass, "When you're in Hell, this will be Sunday afternoon tea. In Hell, you'll be fucked by two cocks, or three, maybe even more, depending on how many holes they decide to make. You'll be spread wide and left for anything passing by, anything, to use as it pleases. You'll be fucked so hard you'll come red, Dean, and you will come. You'll enjoy it, you'll come to crave the sharp cut and the pulsing ache, and you won't even miss the gentle caress. And then you'll turn around after it's done and do the same to the souls flooding in after you."

Dean was crying freely, now, thick, wracking sobs that hitched as the demon thrust in. Sam cried with him, snot running down the funnel under his nose. He couldn't do anything, he was pressed right up against him and still he couldn't stop his brother from getting raped. It was like the entire past year compressed and thrown in his face.

It seemed to go on forever. Sam's ears burned with the slap of skin against skin; his fingers were numb from Dean's grip; he shook with Dean as his body was pounded against the bars, against him. Eventually Dean's sobs slowed and all that was left were hitching little moans.

The demon's thrusts sped up, the slap of flesh grew faster, and its grip on the bars tightened. It gave one, final thrust and held it, and Dean buried his head as well as he could against his shoulder. Sam felt the demon's breath wash warm over his face as it sighed its release, and his anger surged, eclipsing him completely until all that was left was a calm wasteland of fury.

"That's good, Sammy," the demon said, voice glutted and heavy as it tucked itself back in. "That rage, that's good. Keep that. You'll need it."

Sam didn't say anything, but he twitched with the compulsion to tear the demon's head off with his bare hands and roast its corpse over a salty fire.

Only that wasn't slow enough.

The demon snapped its fingers and the chains around their wrists came undone, and Sam staggered back before he caught his balance. Dean simply dropped, flopping against the bars. Sam lunged for the demon, heedless of the bars between them, but it snapped its fingers again and vanished. Sam stared at the spot it stood, trembling with the need to destroy.

His bloodlust was shattered by a broken whimper. His attention zeroed in on Dean, to where his brother lay dumped on the floor. Blood streaked his inner thighs along with something else, something shiny and white, and Sam didn't let himself think about it.

"Shit, Dean, this is bad, man," he babbled. "Fuck, you need a doctor." He reached a hand through the bars and rested it on Dean's shoulder. Dean jerked away, scrabbling across the floor.

"Please... don't touch me, Sam," he said quietly, before curling himself up in a ball.

Sam stared after him, heart split open and bleeding in his chest. That was the third day.

***

The fourth day, the demon forced Dean to rape his brother. Sam tried to tell Dean it was alright, that it wasn't his fault, but when the demon unchained him from his brother's back and Dean didn't struggle, didn't try to fight, Sam knew it was almost over.

Sam couldn't have told you what happened on the fifth day; he spent the entire time gagged, blindfolded and wrapped so tight in saran wrap he couldn't twitch a finger. The demon had even put earplugs in his ears. By the time it let him out, colors were too bright, sounds were too loud, and the faintest brush of air against his skin sent goose bumps skittering across his back.

He was so mad with relief he might have entertained the notion of kissing the demon, but that one died a quick death when Sam saw the electrical burns marring Dean's chest.

***

Sam woke the morning of the sixth day to chains rattling against the bars of his cage. "Rise and shine, boys," it said. "Time to face another lovely day." It looked up at the darkened windows. "Night," it amended. Sam looked away, too spent to care.

Ignoring him, the demon pulled a kit from the table. It contained several bags and long coils of tubing, and the demon set it aside to place a pot of water over a camp stove.

Sam watched on, anxious and yet strangely detached.

While the water heated, the demon went into Sam's side of the cage and pulled him to his feet. "Time to go on a field trip, Sammy-boy," it said, jerking on Sam's collar. Sam went, utterly unresisting, as it led him into his brother's side of the cage and chained him up against the wall. Dean sat curled in the corner, watching.

It left them there, leaving the door open behind it as though to taunt them with their inability to run away. The water on the stove was steaming, sending up the occasional bubble to pop in the air. The demon poured half the water into one of the bags, and the rest into a second. Then it turned to Dean. Dean stared blankly back at it.

"Stand up, Dean," it said gently. "Bend over and grab the bars in front of you."

