Words Can Torture a Soul
Legalities: Supernatural does not belong to me, although I wish it did. I am simply playing in Kripke's sandbox for a bit. All rights and ownership are the property of Kripke and the CW network. I am not making any money from this; it is for my own personal pleasure.
Synopsis: Dean is taken after a fight with a fifteen year old Sam. Clues are scarce and Sam is barely holding it together as he and their father search frantically for the middle Winchester…before the people holding him…torture him to death or force him to participate in a sick little game that they’ve been engaging in for years with unsuspecting young male tourists.
Idea: This little fiction has a storyline, but it is unabashed hurt!Dean with extremely angsty!Sam and worried!John. It will contain graphic depictions of torture as the story unfolds…if you don’t like to read this type of thing, or if you are going to flame it…don’t read it. This is purely a selfish little piece that I decided to share.
Words can Torture a Soul
The hunt that had brought the Winchester family to this little known backwater town in Alabama had been a gruesome one. Boys aged roughly fifteen to seventeen were disappearing in and around the town…no signs of them for weeks and then suddenly their bodies were found along a lonely stretch of highway. The boys were beaten and tortured, most of them emaciated from lack of food, their faces difficult to recognize, and some had even been raped. The local sheriff had no leads and the town was scared. John had come across this story about an old slavery ring that had been abolished more than two centuries before…so there was definitely a chance that this was something that would interest them. While he’d been leery about bringing the boys this close to something so violent, they weren’t in school so he didn’t have a good excuse for leaving them behind. He also wanted his oldest son to be there when he went after this spirit…the kid was good in a tight spot. He’d become an excellent hunter over the years…his youngest however, he wasn’t ready to be involved at this level yet.
The Shady Acres Inn was a typical motel, family owned and out of the way, along the two lane highway that represented the only way in and the only out of the town. They boys had been staying here for the past two days alone, while their father tracked a lead and Dean and Sam were left to do research until they were called. That call came at precisely 2:34 pm. And now Dean was standing in front of the door, his head hanging low as he listened to his brother scream at him.
“I hate you!!!” The venom of those three words cut through all six feet and one inch of Dean Winchester like nothing else could have. He stared at the burnished handle of the door, his eyes closing and opening slowly and tried to swallow his anger and his frustration. His little brother stood in the doorway of the small bathroom, tears streaking down his fifteen year old face as he bellowed the three little words that would rip his older brother apart. He had known that they would, that was why he’d used them. Sam Winchester was so angry and hurt that he couldn’t control the rage filtering through his teenage body. Dean swallowed around the thick lump that had immediately formed in his throat at the sound his brother’s pain and anger. And the fact that he was the cause and was not in a position to offer any sort of consolation. He wanted to, but his dad had been very clear, ‘Sam could not come on this hunt, he fit the spirit’s type and could easily fall victim to its vengeful hatred.’
Dean had calmly explained their father’s reasons to his brother, but Sam had taken the information poorly. He’d assumed that by not taking him along, it was his father’s way of telling him that he was still a ‘kid’ and that he wasn’t ready to hunt with his nineteen year old brother yet. Which was absolute crap! Sam thought angrily. Dean had been hunting with their father since he was ten…but not Sam…nope not him. They’d kept Sam away from the actual dangerous hunts…only forcing him into the same training routine as his brother…but without the same benefits or….level of trust.
“You don’t mean that.” Dean said quietly as he turned wide green eyes in his brother’s direction. The rejection he was feeling, for once plainly written on his face. Dean usually wore a stoic mask that was difficult for even Sam to see through at times. The smattering of freckles standing out against his tanned skin, reflecting his inner turmoil; he lifted a hand and ran it through his short blonde hair in dismay. He hated to leave with Sam feeling this way…but he was due at the cemetery in an hour and his father would be royally pissed if he didn’t show up on time…which meant fifteen minutes early.
Sam scrubbed at his tear soaked cheeks with the back of hand, wiping the offending trails of salt water away from his face. “Yes, I do.” He said in a voice that sent tendrils of an almost tangible pain shooting through Dean. Because Sam actually did sound sincere…and that scared the crap out of Dean. He loved his little brother more than anything in the world. He’d given up his child hood protecting the kid from every type of danger…both monsters and bullies alike. Dean had done things to protect Sam that he would take to his grave…things that Sam could never know about, because he might not understand the lengths at which a big would go.
Dean steeled his expression into one of indifference and finally nodded as he pulled on his brown leather jacket. “Okay, Sammy.” He said quietly as he pulled the door shut after walking through, his eyes stinging from the pain rolling around in his heart.
