A/N: For those of you reading Deathless I have been working on chapter 30, but right now I can't exactly type that well. The only reason I'm able to update this story is because it's shorter, so I've been writing it in google docs on my phone.
Episode: 4x19 - "Jump the Shark"
10
Sam supposed he should be used to getting tied up by now. But he had too many negative connotations with it, some that went beyond torture. He couldn't help but remember the times he'd been restrained and had had his emotions toyed with, or been touched unwillingly. In a way, this time had been no different.
Windom, Minnesota – a place he never wanted to go back to. There were too many things that had happened there in such a short time: finding out he and Dean had a brother that their father had actually been a real dad to (at least more than he had been for them), dealing with the hurt and jealousy it brought up, arguing with Dean about Adam, discovering that Adam was dead and had been dead for at least a week, the ghouls tying him up and taking their time with him…
Upon waking up tied to the table Sam had felt betrayal, until he'd realized that the young man he'd been talking to hadn't actually been his brother. He just wore his face. And he'd used it to taunt him. It hurt in a subconscious, instinctual way when the ghoul had dug his finger in the wound in his side, burrowing deeper. It had brought Sam more than just physical pain because even though he knew that thing hadn't been Adam, it certainly looked like him.
But what was worse was the ghoul's sister. She seemed to take pleasure in his discomfort from being touched. She'd even let out quiet, delighted laughs when he'd turned his head away from her or tried to escape from her curious hands and mouth. She hadn't just sliced into him with knives he had (which would've been preferable). She'd breathed in his scent, sucked on his ear, caressed his face, ran the blade teasingly up and down his chest; touched him as if she had the right to.
Sam couldn't help but think that she'd been playing with her food. The thought made him sick to his stomach. But, just like his other memories of being touched against his will, he locked it away, because it surely didn't matter. None of it mattered. If he let himself feel fear or pain over it then surely he'd be weak. He couldn't be weak. He'd already been weak too many times in his life.