Dean hesitated for a heartbeat, and Sam felt a brief flare of hope---but then he complied, baring his ass to the air. The demon stepped up behind him, reaching for his ass, and Sam was shocked when next it produced a bottle of lube. It had never bothered to be so gentle, before. It squirted a dollop of the gel onto its fingers and lowered them. Judging by the suddenly vulnerable look on Dean's face, Sam supposed it was working him open. Sam tried to care, he really did; but by this point, he was just glad Dean wasn't being hurt.

Pulling over one of the bags of water, the demon attached a length of tube to the spigot at the base; pulling up the other end of the tube, Sam saw that it had a nozzle. The demon slipped the nozzle into Dean's ass. Dean's breath hitched, a twist of pain flashing across his face.

Then the demon turned the stopcock on the bag, and Sam watched the water's path as it slipped down toward Dean.

Right about when Sam estimated it had reached skin, Dean jerked, hissing. "Son of a bitch!" He tucked his ass and fell to his knees, writhing.

"Enemas are good for long-term discomfort," the demon said. "Hot water enemas can't be held as long, but they are excellent for upping the pain. Wouldn't you agree, Dean?"

Dean moaned in reply, slapping his open palm against the floor. Sam figured it couldn't have felt good against the partially-healed tissue that the demon tore.

"Get up, back in position," the demon said. "We're not done yet."

Trembling, Dean complied, grabbing hold of the bars once more.

"Very good," the demon crooned, reaching out to stroke his back. Its other hand raised the enema bag a little higher into the air. "Now I'm going to put this whole bag into you," it said into Dean's ear, "and you're going to take it all. You're going to take it, and then I'm going to put another in you. You'll take that, as well, Dean. Then I'll remove this nozzle---" Dean twitched, "---and you'll hold it all up in you. You won't spill a single drop, Dean, no matter how much you want to, because if you do I will cut off your balls and hang them over my rearview mirror. Are we clear?"

Dean nodded frantically, hissing as the water level in the bag lowered.

"Didn't quite catch that," the demon said, tilting its head toward Dean.

"Yes!" he cried, the muscles in his back rippling in a cramp. The demon closed the stopcock for a moment, letting his body settle.

Dean's head sagged between his arms; Sam could see the bright flush that crept over his ears and the back of his neck. Gradually all the water in the bag went into his brother. Sam could see already how the line of Dean's abs were vanishing into the outward press of his stomach. It wasn't much, not yet, but enough to be noticeable. He was vaguely curious to see how much Dean would bulge by the end of it.

The second bag was harder. Dean's bowels tried repeatedly to reject the enema, cramping and spasming until Dean was a writhing mess. The demon eventually had to cut it off halfway through.

"Quart and a half," it said to itself, frowning down at Dean. "Not as much as I'd hoped. Well, can't do much about that." It poked Dean in the shoulder. "Go to the corner, get on your knees."

Dean complied, moving as though he expected himself to break at any moment. He settled himself down on his knees. His face was white.

"And now for you, Sam. Sorry for making you wait, but this'll take some prep." Sam's eyes flicked to Dean; the demon followed his gaze. "Oh, Dean? He'll be fine. He remembers the deal."

Sam felt a flutter of rage at the demon's cavalier attitude toward his brother, but it vanished when the demon selected one of the ginger roots from the pile. How it hadn't withered in the past week, he didn't want to know. The demon held it up. "Ginger is sold by the hand, did you know that?" it asked. "This is called a hand. The protrusions, those're called fingers. That always amused me." It whipped out a knife and began to edge around one of the fingers. "In order for figging to work, you've got to have enough ginger," it continued. "That means you have to take some of the palm behind the finger." It popped off the lumpy knob and discarded the rest. Then it began to shave off the skin with short, efficient strokes. "You have to peel the root, obviously, but more importantly, you have to shape it. The better you shape it, the less likely it is to travel." the demon speared him with an appraising look. "Since I really don't have the inclination to go spelunking in you large intestine, shaping is crucial."

Sam felt his forehead wrinkling. The demon was going to put a ginger root in his ass?

The demon flipped the knife carelessly over its shoulder, then held up the root for his inspection. It was still lumpy and misshapen, only now the white, inner flesh was showing, glistening wetly under the overhead spots. It was vaguely bullet shaped, with a neat dip near the base. "So unassuming, ginger root," the demon murmured. "Many don't use it anymore; they say it's too time-consuming. But I feel there's something much more intimate about using actual root rather than just a cream." It turned and dipped the root in the pot of cooling water, then walked toward Sam.