“IT’S SAM!” His brother screamed from inside the room and Dean wanted nothing more at that moment than to let the tears fall…he really did. But he had a hunt to get to…and a little brother to deal with when he was finished. Just a typical day in the life of Dean Winchester…hunter extraordinaire and awesome big brother.
Sam stared at the closed wooden door of their motel room, his muscles trembling from anger. He still couldn’t quite believe that he’d told his brother that he hated him. He was seriously pissed at Dean…but hate…? No he didn’t hate his brother. He’d even thought about running after Dean to tell him that, tell him to be careful on this hunt…he always said that before they were split up by their father’s demands…but his pride held him routed to his spot on the thread bare carpet of their motel room. He’d just have to wait and explain it to Dean when both he and their father got back from the hunt.
Sam’s breathing calmed slightly and he was finally able to think clearly past his rage…and as much as he hated to admit it…he knew that what Dean had told him had been for the best…he knew that he fit the pattern of victims that had brought them to this small town in Alabama. But it hadn’t made him any less angry at the situation…all he wanted was to prove that he was every bit as ready to hunt the supernatural as his brother. But they kept him so protected that he rarely, if ever, got the opportunity to show them his worth. He sighed as he heard the Impala’s engine and the crunch of the gravel as Dean pulled the classic black car out of the parking lot.
About ten minutes later Sam’s cell phone rang…he glanced at the caller ID and grunted as he immediately pressed the ‘ignore’ button. He wasn’t ready to talk to his brother yet. He was still too angry and there was a good chance that he’d just say more shit that he didn’t mean.
Dean didn’t even bother to turn on the radio as he drove away from the motel. His emerald green eyes were still stinging with the emotional and physical pain of his little brother’s hate filled words. He needed to stop obsessing over it. He grabbed his phone and checked for a message from his father…nothing. He knew better than to call John at this point. Dean had his marching orders…and his dad would just be angry at being interrupted in the middle of a hunt. He slowed at a stop sign, glancing in each direction for cars or other traffic. When he saw nothing he pulled forward just as a man ran out of the wooded area off to his right. Dean slammed on the brakes and stared at the man…he was almost naked, blood running and dried down the man’s body, and he looked terrified; the man tripped on the rocks near the road and stumbled to his knees.
Dean was out of the car in an instant, trying to get the man’s attention, so he could help. “Hey…buddy. You okay?” Dean asked as he slowly approached the last few feet, stepping carefully to the man’s side, his gun resting comfortingly at his back. The guy, who looked to be about his age…nineteen or twenty at the most, was trembling violently, his head resting on his chest as he struggled to breathe. “Hey…” Dean tried again. Finally the guy looked up and his face contorted in pain as he finally managed to see the young man approaching him.
“Don’t….” he said in a whisper. “Don’t let…them…take you…alive.” He gasped as his body gave out and he collapsed causing Dean to drop to his knees next to the now prone body. His fingers shooting out to check for a pulse at the base of the guys jaw where the artery was closest to the surface. There wasn’t one. The man was dead…Dean started to pull himself to his feet, his cell phone back was in the Impala and he needed to call this in…his dad would just have to understand this once.
He never saw the blow that rendered him instantly unconscious, but blinding pain exploded behind his eyes as he fell forward and crashed into the unforgiving ground; his hands never even coming forward to try and break his fall.
“Hey, Silas…the one that got away…he didn’t get away after all.” The guy joked as vile sounding laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside his rank soul and he looked down at the body of half-naked man. Then he glanced over at the one he’d just knocked out wearing the leather coat. He leaned down and grabbed the kids shoulder, pulling the leather coat guy onto his back…and whistling low in his throat. He was darn pretty…he’d work just fine since the other one died on them. He reached down grabbed the kids chin, twisting his head from left to right….he had a strong jaw and full pink lips…he looked just young enough to interest the client and he looked strong enough to fight in the game as well.
“You’re almost as perty as a girl.” He said with a laugh that escaped easily through the gapped and rotted teeth. He looked up at the car idling several feet away…he supposed that they should hide that. But with the dead body and all, he didn’t really have the time…not if he wanted to get this new prize back to the compound.
And he really wanted to play with his new toy…before the others arrived and took it from him. It wasn’t often that they were able to start with someone as pretty as this kid was…it should make the coming weeks interesting indeed.
To say John Winchester was angry would be an understatement. He reached up and pressed softly against the goose egg forming on the side of his head. His anger spiking as the pain jolted through him. He’d managed to take out the spirit on his own…but he’d gotten tossed around as a result of not having backup. And that brought him to his reason for being pissed. His oldest son was supposed to meet him at the cemetery at precisely 6 pm and he’d never showed. John had tried to call his cell exactly twice and then he’d finished the hunt alone. He trudged up the sidewalk to the motel room, his youngest son was probably spitting nails-angry at being left behind and he really wasn’t looking forward to the argument that he knew they would be having.
