All the Wicked Little Things
Fandom: Supernatural/CSI X-over
Pairings/Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, John Winchester, Bobby Singer Gil Grissom, Jim Brass, Katherine Willows, Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown, David Phillips, OCs, (John/Bobby, Sam/Dean, Gil/Nick, John/OFCs (rape) Nick/OFCs (rape)
Ratings: FRAO
Warnings: M/M sex, bondage, rape, violence.
***Note***This is a dark fic, it contains angst, violence and young adolescent girls engaged in the sexual torture and rape of several adult men, including one girl raping her own father.
Thanks to Sioux_Sioux for the wonderful beta and great suggestions on the story.
Las Vegas, Nevada
December 27, 2007
A man staggered to the sliding glass door of the apartment building he lived in with this wife and three daughters. At least he was certain that he had three daughters, but the memories seemed far away, hard to draw upon and he winced when a face floated to the surface. Stepping out onto the balcony he paused turning toward the apartment and the soft sounds of laughter from inside. The face floated before his eyes, the face of a little girl, happy, smiling.
"Daddy," she cooed holding a plastic horse aloft. "Guess what I named my pony. Guess Daddy, come on… guess Daddy."
He remembered laughing at her insistence, then shivered at the memory of holding her in his arms, small face pressed close to his neck. He cringed feeling the slick glide of skin on skin, of small delicate fingers dancing over his flesh. With a muffled shout the man stumbled forward retching as his stomach rebelled against the flood of memories that the images produced…
//"It's okay Daddy, Shhhhh, just be still. We don't want to hurt you Daddy. We just need you to go to sleep okay."
His head lolled against the arm of the couch and he knew that something was wrong. He never fell asleep in the daytime. Carol's friends were gathered around the sofa staring at him with soft doe-like eyes and that made him even more uncomfortable. Why were the girls all gathered around? Why couldn't he wake up?
Suddenly one of the girls stepped forward with a smile on her face. The expression chilled him to the bone. Tousling his hair Carol patted his head. "It's okay Daddy. Just relax. We don't want to hurt you."
There was a frisson of energy that ran through the collected girls as Carol petted her father. The tallest of the group eased forward and bent down, letting her lips brush over the man's cheek.
"Shhhhh, its okay. You'll feel better in just a little bit. We need to get him down to the basement, so one of you go ahead and make sure that no one is in the hallway. Joan you go hold the elevator. Mr. Parker…you need to stand up for me. There's a gas leak we need to get out of the apartment."
The man frowned rolling forward feeling the room tilt at a sharp angle as he tried, unsteadily, to rise to his feet. Finally, with Carol's and the tall girl's help he managed to get this feet beneath him. Staggering under his weight the two girls managed to help the man out of the room and into the corridor of the building. The man tried to turn toward the stairs but the girls crowded around ushering him to the elevator. He tried to object.
"That's the service car; it just goes to the basement for cargo. We can't…"
"It's okay Daddy," Carol said quickly. "You need to check the gas lines."
He tried to stop but they moved him along, "We need to call the fire department."
"We will Daddy," she giggled. The girls urged him on, kept him moving. Finally they reached the doors to the elevator held open by yet another of the girls. He flinched as the padded doors closed and he pitched forward as his feet went numb. Swallowing he turned.
"Carol, you need to get Mommy…I don't feel well."
"It's okay, Daddy. Mommy doesn't need to know. Just come on, it's just a little bit farther. We'll take care of you Daddy. We all will take care of you."
The man frowned shaking his head. But his little girl took his hand, folding his big callused fingers in her small delicate ones. She tugged and he followed confused as the elevator fell away and the cold, dank cement walls of the basement closed in on him. Far in the back of the dim foul smelling room he could see the soft sparkle of candle light. Carol jerked forward excited by the warm incandescent glow.
They stumbled to a halt in the far rear corner of the room. The floor had been cleared of debris and dirt, scrubbed until the original tile stood out in sharp relief against the grime coated surrounding floor. A large sigil was painted on the white marbleized tile, some intricate design that the man was not familiar with; even though he knew his daughter had a book with similar images printed on it. Around the sigil was a large circle painted in red of smaller symbols that seemed to follow a pattern. Between the symbols were four small black circles each surrounding a candle encased in a red glass holder. These the man realized marked the compass points.