"The angle will be awkward, I apologize," it said, before kneeling between his spread legs and nudging the tip of the root against the pucker of his asshole. Sam wished he could have resisted, but a combination of exhausted submission and the vivid recollection of the demon's comment about spelunking kept him from fighting the root's intrusion. He turned his face up and away, feeling his cheeks sting.

It slipped into position, and the demon backed away. It watched Sam intently, and Sam frowned at it. It didn't hurt. Wasn't it supposed to hurt? He clenched his muscles around the root, and all of a sudden sparks of stinging fire shot through his rectum. He arched, eyes wide, suddenly sympathetic with Dean; it felt like someone had poured hot water in his ass. The parts of him that were still chafed and raw stung the worst, and he felt tears prick his eyes at the sensation.

"It's also slower-acting," the demon added needlessly. "Heightens the anticipation."

Sam couldn't stop squirming. If he just... if he could only... then maybe it would stop.

"Dean, come here, please," the demon called. Sam saw his brother's head jerk up out of the corner of his vision. He didn't move from his position. "Now, or we'll see how dearest Sammy likes his ginger julienned and shoved down his cock." Sam glanced down at his dick involuntarily. He shuddered.

"Bend over again, grab the bars---yes, just like that. I think we can get the rest of that quart in you, now." Sam heard Dean whimper, heard the demon shush him, but he was too caught up in the burn in his ass to pay any sort of attention. God help him, it hurt so much it almost went through into pleasure.

All of a sudden Dean hove into view, settling on his knees between Sam's legs, his face pinched and his thighs trembling. Sam was shocked to see he was hard. The demon manhandled one of his hands around Sam's hips and locked it to the crossbar behind him, and then the other. Sam looked down at Dean, and Dean looked tiredly up at him. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"You want that enema out of your ass, don't you, Dean?" the demon said, stroking a hand through his hair. "It hurts, doesn't it." Dean nodded wearily. "Not long now, my sweet, I promise. Just blow Sammy, and then you can let go."

Dean looked at Sam's cock, as though seriously considering doing what the demon said, then looked up at Sam. Sam couldn't help the perk of interest that surged through him, and he hardened slowly. He stared back at Dean.

"No," Dean croaked. Sam couldn't imagine what that little rebellion cost him.

"No?" the demon asked. Its fist clenched in Dean's messy, overgrown hair. "I think yes, Dean-o. You can't hold that enema forever." Dean lowered his eyes from Sam's and sighed. His breath was warm against Sam's cock. He leaned forward and took Sam into his mouth.

Dean had given Sam blowjobs, before. They sort of had an unofficial contest between them to see who could make the other come faster. But this, this was unlike any of the others. It wasn't just because of the demon watching, or the lump of ginger in his ass. He could feel Dean's desperation in the crushing suction he applied to the head, in the frantic way he swirled his tongue under the crown then up the slit. He sensed his brother's anger and his despair in how he rammed Sam's cock down his throat.

Sam wasn't going to last long. He was already on edge, and his body latched onto the pleasure as release from the pain. "Dean," he said shakily, yanking on the cuffs around his wrists. "Dean, I'm---" He threw his head back, giving up, and came.

The demon reached forward and yanked Dean off Sam's dick, making the streams of come splatter across his face. Sam watched, detached, as a string tangled in Dean's eyelashes, as he licked a drop off his lower lip. He looked shell-shocked; Sam felt the same.

Dean leaned his forehead against Sam's hip. Sam wished he could have reached down and run his fingers through Dean's hair, massaged his scalp, and then kissed the come off his brother's cheeks. Told him it was okay, that he was sorry.

But he couldn't. He contented himself with staring down at the top of Dean's head, instead.

"You can let go now, Dean," the demon said softly. Dean jerked his head up, a desperately relieved look on his face. He staggered up, yanking on the chains, and looked expectantly at the demon.

"Oh, no, Dean," it said. "We agreed you could let the enema out. I never said I'd unlock you. You can either hold it in, or you can let go; either way, you're not moving from that spot."

Dean's expression of relief morphed into one of absolute horror. He turned back to stare at Sam's hip, lower lip trembling. Sam felt a rush of righteous anger surge through him. It was a familiar friend, by now; sometimes it felt like all he ran on anymore was anger and the numbing haze of exhaustion.

