Warning: Hurt Sam. Medical procedure, not graphic.
Xx
Sam swore he'd never have another drink in his life if the pounding in his head would just let up a little. Fuckin' Christ where the hell was he, first of all, and how the hell had he gotten here? He hurt like hell.
As he slowly came to it wasn't only his head that made its throbbing pain known. His whole body was on fire, like it'd been run over by a steam roller, or stretched and pulled like pizza dough, tossed around and thrown in an oven.
His breath came out a slithery echoing hiss as he tried to stand, which he did because something felt off about this position, like maybe he was hanging from a meat hook, or two – one in each shoulder - and not standing on his own feet.
But, meat hooks? That couldn't be it, this was a different kind of pain. Like that over stretch pulsing ache that he'd started noticing everywhere else, yeah no meat hooks. Thank god.
With a soft grunt Sam managed to pry open his eyes and thank Christ it was dim lit in here, wherever the hell here was, because he didn't think his head could take much more. And then his groggy brain finally realized, this wasn't a hangover. He'd been drugged, knocked out…in the parking lot of that bar. Yeah, now it was coming back.
Dean. Where was Dean? The loop began in his head, cutting off any other train of thought immediately as he remembered his brother had been in that lot with him. He couldn't decide whether he'd rather see him chained up here with him, or find the room empty and entertain the idea that'd he'd gotten away back at the bar.
But that didn't really matter as his eyes finally cleared up, came into focus and spotted a limp, dangling form across the room.
In the exact same position Sam seemed to be in. Which was the farthest from comfortable he thought he'd ever been, gagged and strung up and stretched out…and holy fuck why was there a knife in his stomach?
He glanced down, momentarily distracted from getting the hell out of these rusty cuffs and saving his brother, and saw the deep stitched gash running down the length of his lower belly.
What the hell? What kind of messed up shit did they get dragged into now. Sam shook his head lightly, careful of the throbbing, and refocused his thoughts. Dean.
He lifted his eyes to meet his brother again and damn did things just keep getting clearer. Like the focus on a camera, slowly readjusting again and again till the picture was practically popping out at you in 3D. Except, this was no picture, it was all too real.
And it was Dean, with his boxers, torn and hanging around his upper thighs, exposed to the whole damn world in all his unconscious glory.
Oh, Sam was gonna kill whoever the fuck was responsible for that.
"Oh-oh no." Came a voice to his left from a shaded corner of the room, slowly the voice stepped out into some light and provided a face. A fearful one. Well, that was confusing.
Wasn't he the one chained up and kidnapped here? "Jean, your awake." The mystery man continued, "You - they shouldn't have worn off so quick. Oh he is not going to like this. Not at all." The man started pacing, really what the hell. Who wouldn't like what?
Sam would've asked, but the gag. So instead he did his best to growl around the tangy material biting into his cheeks and get the guys attention for an explanation. The man seemed to understand his unasked question because he stopped his footfall, stared at the mostly naked Sam before him and approached with a few careful steps.
"The doctor, Jean." He said as if that explained everything, "He doesn't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. But there's no more." Okay, honestly the worst explanation he could've offered. Sam was just further bewildered, and freaked the hell out. He didn't want to hurt either, "Charlie, where's Charlie. Need to find…" The man muttered walking back into that shaded corner again and descending what sounded like a flight of stairs, or a tunnel, something that left a faint echo.
This whole place was echo-y. It was giving him the creeps. Well that among a thousand other things.
A faint grunt traveled across the spans of the cold room and Sam's head shot up toward his brother.
"-ean?" Sam tried to call around the rag. Dean started to stir, rolling his head back and forth, just a couple inches before finally finding strength to lift it.
"-am!" Was the first sound out of Dean's tied up mouth, then more growling and fighting against the chains. Sam shook his head frantically, panicked at his brother's outburst and trying to assure him that he was alright. The fear Sam could make out in Dean's eyes though, so tangible and unhindered, had him rethinking his assurances. Dean was scared as hell. But the fear was obviously not for himself and it was making it look like he knew these people's plan for him.
"What the hell do you mean he's awake?" The doctor came rushing into the room then, interrupting Dean and Sam's moment of panic. He was as red-faced and furious as Dean had seen him yet.
Fuck. This was not good. Dean remembered all too well the conversation he'd overheard earlier about keeping Sam unconscious so he wouldn't be screaming all night.