The girls hustled the man forward, pressing in on him, pushing him to the floor. He settled on the drawing with a grunt watching mutely as the girls pulled ropes strung from eyehooks driven into the cement block walls. Frowning he glanced at the crates sheltering the corner from the rest of the basement. His toolkit was nestled on one of the rough wooden crates and he coughed trying to pull his tattered mental resources together.
"Hey, you did take my tools." he said dumbly. Carol patted his head again, stroking her fingers through the thick, dark brown curls.
"I'm sorry Daddy. But we need your help."
"You should have asked me baby; it's not nice to take other people's things without asking. I could have drilled those holes for you."
Giggling Carol shook her head. "That's not what we need your help with, Daddy."
The girls smiled then stepped back while the tallest girl checked the ropes binding the man's hands and feet. They were taut, secured and he struggled briefly. Suddenly he moaned.
"Carol, Daddy doesn't feel good. Go get Mommy, honey."
"Not right now."
The girls stepped back, pulling silky robes out of one of the crates. Quickly the girls began stripping off their clothes, pulling the robes over their heads. Dressed in the pale saffron colored robes the girls formed a circle around the man's prone form. Carol picked up the book she had gotten from the funny old bookstore on the strip, and began reading a passage. Her voice was firm, smooth and gained strength as she intoned the prayer. The girls responded to each line as Carol spoke the invocation.
Her father moaned again struggling briefly against the ropes binding him. The tall girl broke from the circle stepping forward her face still. Cocking her head she reached out stroking her fingers over the man's cheek, brushing her fingertips over his lips. He turned his face away and she slapped him hard, the sound echoing in the darkened room. Carol frowned.
"Bernice, you said we wouldn't hurt him. We just need him for the ceremony. He's the first and he sets the tone for all the others. We don't know how many we'll need for all of us."
Bernice tossed her head back, "The goddess demands his seed. Each of us must try to fulfill the prophecy so that She can be born again. Since he's your father you have first rights with him. Do you know what to do?"
Carol sneered, "Of course. I read the book."
Turning she motioned one of the other girls over. "Did you bring the drug?"
Nodding the girl retreated to one of the crates then produced a small bag. Carefully she carried it back to Bernice. "Your Mom is a nurse; can you give him a shot? You have to do it in his…you know…" she stuttered to a halt. Bernice grabbed the bag pulling out a small vial of liquid and a hypodermic needle.
Dropping to one knee the taller girl looked up, "It's called his penis. I have to inject the drug and we have to wait for a little while. Not long. Help me get his pants pulled down."
Carol eased forward helping the other girl get her father's jeans unzipped then working them over his hips. He was much bigger than the girls, and even through he was not a large man it took them a few minutes to get his hips and groin bared. Bernice carefully inserted the needle into the man's penis, and then sat back on her heels frowning.
"I don't think that I gave him enough, let me do one more." Her hands shaking she took a firm hold on him again, then jumped back when he moaned as the needle sank in. Uttering a shrill nervous giggle she plunged the needle into his flesh once more in a different location, satisfied as the remainder of the drug was dispensed.
Carol sighed looking at her father. She had seen him without his shirt, even in his bagging underwear and a towel around his neck, but never naked. Flushing she looked at Bernice as the other girl offered her a wolfish grin.
"Don't panic, he's out cold. He won't remember anything. It'll feel good to him even if he doesn't know it. But it might hurt at first, especially since you haven't done it before."
Fishing a tube out of her pocket she thrust it at the other girl, "This'll help make it easier. Just do it quick."
Quickly Carol took the lubricant and slicked her father's now erect penis handling him reluctantly although true to Bernice's; words he seemed totally oblivious. When she was done she tossed the tube onto the floor beside him. Carol threw her leg across her father's hips as if she were mounting a horse. An overwhelming sense of wrongness engulfed her and she hesitated.
Casting her glance at Bernice she swallowed hard and rose to her knees. It was like fire burning her from the inside, the pain almost cause Carol to back out, pull away from him and preserve what she had with this loving, kind man. But something else deep inside filed her with a sense of purpose.