He opened the door, his eyes adjusting to light inside the room. Sam was laying on his bed, nearest the bathroom, his stocking covered feet crossed at the ankles and his hands behind his head. Some sort of nature show was playing quietly in the background.
“So you’re back.” Sam stated without even looking in his father’s direction. A fairly major form of disrespect as far as John was concerned. He glared at the lengthy form of his youngest son and walked over turning off the tv as he passed.
“Where’s your brother?” He said gruffly. “I didn’t see the Impala in the lot outside.” John couldn’t wait to hear what sort of excuse the boys had cooked up for Dean missing that hunt. It’d better be that he’s dead. He thought with a sudden burst of irritation to pad his already seething anger.
Well, thank you Captain Obvious. Sam thought before he answered simply. “He was headed out to help you, last I saw him…that was the ‘last order given’, right?” The confused look on his father’s face had Sam sitting up slightly and looking for his brother’s leather coat wearing figure to come sashaying through the door. He was usually right on his father’s heels. That was one of the things that they fought about, Dean’s unfailing loyalty to their father’s need for vengeance.
“He never showed.” John said as he pulled his cell phone out and again dialed Dean’s number. His anger getting trumped by the worry, that was building quickly inside of him, when the phone call again went to voice mail. He hung up and sat down wearily on the bed, it was too early to say that something had happened to his son. But there was a rational part of John’s brain that knew that Dean would never just ‘not’ show up to a hunt. Not unless something very bad had happened and he’d been unable to get there.
Sam was sitting up straight now, his blue-green eyes widening, as he watched his father process the fact that neither one of them knew exactly where his brother was. He was supposed to be at the hunt…he wasn’t…and now they had no clue where he was. Oh God…and the last thing I said to him was that I hated him. Sam swallowed his guilt, reaching up to run his fingers through his long brown hair, fear building quickly inside the teenager and then he moved to sit next to his dad. “He left at five to meet you at the cemetery by six pm. He never came back here.” Sam offered what little information he knew in the hopes that it would point them in a direction. His head was spinning, his brother was missing and he’d left thinking that Sam hated him…and Sam had done that on purpose. He’d wanted his brother to be as hurt and miserable as he was…and now there was a possibility that he might not get to set that right. No, Sam….don’t think like that. Dad will find Dean and he’ll be fine…and I can tell him I didn’t mean it…any of it. Yeah, that’s what would happen, because any other possibility just wasn’t acceptable in Sam’s eyes.
“Sam grab your stuff. We’ll go check out the roads.” John ignored the pounding in his head as he felt a very uncomfortable feeling start curling in his gut…something had to have happened to Dean. They were out the door in moments and it occurred to John as he was firing up his truck again, that obviously Sam wasn’t as slow to get moving as he’d been letting on. They’d have to have a discussion about that in the future…but right now, they were both too worried about Dean to deal with petty arguments. They’d driven for about fifteen minutes, just turning onto an old highway, that was in desperate need of repairs, when Sam sat bolt upright and clawed at the window.
“Dad! Stop!” Sam cried as he saw the fender of Dean’s beloved Impala sticking out of some bushes. It looked like he’d run off the road…Sam gulped back his building panic as he threw open the door of his dad’s truck and sprinted for the car.
“Sam!” John called trying to halt his son’s head long flight into God knows what.
Sam ignored his father’s frantic voice and skittered to a halt, pulling branches away from the car in his haste to see inside. His heart plummeted when he didn’t see a damn thing. No sign of his brother…he looked again and saw the glint of something metallic. He pulled the door open and crawled into the car, grabbing Dean’s cell phone from the passenger seat. Guilt washed through him again as he noticed that the last number dialed was his…the call from his brother that he had ignored because he was angry.
His father’s hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him around, but the look on Sam’s face must have halted whatever reprimand had been poised on his lips. Because he just stared at the broken look on his sons face and then looked at the phone held limply in his hands. “He’s gone dad….missing.” Sam whispered as silent tears rolled down his face.
Dean was pulled back into the conscious world by the splash of bucket of ice cold water. He sputtered when he realized that he would see and his mouth was covered in a gag preventing him from pulling in a full breath of air. His arms were tied above his head and he was leaning against some form of wall. He groaned when he realized that his shirts were missing as were his shoes, he could still feel his jeans, thank god, but that was it. He shivered a little as the cold water ran down his chest.