If there was one thing in this entire world that cut through all the bullshit and straight down to his soul, it was Sam's pain.
"God damnet!" The doc screamed, startling Dean back into the moment, "When I came to you and offered you the story of a life time…" The doctor started up again, getting all dramatic with his exaggerated hand motions and heavy wheezing breaths, "I didn't ask for an apprentice…. If I wanted an assistant…I would've hired a god damn nurse! You're here to report Jester. I don't need…" another heaving breath, "a second set of hands! Find. Charlie. Stop hovering. Go! Now!" He finished, shooing him with disgusted waves of his hands.
And, damn it all if the guy didn't look severely hurt by his words. Pretty much crushed as he tripped over himself to leave. Craziest freakin' pair of actual humans Dean had ever seen.
"Stupid imbecile." The doctor muttered before turning to Sam, completely oblivious or apathetic to the fact that Dean was now awake too.
"Jean." He purred, "I wish I could say I'm glad to see you up and aware…" The doctor shrugged and tilted his head, "but obviously I'm not. And unfortunately you won't be either. Time is of the essence…or I would wait for Charlie to sedate you." He shrugged a little uncaring shrug again and Dean writhed against the chains, bubbling fury slicing up his veins. "Just know that this next procedure will be quick. Ten, fifteen minutes…tops. I'll cause as little…discomfort…as possible."
And the man set to work.
Dean locked eyes with Sam before the doctor moved around to stand behind him, and all he saw there was defiance. He couldn't help the swell of pride that blew up his heart. He was damn proud.
There was no fear, no panic, nothing but the steal wall of bravery Sam put on in the face of what could potentially be some serious torture. Though neither of them knew at this point since these freaks were giving them no detailed explanations of what was happening or why they were there at all.
"Now usually I wouldn't do this in front of your partner…rude manners if nothing else." The doctor interrupted the silence again still working supplies on his medical tray behind Sam, so far he hadn't touched his brother, "But since somebody failed to do his job correctly, I can't sedate you. And I won't knock you out…with force I mean. Would never damage the one body that may be able to survive this unnecessarily." He muttered mostly to himself, Sam's eyes grew a little wider, "But anyway conventionally I would take you to my operating room, this procedure's easiest done laying down. As it is though, I make do with what I have." He pulled Sam's shorts down unabashed at his actions and Dean immediately turned away allowing Sam some privacy.
But then he whimpered. And Dean couldn't take that sound.
He whipped back around and stared into Sam's face, trying his damndest to give off some kind of reassuring vibe but he was pretty sure he was emanating only fear.
Damn these mother fucking psychopaths to the deepest hottest most torturous and feared and fiery depths of fucking hell…The stream of profanities hurling these people to damnation didn't let up even for a second as the next forty minutes passed. Dean was forced to watch his brother in totally and utter agony with no explanation of what was happening or way to stop it.
And Sam did not disappoint the doctor's prediction; his screams were ragged and deep and desperate and, also, didn't let up for more than a few minutes as time passed. The doctor sitting on a stool behind him, calm as fucking ever, doing something Dean couldn't begin to fathom or try and imagine.
He couldn't see it, he didn't want to ever fucking know.
But he did want it to stop. It was no use trying to stifle the rough and tortured sobs wracking his whole frame. Just as it was no use trying not to thrash against his restraints or scream through his gag. Sam was in pain, so Dean followed in suit.
Finally, after what Dean had to assume had been an hour of complete chaotic screaming torture, the doctor backed up. Dean caught the sight of some long, flexible tool in his hand before he turned away and set it on the tray, covered in blood.
"That went very well Jean. You did very well." He repeated stupidly and Dean wanted to kick his head in as he pat Sam on the shoulder. He was going to lose it, "The artificial egg is planted, my staff has been working on yours for weeks." He announced proudly, "No other female genes will interrupt yours…and his…" the doctor made a vague gesture toward Dean who was still jerking violently against his chains, "mixing. This one will be all yours." He explained and Dean had no fucking clue what the hell he could possibly be talking about, "This will work out."
Sam was too disoriented to really understand whatever the doctor was rambling about just yet as he was still fighting against the black spots in his vision, but something about an egg and jeans filtered through his consciousness. He thought it was an odd pair to be talking about at a time like this, but that was the last thought that registered before he lost the fight and was out once more.