After a few minutes the pain lessened and she rocked making the still body beneath her jerk and tremble. With a smile Carol leaned down patting her father's head, but he was too far gone to respond. His skin had taken on a clammy, gray tone and he was cool to the touch. For a brief panicked minute Carol was sure that the girls had killed her father by drugging him too much. Then he uttered a whispered sigh, grunting out of his nose. Something jumped and quivered inside her and Carol barked out a shrill nervous laugh. But she couldn't take the pain any longer and she rose up, sliding away from the prone form.
Nervously Bernice inspected the sleeping man noting with some irritation that he looked exactly the same as he had before, his penis still red and hard, although now it was slick with some clear fluid and pinkish traces of blood. She cast a quick glance at her friend and shrugged.
Finally, one of the other girls moved forward. She seemed a lot more confident about how to handle him and Carol was sure that Chaney had done it before. This time her father's movements were more pronounced, he gasped and his hips bucked forward. Chaney smiled and slid off him with a cat-like grace that had Carol feeling vaguely hostile. It was her father; she should have been the one that received his seed. But Chaney was grinning and from the looks of her father's now relaxed body, she was the only one.
With a jerk of her head Carol got the girls out of their robes and back into their street clothes. Storing the robes in a crate they hurriedly got the man back into some semblance of dress and pushed his body out of the way, covering the glyph with more boxes.
It took them longer to drag Mr. Parker to the apartment than it had to get him down stairs. They were nervous, afraid of getting caught, but their luck held and they made it to the couch in the living room without dropping him or being seen.
Quickly the girls rolled him onto the sofa and filed silently out of the room. He groaned rolling onto his back then raised a shaking hand to his face. David Parker grunted drawing his knees up as his stomach cramped. Retching he leaned forward letting his head drop to his knees.
The trip from the sofa to the bathroom seemed to take much longer than he remembered but he made it. With another soft groan he unzipped his trousers straddling the toilet. It burned when he pissed and David looked down uttering a muffled shout when he saw the white flakes and streaks of dried blood on his dick. He was bruised too, in several places, as if someone had pinched him. A worried frown crossed his features; he couldn't remember Karen being that rough when they had made love that morning, he'd never been bruised before.
Struggling back into his clothes he leaned back against the vanity, and then turned and vomited into the sink. Running cold water he washed the stuff down the drain then splashed water on his face. His cheeks were hot to the touch, and he felt wobbly.
Sounds carried to him from the other side of the wall behind the mirror and David jerked, his daughter's laughter, light and childish. Suddenly the warm incandescent glow of the bulbs above the sink faded to the dim light of some dark place. David gasped, he felt the cold air brush his groin, and light girlish laughter rang in his ears.
Shoving the bathroom door open David slid into the hall back pressed against the wall. There was more laughter this time another girl and David flinched. He could see a face, far away, fuzzy but still recognizable. Chaney, his daughter's best friend. She was grinning, face coated in a fine sheen of sweat and David felt himself convulsing in orgasm. He moaned.
What the hell was wrong with him? In all this time he had never thought of the girls as anything but children. He had never laid a hand on one of his daughters in anything but fatherly affection and concern. Was he some kind of closet child molester?
David jerked as one of the girls peeked out of the door and smiled at him. Her eyes were hooded, shadowed and maybe a little too knowing. David cringed again. Now he was blaming the girls for his perverted thoughts.
David staggered to the balcony in the living room. The glass was cool against his cheek and for a moment David could almost pass off the images that had flashed in his mind as bad dreams, except for the physical evidence on his body. He had done something horrible, and the girls knew it.
Pushing the sliding glass doors back he stumbled wearily onto the balcony. The railing was waist high, wrought iron and he leaned over staring down at the alley seven stories below. His stomach cramped once more and David vomited into the wooden planter beside the railing.
Furtive movements from inside the apartment caught David's attention and he gasped. A shiver crawled the length of his spine making him shudder. With a grunt David hefted himself over the rail. The ground didn't seem so far away, and it wouldn't take long. The black painted iron was cold beneath his palm and David caressed it, then closing his eyes he let go.
Inside the apartment a girl's voice broke the silence, "Daddy!" she screamed. Suddenly Carol whirled on the taller girl and Bernice stepped back.