"It's okay, Dean," he said to his brother, but glaring at the demon. "Do what you need to. It never happened."

Dean let out a short, strangled cry, and Sam heard the sudden gush as the water splashed out against the concrete. It was rank, smelling of iron and worse. Sam hazarded a glance down; Dean's face was furious red, his eyes closed, and he was shaking with pure, physical relief. His erection flagged as more of the water pumped out of him, staining the floor pink with old, re-hydrated blood. Sam saw specks of brown and swirls of white wash outward with the tide.

It was warm underfoot. Sam resisted curling his toes out of solidarity for his brother. He looked back up to the demon, who was grinning. Not its usual, malicious, excited grin, but a triumphant smirk.

"Excellent work, boys," it said.

Sam opened his mouth, but cut himself off when he looked over the demon's shoulder. Instead, he said, "Exorizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus---"

Dean jerked his head up, staring at him. The demon's smile transformed into an irritated scowl. "I do believe we already covered that, Samuel," it said, lashing a hand into the air. Sam's recitation stuttered off into stars when his head slammed back into the bars.

Dean picked up the slack. "---omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte---" He looked up at Sam, his thoughts plain to see across his face. I hope you've got an airtight plan, Sammy.

"You know the one problem with torturing hunters?" Sam spat at the demon, shaking off the blow. "They know other hunters who know how to find them." He flicked his eyes over the demon's shoulder and looked at Bobby, right behind it and armed with a knife and a flask of holy water. "Binding link, over it's heart!" He shouted. Bobby didn't even hesitate, just splashed the demon square in the face when it turned around.

It fell to the floor, screaming and hissing, as smoke billowed up from its naked skin. Bobby leaned over and sliced its shirt open from top to bottom, baring the sigil, and sliced through it with his knife.

"---te rogamos, audi nos!"

The demon arched up and wailed, vomiting itself out in a cloud of black that billowed out through the bars in the cage. It surged up and dissipated into the open air above, leaving a stench of sulfur in its wake.

Sam watched it go with vindictive pleasure, then sagged against the bars. Dean rested against Sam's hip, limp. "It's over, oh God it's over," he whispered into his brother's skin.

"Oh God, Bobby," Sam said, on the verge of breaking out sobbing. "God I'm so glad to see you, man."

"Me too, boys," the man said, running a trembling hand through his beard as he took in the scene before him. "Damn me for bein' too slow."

"Who the fuck cares!" Dean shouted, his shredded voice cracking. "Just get us the fuck out of here!" He yanked against his cuffs, jostling Sam in the process.

Bobby jumped forward, wordlessly sawing through the leather. Sam saw the red tinge to his cheeks, and how his eyes flicked from the burns on Dean's chest to the jizz smeared on his face. He looked to Sam; Sam turned his face away in shame.

He freed first one, then the other of Dean's hands, and immediately Dean rose to his feet, clawing at the collar around his neck. He hurled it into the corner with a hateful hiss. Bobby got started on one of Sam's hands as Dean went over to the table. They both jumped at the thundering crash as Dean shoved it over.

As soon as his hand was free, Sam reached around and eased the ginger root out of his ass. He flung it aside, sighing as the burning faded away. Bobby's eyes widened, and Sam looked back at him tiredly. He reached over to unbuckle his other arm from the cuff, then with both hands unbuckled the collar from around his neck. He stared down at the strip of leather. His wrists looked raw; his throat felt like it. "I'm really glad you're here, Bobby," he said again, dropping the collar at his feet.

"Shit, Sam," Bobby said, then swept him up into a crushing hug. Sam buried his face in his adoptive father's shoulder, trembling with reaction and relief. It was almost impossible to believe it was over.

"Yeah, about that," Dean said. He was standing next to the tumbled wreckage of the table, looking tense and pissed and vulnerable. "How did you find us?"

Bobby pulled away from Sam, turning to face Dean's stony expression. "Hunter by the name of Creedy called me two days ago," he said. Sam hissed in a shocked breath, and Bobby cast a wary glance toward him. "Seems he had a bit of a confession. Said that he and his partner---" he nodded to Kubrick's unconscious body, "---him, I take it?" Sam and Dean nodded silently. "Anyway, he said that they'd kidnapped you two. Wasn't specific as to the why, though I did my damndest to get him to talk over the phone."