Dean watched as his brother fell unconscious and the doctor walked away, taking off a pair of revoltingly bloody gloves as he made his way toward the exit. Dean had fallen quiet a few minutes ago, so when he shouted again it got the man's attention. He turned around, making no effort to hide his pleasure with himself, "Yes Jason?"
Dean growled at the name but gave a pointed look and jerk of his head toward Sam thinking he'd get the message pretty clearly.
"Jean is fine. He's passed out from the pain," he explained as if that was totally fine, "but that's nothing to be wary off. He needs rest now anyway. His body will wake up once it can handle itself again…" He took a labored breath, Dean was really getting tired off them, "Get used to these occurrences. His body will be undergoing many changes over the next few months," He grinned at some private understanding of those words before lifting his eyes to meet Dean's again, "But don't worry." He shook his head, "I'll be here with a watchful eye for all nine months of them, because I just know he'll survive." He grinned, "I can feel it."
Then he disappeared and Dean was left in silence, staring at his brother – at the little dribble of blood running down Sam's thigh. But he quickly averted his eyes from that because the sight was just too fucking much.
"Ugh," He groaned, heaving deep breaths and feeling the straining pull against his muscles as he sagged. He vaguely wondered how his limbs would fair once they were finally released from their torture trap and if he'd be able to walk steadily enough to get them out of their when they escaped. Because they would escape. Being forced to witness the past hour, seeing the blood dribble between Sam's legs - it was plenty enough to resolve that outcome.
Dean panted heavily into the air and, captive to the quiet, began sorting through the last words the doctor had spoken before leaving. Because they were too cryptic and confusing to ignore.
Nine months. Nine months. Why nine months? And my genes and Sam's genes? What was that about? What did he want with my damn jizz too? And what in God's name did he do to Sam for that whole hour? Nothing of it made sense. Because if he was as lunatic crazy as these people were, he'd have said some of this shit sounded like…fertility experiments. Like pregnancy stuff. Nine months and genes and artificial eggs? What else could he make of that?
The idea didn't really freak him out for more than a second though because it was dispelled as quickly as it came. There was no way in hell it was possible - it was fact. Scientific fact. And who the hell was he to question fact?
Dean reassured himself for hours after that, fighting every thought in his head that kept trying to puzzle this together and ignoring every idea that turned around his rebuttals to try and make this reproduction thing make sense.
His disturbing thoughts were disrupted though when Sam started to stir about three hours later. The doctor had come to check on him once throughout the span of time and Dean had protested his every move with ferocity, but his satisfied expression when he left gave Dean a little reassurance that Sam would be alright.
Or at least wake up. And he did.
"-am?" Dean tried to say. Sam moaned, deep and guttural and it physically hurt Dean to hear it. He ducked his head trying to get Sam to meet his eye and once he did, it wasn't so bad anymore. Sam was alive and looking at him, blinking at him and growling to him.
Which yeah, sounded a little odd but it was noise, frustrated noise sure, but sound none the less and all proof that Sam's heart was still alive and beating under his chest.
Dean sent him a determined look he knew said 'we're getting the hell out of here,' before he scanned the room for ideas on how to escape.
Twenty four hours later, an opportunity and idea were presented to him.
He started moaning around his gag while the doctor, and now the writer again, we're hovering around Sam holding some machine to his stomach. Neither noticed, or if they did they didn't turn. He groaned a little louder and started feebly pulling on his chains. Still neither turned around. He steadily grew louder and louder, hoping his feebly trained acting skills wouldn't fail him now before he sucked in as deep a breath as he could.
"AHHHHH!" He screamed with all his worth, breaking off into muffled choking sobs as he yanked as hard as he could against his chains, doing everything possible to sound like he was in real pain. It wasn't too difficult to pull off with as much experience he'd had actually being in true pain. And he definitely had the right motivation to not screw this up now. He had to get Sam out.
And, hell if that scream didn't get their attention nothing would. It sounded real to Dean's ears and he almost managed to convince himself he was honestly fighting for his life with it. He felt a rush of adrenaline and fear creep up on him as the act caught up to his body and his imaginary pain started feeling real.
Both the doctor and writer turned around when the agonized shriek filled and almost literally shook the room. They spared one quick glance at each other before advancing toward him.