"You said we wouldn't hurt him," Carol screamed. "You killed him. I'm telling this is your fault."
Bernice retreated from the fury in the smaller girl's face then tossed her head. "No you won't. You're just as guilty of killing him as we are. You're the one who failed the goddess; you couldn't get him to do what he was supposed to do. You were first choice.
Chaney had to do it. And this is as much your fault as anyone of ours. He was your father. What we did to him was wrong, it was a crime. It's called rape and you did it too. So you just keep your mouth shut, Carol. We'll pick a stranger next time, not one of our fathers."
Carol closed her eyes, "We have to do it again."
"We have to do it as many times as necessary, until one of us gets a new body for the goddess to live in."
Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown walked into the alley watching as the Vegas PD kept the crowds pushed back. The DB was at the back of the alley, in the shadows but still plenty visible in the early morning sun. One of the beat cops had put an emergency blanket over his upper body, but the blackish stain fanning out around his head and shoulders left nothing to the imagination.
Stooping down Warrick gently lifted the edge of the blanket and winced. Half the guy's head was gone, crushed into jelly on the cobblestones of the alley. Most of his brain was scattered over the ground in clumps and lumps. Lifting his camera Warrick snapped a couple of pictures. The side of the man's face that was left revealed a good looking guy about forty with hazel eyes and dark brown hair. Involuntarily Warrick tossed a quick look over his shoulder at the younger man behind him, and cringed. The guy the looked enough like Nicky that he could be his brother.
Warrick followed the line of his friends gaze back down the alley to the shortish, cubby man walking quickly toward them. He realized that the newcomer was David Phillips from the Coroner's office and slid aside so that the other man could kneel down on the cold stones beside the body.
With a grimace Phillips quickly did a preliminary check on the body then tilted the guy over slightly. Making a quick notation on the clipboard he was carrying Phillips glanced at the CSI and shrugged, "No appreciably lividity, so he's been dead less than an hour."
Nick nodded, "The call came in about ten minutes before we got here, Rick and I were already out on a B and E and got rerouted over here by Grissom. The lady in that apartment made the call saw him hit the ground."
"Any idea who he is?"
Warrick shrugged, "Haven't had a chance to ask. But he came from one of the higher floors considering how much damage was done. Looks like he hit head first too."
Nick grunted again stooping over, "I called the building manager. She's on her way down to see if she can give us a preliminary id. If he came off one of the balconies chances are he lives here."
A woman appeared at the end of the alley and Nick rose to bring her over to the blanket covered body. She glanced nervously at the blood on the ground and then pulled away. Nick carefully tucked his hand into the crook of her elbow to keep her from running and she nodded at him. Warrick gently eased the blanket away only uncovering the intact portion of the man's face.
The woman blanched nodding, "That's David Parker. He and his family live in 714."
Phillips finished his preliminary exam and let Nick and Warrick finish their pictures. The two CSIs cleared up their equipment then went into the building to inspect the apartment.
Phillips waited for the coroner's hearse to pull up and watched as the body was loaded. He followed the gurney as far as his jeep then drove back to the lab.
David Parker's body was lying on a table in the morgue. He was stripped and draped in a clean white sheet. Phillips began a second examination while making notes in a file. Turning the body's head he checked the interior of the skull and made note of the amount of remaining brain tissue then carefully examined Parker's neck and shoulders. He found nothing out of the ordinary no tearing or bruising anywhere.
With a sigh he flipped the body up onto its side and began inspecting the back for wounds. Suddenly he pulled up short. There were marks on the body's back and buttocks as far as he could see. Leaning forward Phillips turned the lamp on and checked the marks again. He could see that they were not bruises, instead the black lines looked like paint transfer. With a frown Phillips picked up his notepad and began making a simple black-line drawing of the marks on David Parker's body.
When he was finished he gasped. The lines were part of a larger symbol, one that he was somewhat familiar with. The door to the examination room swung inward and quickly Phillips ripped the page off the pad folding it into his pocket. He turned as Gil Crissom walked up to the table.
Grissom offered Phillips a brief smile then nodded down at the form on the table. "What have you come up with yet?"