“Wakey wakey…my little consolation prize.” a male voice said as he felt a finger run up his chest, starting at his navel and tracing his body all the way up to his neck. He shuddered at the unwanted physical contact and bucked his body trying to force the hand away. He managed a growl deep in his throat when the hand simply changed direction and dropped back down his chest and rest on the top of his jeans. “So pretty….so very pretty.” It whispered and Dean felt the first real currents of fear and panic course through his system. A second hand joined the first and ran over the hard plains of muscles that lined Dean’s ribcage running behind him and dropping to rest just above his waist again. Dean bucked his body again and succeeded in hitting the man in the face with his throbbing head.
“Ugh…” the man cried in obvious pain and then Dean felt a hand smash into his face. He felt like his teeth had knocked loose by the force of this man’s blow. “Bad idea…” he said. Suddenly Dean felt fire flare across his hipbone as something cut into the skin where it was currently stretched over the bone.
“Mmph…” Dean managed around the gag in his mouth. He could feel the blood flowing freely and the pain was every bit as disconcerting as the feeling of the liquid as it dripped down his skin. He wanted to cry out…to scream…but he was unable to do anything. His one thought was that his father should know he was missing by this time and hopefully he would be looking for him. Dean couldn’t help the anguish at the thought that Sam might not go with him. He might be too angry with Dean to care about what happened to him…at least not yet. Dean knew that the longer he was missing the more worried his little brother would become. And later…when the guilt ate at him, he would care about where his big brother was. Sam was easy to read, after all Dean had been doing it his entire life…he knew that Sam was just angry and they he would be panicked when Dean didn’t show back up after a while. He just hoped that he was still alive when they found him…and that he wasn’t broken in some other more violent way. Dean wasn’t stupid; he knew that the comments from his captor mean very-bad-things- were likely in store for him.
“Gonna teach you some manners boy…” the voice said angrily and the next thing Dean knew he was being flipped around and his jeans were roughly jerked from his body as he tried valiantly to fight back. Terror was now flooding his thoughts as he felt the cooler air hit the backs of his thighs. He was grateful that he’d at least worn boxer shorts today…because often times he didn’t. Tears were forming in his eyes at the thought of what he thought was coming…he wasn’t prepared for the feel of a leather strop as it collided with the naked flesh. His surprise mixed with his rising panic as the voice truck several more times before finally allowing his body to sag against the wall. Sweat or maybe it was blood…he didn’t know for sure, slipped unchecked down his back. Pain was flooding his senses as he tried to remain conscious. A rational part of his brain was afraid what might happen to him if he lost his grip on the waking world.
He shuddered as he felt the hands again touch his body as they slip through the moisture on his lower back and then there was blinding pain as something sharp cut into his flesh. Dean screamed low in his throat as he felt himself getting light headed from the pain. He didn’t know what the psycho path wanted and he was terrified of finding out. Something raw escaped his chest and he didn’t even recognize it. It was the primal sound of a trapped animal about to become a victim. And Dean was a lot of things…but he’d never thought of himself as a victim. Part of him almost hoped that he didn’t make it out of this mess…but the part that knew that Sam would never forgive if he died continued to struggle as the knife cut into his flesh over and over again. When the systematic cuts ceased Dean found that his head was barely holding onto coherent thoughts anymore…and he was definitely not prepared for the leather to again being applied viciously to his now bloody back.
Finally the pain and loss of blood took their toll and Dean felt his mind slip into the pain free darkness of his own mind. His last thought was an apology to Sam…
When he was again roused from the darkness there was a distinct pain threading through his lower back. He felt as though he’d been burned and then suddenly he felt the white hot agony of something touching the wounds on his body. He couldn’t hold the cry of pain that erupted from his throat…his back arching away from the agony.
“Hold still boy…gotta staunch the bleeding before tomorrow.” It wasn’t the voice form earlier, but it didn’t sound at all friendly either. He groaned into the gag as he wished once again that the men would take the damn thing off his eyes. He hated not being able to see. While it was Sam that was intensely afraid of the dark…at least outwardly…Dean also had a deep routed fear of the dark. And being gagged and blindfolded and then tortured was almost like being trapped inside his own mind.
“Silas was pissed at what Kale did to you boy…we can’t heal it…but we can stop the bleeding and get you fixed up for the games.” Once again the white hot, it must be an iron rod or something, was laid against his skin and Dean felt his head swim as pain coursed through him.
He wanted to ask about these ‘games’ they kept mentioning…but he couldn’t speak around either the gag in his mouth or the constantly shifting thoughts as he tried to grab onto to one of the floating things…but they would break apart like trying to grasp a cloud of smoke in one’s hands…it just wasn’t possible.