"That doesn't sound like simple rebellion," The writer said nervously glancing at the doctor. Dean kept up his charade giving absolutely everything he had to his act and the next couple shrill cries didn't fail him. He attempted to double over as much as he could and feigned choking on his gag.
He looked up to the doctor, who was still trying to figure out if this was some sort of game, with truly panicked eyes. If he wasn't sold before, the sheer desperation and honest fear Dean radiated did the trick.
"Get the gag off," he barked to the writer who quickly made his way around to Dean's back and began yanking on the tie.
"Oh, god. Oh, god make it stop. Fucking shit, doc please do something." He cried as the fabric fell from his mouth before his whole body started shaking. He yelled out again, tossing his head back for dramatic effect. They were totally sold.
"Jason stay with me," The doctor said tilting his head back down, "Tell me where it hurts." He demanded giving off the air of 'professional at work' now.
"My stomach. Down…to the right, god." He heaved in a labored gulp of air. "It's like someone's twistin' a knife," he groaned loud, coming out closer to a wail again before he full out screamed: "Do something!" He gasped a couple more panicked breaths and moans, then slowly fell limp.
They stared frozen for about half a second, listening to the panicked cries coming from Sam behind them before moving into action.
"Get him down." The doctor ordered and the other man pulled out an old set of rusty keys before shoving the right ones in the right locks and getting Dean's arm's out, holding up his torso as it collapsed. "I think it's his appendix," The doctor said as he proceeded with his ankles and quickly got them undone, "Get him to the operating table, and have my staff on standby. We need this one alive." He almost pleaded before they both began setting off toward the darkened corner.
Dean took his opportunity without hesitation, mentally blocking out the screaming pain in his limbs, and planned out his next attack moves before executing them. He brought his right knee forward into the completely exposed groin of the doctor and put him on the floor out of sheer surprise alone in about a second.
He spun in the same moment, using the momentum to connect his cocked fist with the writer's entirely stunned face. A few more fueled blows and then he was unconscious. Dean turned once again to the bug-eyed doctor clutching his crotch and kicked him in the back of the head twice before he was out too.
It was pathetically easy, Dean was just angry he hadn't thought of it earlier. He snatched the keys from the writer and set out toward Sam who looked just as shocked as they had. Within a minute he was free and un-gagged, slumping forward onto his brother out of exhaustion and pain, but more than anything relief.
"Can you walk?" Dean asked quietly talking into the crook of Sam's neck. He gave a weak and uncertain nod before Dean grabbed his arm and gently draped it over his shoulder's, wrapping an arm around his waist and starting out.
"Hang on." Dean whispered and left Sam leaning up against the wall supporting himself before he reached the two still forms on the floor. He gave each of them a merciless stomp to the head again, making sure they'd stay out for the next hour at least while releasing some of his escalating rage for these maniacs still festering in his chest.
"People are always so stupid on TV." Dean muttered taking his position next to Sam again as they started out, "Always making their great escape. Knock out the bad guy…" They ran into a flight of stairs and slowly began to climb, "think their all bad ass and then the guy wakes up as they're friggin' steppin' out the front door." Dean gave a smirk trying to keep the mood light as they kept climbing, finally reaching what looked to be ground level. Sam, to Dean's surprise chuckled at his rant and nodded in agreement.
"They're idiots. Makes me mad every time." He confessed breathlessly, a smile quivering at his lips before they fell silent for a few minutes. Content to simply revel in their honest great escape, "Damn that was a convincing performance back their man." Sam broke the silence as they stepped through what they could only assume was the doc's house, "I'm still shaking. Thought you were dying. For real." He shook his head trying to smile again. But Dean saw the pain he was trying to mask, and immediately felt bad.
"Not a chance in hell Sammy. Had to save my damsel in distress of a kid brother first. You know that." He gave a light nudge to Sam's side as they stepped out the front door. Sam nodded, tried once again for a crooked grin and then focused on their surroundings.
A dense, shaded forest, he noticed as his eyes scanned the front of the house. How original.
Probably hundreds of miles from any normal civilization.
"Okay, well before we can get out of here we need to find his car. And the road, if there is one. And preferably some clothes." Dean said thinking out loud.
Sam was slowly getting a little of his strength back, everything still hurt like a bitch. Especially his ass and something shifting weird in his stomach, but he thought he could walk on his own now at least.