"You didn't go talk to him?" Sam asked.

"No, he said he was in the hospital," Bobby replied. "Said a demon jumped his partner and knocked him into next week. He was in a coma for three days before he woke up. One of the first things he did was call me." Bobby pulled off his hat, ran his palm over his scalp before resettling it. "Damn demon tore his eyes right out of his skull."

"Good," Dean growled. Bobby threw him a sharp look, but didn't say anything.

"Came here as fast as I could, when he hung up," he said. "I was prepared for the worst, but this..." his voice trailed of helplessly.

Sam shuddered as he relived the past week. "Could... could we just go?" he asked.

Bobby nodded, eyes locked on his feet. "Yeah. Let's get outta here."

Sam snatched up Dean's blanket and flung it at him, then winced into his side of the cage to collect his own. Thus wrapped, they silently followed Bobby out of the warehouse and into the pre-dawn light.

***

On the seventh day, tucked into separate beds at Bobby's, their wounds stitched, their burns salved, and their bellies filled, they slept. Their dreams were restless and jagged, and when they woke, drenched in sweat and horror, they looked over to their sleeping brother, across the three foot gap between the beds. They contemplated his sleeping form, the bandages pressed to his skin, the bruises under his eyes, the shape of his nose. They imagined crawling out of their own bed and tucking themselves around him, curling into his warmth. They looked, and rolled away to face the wall.

END


Comments

( 10 comments — Leave a comment )
somersault_j
Jun. 16th, 2011 12:40 pm (UTC)
Oh, jesus mother fucking christ on a pogo stick. I was so hoping that someone would choose this prompt over at spnkink_meme! (I´m not the OP)

And what have you done with it?? Absolute worth the read. Uhhh, I love it!!! So brutal, so sad, so heartbreaking and coughsHOTcoughs (yeah, hell I´m coming)...and so much hurt!Dean and hurt!Sam!!! And the BDSM part? First foray into it? Please, by the love of god, write more! Loved especially that you chose things that aren´t so common like the ginger root and mummification.

A big YEAH for Bobby! And the last paragraph was so, so sad *sniffs* Thanks for the awesome fill!! :)
jasmineisland
Jun. 16th, 2011 11:07 pm (UTC)
OMG. Please give us some more- I need healing h/c. *whimpers*
Awesome first shot. Natural talent, there.
muggy69
Jun. 16th, 2011 11:29 pm (UTC)
You really have a KINK FOR NASTY KINK. HELL, YOU YOU DO KINK PROUD. MY FAVE OF YOURS IS THE KNOT KINK. THAT ONE KILL'S ME EVERY TIME. BUT THIS WAS SO RAW AND NASTY. BUT I HOPE YOU DO MORE AND FIX ARE BOYS. XOXOXOXOXOX
fragments_of_me
Jun. 17th, 2011 01:13 pm (UTC)
HOLY MOLEY!!! You say this is your 1st time in this kink world. Well Hon you are a Born Master of it!! Damn that was HOTT! YOu had just the right mix of fun and PAIN I loved the line The demon wistled while it worked!! Such a cheery little tune for such a dark fic!!! I would love to see more of this. Please do more!! I also love your knot fics!
evil_knitter
Jun. 17th, 2011 04:15 pm (UTC)
Oh my gosh. The end of this was unbearable! You know, as soon as the demon raped Dean, I knew it was over for good. No way could Dean get over that and be with his brother again. So sad!
lylithj2
Jun. 17th, 2011 09:00 pm (UTC)
This was evil!!!
And by evil, I mean awesome!!!

I love the torn ending too.
varkelton
Jun. 23rd, 2011 01:32 am (UTC)
See, that, right there? Was awesome! So, so deliciously angsty. So much pain and love swirled around eah other. Loved it.
stompy_bigfoot
Jul. 6th, 2011 01:13 pm (UTC)
will there be a follow up?

love it!!!
jared4ever
Oct. 13th, 2011 02:54 am (UTC)
This was a HOT story! (I wish you'd had more detail on "Day 4," but it was still a great, fun read!) Well done!
reggie11
Jan. 28th, 2014 08:50 am (UTC)
Holy hell that was intense! I'm not sure which was worse, the hideous tortures or the fact that they are so incredibly broken at the end. If that was your first foray into this genre, I can't wait to see what else you'll write!
( 10 comments — Leave a comment )

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