Phillips offered him a tight grin then shrugged. "It's just prelim, I haven't had time to open him up yet, and the toxicology and DNA reports are not back yet. But I've done a pretty thorough exam; I was just getting ready to wash the body. Barring getting results from the Tox reports I'd say COD is pretty obvious. Except that there are ligature marks on his wrists and ankles, so he was tied at some point before taking his swan dive off the balcony. There are a couple of abnormalities, too."
Phillips flipped the sheet back enough for the other man to view the corpse lower body. With one hand he motioned to the man's groin. "There are several bruises on his penis. They're injection sites."
Grissom raised an eyebrow, "Injection sites, what was being injected?"
"Well, without seeing the drug screen I'd say off-hand erectile dysfunction drugs. Considering the fact that I don't see having a needle introduced into the penis as a sort of foreplay." Phillips shuddered and now Grissom offered the younger man a tight smile.
"Don't discount it. I've run across some weirder things on the job."
"Yeah, but there was evidence of sexual activity fairly prior to death. Within the hour. There were also minute traces of blood in the vaginal secretions."
Grissom nodded vaguely already absorbed by the information, "Okay, I'll check with Greg for DNA and Tox screens."
Phillips watched as Grissom wandered out of the room, then be began the process of opening the corpse for autopsy. As he worked he made notes on the chart and took various samples carefully labeling them. It took him a little longer than he hoped to finish the autopsy and by the time he was ensconced in his small office he sighed. When he was finished he draped David Parker's body in a clean sheet and moved him to a drawer in the cold storage locker.
Checking his watch he calculated the difference in time between Vegas and South Dakota and decided that it was not too early to call, although the man he was calling was not known to be patient with being awaken early. Flipping his cell phone out Phillips went through his contacts until he found the number he wanted. The phone rang hollowly on the other end.
John Winchester heard the harsh jangling sound in his left ear and grumbled. Rolling over he collided with another body and jerked awake. Bobby was out cold, snoring softly in the bed beside John and the younger man gave him a rough poke in the ribs.
"Answer the damned phone," he growled. Bobby made a half-hearted shushing gesture with his hand and rolled over pulling the blanket over his head. John pushed the covers down and sat up, crawling over the other man to reach the cell phone on the night table beside the bed.
"Yeah, what do you want?" he hissed. There was a sharp indrawn breath on the other end and the nervous high pitched voice of a younger man.
"I might have the wrong number…" he stuttered.
Rolling his eyes John blew a sharp breath out of his nose then glared at the blanket wrapped bundle under his arm. "If you're looking for Bobby Singer he's too lazy to drag his ass out of bed to answer the phone."
"Yeah, uhhh…who are you?"
Bobby shoved John back and rolled over reaching for the phone but John leaned back shooting the other man a semi-evil grin, "This is his poor, abused, mistreated lover speaking."
"John!" Bobby squawked grabbing at the phone. Snickering John dropped it on the bed leaving Bobby to scramble for it. Casting the other man a mournful look Bobby settled back against the headboard draping the blankets around his shoulders to stave off some of the cold. He looked at the thermostat then glared at John knowing he hated sleeping in dry, hot air. The voice on the other end of the phone dragged his attention back to the conversation at hand. "Yeah…David what have you got?"
"Since when did you have a full time live in boyfriend?" Phillips asked with a snicker. Bobby rolled his eyes.
"Focus," he snapped at the man on the other end of the phone. Phillips ventured in again.
"So you said John…John who." There was a pronounced pause, "John as in Winchester?"
Now there was awe in the younger man's voice, "You're banging John Winchester...shit that's like the holy grail in the hunting community. Nobody has gotten into his pants in the last twenty-two years, in fact, there's a standing be that he lost his…"
"David," Bobby snapped. "He hasn't lost anything and will you just tell me what the hell you woke me up at 4:30 in the morning to talk about other than whether or not my 'boyfriend' has all his equipment?"
"Oh yeah, sorry. We ran across a DB this afternoon…"
"Well, you do work for the coroner's office." Bobby said snippily. Phillips coughed.
"This one has paint transfer on his back, in a real nice clear symbol."
Now Phillips had Bobby's full attention, and he could hear the other man grinning.
"What kind of symbol?"
"I didn't get it all, it was wider than his back, but considering I believe he was raped I'd say Cybele worshippers, a whole coven of them. I know that at least one of the women raped him, and I'll find out how many in a couple of days."