He started removing his arm from over Dean's shoulders.
"Why don't you go see if he has a car around here and I'll get clothes. Look for some food. I need to find out where we are too." Sam muttered scanning the house from the entry way.
"Akron. Michigan. That's the city we were jumped in right, where the job was, and our motel?" Dean thought trying foggily to remember where they'd been hunting that werewolf. He thought that sounded right. Sam nodded his confirmation.
"Yeah, Akron. We might still be there. Lemme go check. Go get the car." Sam gave him a weak push out the door but left it open, knowing Dean was uneasy leaving him alone right now.
"You scream, yell your freakin' head off if one of them comes at you. You're weak right now so don't try and pull some macho shit while I'm not here. And hurry." Sam rolled his eyes, choosing not to retort to that insanely condescending demand and left before Dean could say anything more, setting out on his mission for supplies.
After a thorough ten minute search, Sam had collected most of the food he could find in the fridge, five water bottles, two pairs of jeans and t-shirts from the doc's bedroom – which he noticed was next door to the operating room he remembered was mentioned before, Sam shuddered – and confirmed they were in fact still in Akron through an address he found on a piece of mail in the kitchen.
For how buckets of crazy this guy seemed to be, most of his house was so freakin' normal it was putting Sam on edge.
Dean pulled a shabby, white Neon around front then, grinning stupidly at his success and Sam made his way down the steps with his supplies, elated to leave their nightmare as he made his way to the passenger seat. He threw a pair of the clothes to Dean and they both hurriedly put them on before getting back in and pulling the car around to the back where Dean said he'd spotted the road out.
"Thank fuckin' Christ were outta there." He said with a completely ecstatic, self-satisfied smirk as they headed down the jostling road, "Dude, what'd you grab?" He asked looking at the plastic bags filled with what he thought was food and water bottles at Sam's feet. Sam pulled up a sack between them and opened it so Dean could peer in. He gave a moan of appreciation before he ripped open a string cheese and practically inhaled it.
"Dean you haven't eaten in a couple days I'm pretty sure. If you eat too fast, or the wrong shit-" He gestured to the cheese, "it's not gonna stay down."
"Dude I'm fuckin' starved, shut up." He said with no real heat to his words. He did a subtle double take noticing Sam hadn't touched anything and made no move to. "Sam, eat. Not like they fed you either." Dean said a little confused but trying not to voice his concern yet.
Sam shrugged, "No, but I'm not really hungry." He said quietly looking out the window at the passing trees.
"Not hungry-?" Dean stopped his incredulous tone and took a breath, "How's the cut?" He asked trying to keep his eyes on the road and not his little brother. They still weren't out of the woods yet, figuratively or literally, so he couldn't pull over to do a full once-over.
Sam hesitated but lifted his shirt the few inches needed to inspect it. Why hadn't they bandaged it? Dean didn't understand – this and a lot of other shit.
"They've been cleaning it, at least they did once when you were out. I don't think it's infected yet, but we should probably get some antiseptics at the first drug store we find."
No shit.
"Yeah," Dean answered, his next question on the tip of his tongue as he sat in tense silent for a few minutes debating whether he should ask. Now or ever.
"Sam," He started finally making up his mind, "What- uh, what happened yesterday? With that…that 'procedure,'" Dean spit the word and he couldn't stop wincing or grimacing through his sentence - he probably looked like he had turrets, "What did he do?" He finished quietly, half knowing the answer, half hoping Sam had more of an answer, but mainly praying to high heavens none of it was true.
"I don't know Dean." He answered shortly keeping his gaze out the window. And Dean knew right away that was all the answer he'd be getting for a while.
He sighed, "Alright Sam, it's okay. Why don't you try getting' some shut eye and I'll wake you up when we hit civilization." He said trying once again to keep his tone light.
Sam nodded, following the suggestion easily and was soon in a restless slumber propped up against the foggy window.
An hour later, Dean saw a brighter light peering in through the cracks between the trees and he knew they were close. Sam hadn't moved though and he was antsy, already hating this forest with a passion, desperate for the normal scene they were usually surrounded by – like houses and people and a motel room. The shady path this forest surrounded was making him claustrophobic, not at all helping with his general unease, so when the dirt road finally pulled off onto pure, clean, black pavement, Dean could've cried tears of joy.