Nodding Bobby nudged John in the ribs with an elbow and the other man cursed at him from under the blankets, but he rolled over and pulled himself somewhat upright in the bed.
"Are you sure they're Cybele worshippers?"
""Not yet, I still have to see some of the tests. If the evidence does show forced sexual activity with multiple female partners then I'm willing to bet they are Cybele worshippers."
"Okay, we'll get on the road later. If they killed one man they're probably looking for other victims. I'd say maybe a resurrection ritual. Let me know what you find out."
Bobby dropped the phone onto the bed and rolled over draping an arm across John's thighs. With a sigh he shoved the other man down onto the bed grinning as John grunted out a muttered objection.
John shrugged the older man off, "Don't even think about getting frisky with me this morning."
"Aww come on, John…we're already up. At least I am."
Cracking open one eye John heaved a more dramatic sigh then flopped over onto his back, "Okay, okay have your wicked way with me, then I'm going back to sleep."
The second time that John swam to consciousness was to Bobby hobbling around the room, arms flailing as he tried to walk and scramble into his underwear. Settling on his back John watched, in ever growing amusement, as his lover bounced from one foot to the other emitting an impressive stream of curse words, some of which John had never heard before.
Finally, Bobby stooped legs tangled in the faded cotton boxers then tumbled over onto his head. He lay on the ground panting, and John leaned over the side of the bed grinning at the other man. Bobby flipped him the finger.
"That was your boy's engine I just heard pull into the driveway. So get your ass out of my bed unless you want to do some 'splaining."
John grunted stretching and lazing in the bed until he heard the front door jangle open as one of the boys let them into the house. Sam's voice ripped through the late morning air.
"Dad?"
"Back here," John bellowed and Bobby squawked. Rolling onto his hands and knees he tried to crawl behind the bed, but the space between the bed and the wall was too narrow for his hips and he ended up jammed in with his butt hanging out.
The sound of a body thumping against the door frame halted Bobby's vain attempts to hide. Dean snickered at the sight of his father lolling on the bed and the older man trying to crawl behind it.
"So Dad, you didn't tell Bobby that we knew that the two of you have been doing the wild thing?"
An hour later the four men were seated around the table in the kitchen eating breakfast. Dean leaned the chair back on two legs cradling a coffee mug in his hands. He glanced over at his younger brother smiling through the rising curls of steam. John flicked his glance between his two sons then motioned to Bobby.
The older man shrugged, "Your Daddy and me have a job that just came in. A cult of Cybele worshippers. I think they are probably trying some kind of resurrection ritual to form a living body for the spirit of the goddess."
Dean nodded finishing off his food and pushing the plate back, "Cybele worshipers how's that work?"
Bobby took a sip out of his coffee mug then pushed a book across the table at the younger man. Dean flipped the page back looking at the woodcut images of several young women clustered around the body of a naked man. Bobby nodded at the page.
"Cybele is an ancient Greek goddess a sort of earth mother and a fertility deity. Her followers often participated in huge orgies. Some of Cybele's followers were men who castrated themselves and took on female identities. Although since this guy was not castrated I don't think he was a follower more like a victim."
"Victim?" Sam asked cocking his head at the book. "What do you think happened to him?"
Bobby shrugged, "I'd say some kind of ritual to procure the goddess a human body. If she wants to cross over to the physical plane she'd need a body and the proscribed way is for her cult to kidnap a man and rape him until one of them gets pregnant and has a baby who is suffocated so that the goddess can inhabit the body."
Dean grunted, "So why's the guy end up doing a header off the balcony?"
"They screwed up the ceremony, and he got sacrificed as a warning? I don't know for sure but I'd say that one of the cult members didn't fulfill her end of the bargain and the goddess got pissed."
"Nice," Dean sighed, "so where are we going?"
"Las Vegas," John said, and flinched at Dean's grin. The younger man smirked at his father and John rolled his eyes.
"So Sin City, cool. After we dust the bitches we can work in a little gambling, maybe check out a few shows."
John frowned, "This is not a vacation. We are not tourists. One man is dead and I'm willing to bet that a couple of others end up on a slab in the morgue before we can get a handle on things."
TBC