Chapter 11


This chapter contains a scene with sexual violence. It's not graphic, but it's obvious what is happening.


Sam's eyes riveted to the arena entranceway. Marlin was too smug, too excited when Dean exploded through the door, fast, sure strides carrying him forward. His eyes met Sam's at nearly the same instant Marlin laughed, a low, vicious sound bringing mirth to absolutely no one. The realization of what happened stampeded through Sam's mind, simultaneously showing on Dean's face.

The sound Marlin made sent cold spikes straight through Sam, stabbing his spine, ribs, slithering through him, turning to ice in his chest and stomach. He had no control over the way his body jerked and repeated spasms flinched across his torso.

Move! His brain screamed the single word over and over. Yet, the jello the muscles of his legs and arms became was less responsive, less cooperative. The best he managed was to inch along the bench, stay out of Marlin's attention. If he could get away, Dean would follow, not challenge Marlin, not risk his life for Sam. Something hard and cold and unyielding gripped his ribcage, making it nearly impossible to inhale for a few seconds, breathing becoming painful.

Dean stilled; he and Marlin staring each other down. Face darkening, clouding in rage, sheer hate, Sam couldn't remember when he'd seen Dean so angry, beyond angry. Violence and panic chased one another across Dean's features before finally landing on enraged in a way Sam had never seen before.

Then Dean went ballistic.

The primal yell coming from Dean scared even Sam, he was sure Marlin took a step back before taunting them both with words of how Dean screwed up. Neither of them, Sam was sure, had to guess what Dean's punishment was to be. Dean was in motion, going so fast he was a blur. It was frightening, his speed and power. Sam saw it in Marlin's face, his eyes, Dean scared him in a way he wasn't accustomed to, maybe in a way he'd never been.

Marlin wasn't alone; he had his men with him. It took two of them, and even then they barely held Dean at bay, shoving him back. Sam didn't have a chance to move, Marlin was fast too. Shouting Dean's name, Sam nearly ducked clear of Marlin's grasp, using his height advantage he barely missed being able to jump clear, skirt around Marlin. Marlin grabbed his wrist in a bruising hold, spun him around, arm shoved up his back. More men appeared, descending on Dean, pushing him farther away. Sam reached for Marlin's head with his free hand, but was blocked.

Fingers slithered through Sam's hair, closed to a fist and yanked hard. Pain seared through his scalp extending down his neck as his head was jerked back with enough force to throw him off balance, make him dizzy. A fist slammed into his abdomen, low, just above his hip. The blow left him gasping for breath, hard knots of pain skimmed straight through to his back, reverberated through him for several seconds. He had the sensation of being dragged back, pulled and shoved somewhere. Second and third blows landed on his back, just below his hips. A voice far back in the corner of Sam's mind wondered at that oddity. The blows to his back hurt momentarily, would never stop him, barely even slowed him down. He'd have a few bruises maybe, nothing more. It was a stupid, useless place to hit someone. Sam wouldn't have wasted his energy on such a move.

When his breathing finally came in harsh gasps, but at least he could inhale, and the gray cloud covering his eyes cleared, which maybe took in reality less than half a minute Dean was no where in sight, Sam couldn't even hear his brother's voice anymore. He had a good idea where he was being taken, even though he was still disoriented, not able to pinpoint the direction, his location.

Marlin was no where in sight, just the three men who dragged him along. Catching his breath, he managed to free himself, took a swing at one, downing him, then kicking out hard and fast, caught one man just above his knee. The guy staggered back, but the third man was on him. Grabbing Sam's hair, jerking back and down, a thick arm wrapped his neck, pulling back, cutting off his air. Again he was knuckled hard and low on his back, high on the backs of his thighs, across his hips. He'd feel the tightening and bruising in a day, but right now Sam barely registered the hits. The fist connecting three or four times with his face definitely registered. Sam felt those.

The corridor tilted and swayed, spun erratically in waves making his stomach lurch and flip, his intestines crawl around themselves, his body kicked and protested from the inside out. His knees became nonexistent; Sam's weight slid toward the floor. The sound of voices, rough, nasty, protesting having to haul his heavy ass somewhere…really they could have just left him. Sam wouldn't have minded or complained.

As they dragged him, Sam got flashes and glimpses through the haze that was his head of the twists and turns. How much time past eluded him. Twice he staggered; fell out of the hands holding his arms. Before being hauled halfway up he was kicked along his thighs and butt, the sharp toes of the men's boots creating dull throbs where they landed. The muscles of his back and legs started to cramp and ache. Just as the world stopped oozing around him in slippery waves he was punched again in the side of the head, stars and lights burst across his vision, clouding out all else.

Sam startled back to partial awareness when he was lifted off the ground, thrown onto a hard, cold surface. Pain ricocheted through his back when the newly acquired bruises met hard surface. He was stripped to the waist, boots and socks removed, leaving him wearing nothing but his jeans. Restraints were cinched around his wrists and ankles with enough force to bite into his skin. One was pulled around his chest, cranked on until it made breathing difficult. Flat on his back, knees bent, he could barely turn his shoulders, his head was the only thing left moving freely.

One of the men elbowed him a few times along his groin. Body jerking reflexively brought stabs of pain along his shoulders and arms from the pull against his restraints. The actions made no sense to Sam. The injuries wouldn't stop him from running if he'd been free; but he wouldn't have run, running here was useless, there was no where to go anyway. Neither would they stop him from fighting, maybe slow him down a bit. The blows hurt, they'd bruise, were frightening and intimidating; nothing more. But then Sam didn't get his rocks off hurting people, so what did he know?

Finally, blissfully they left him.

Dean barely avoided slamming his fist into Carter out of sheer reflex when his arm was jerked on again. He whirled on the man, and to his credit Carter winced, sucked in a breath, but didn't move, didn't back off, just stared at Dean with calm eyes. The only other person who ever did that, held his ground against Dean like that was Sam, and for a whole other set of reasons.

Sam.

Where was he, what were they doing to him, going to do to him? Marlin already intimidated Sam to the point of the kid keeping his mouth shut, not telling Dean what methods were used against him. That in and of itself was frightening to Dean. Nothing kept Sam's mouth shut, not even demons prevented Sam from relating any detail to Dean, and he usually knew far more details than he generally cared to. Keeping secrets from each other was in neither brother's nature; was difficult at best and not something either chose to do unless powerfully forced into it. Dean managed it once, and not with a lot of success, doing so nearly killed him.

This all left Dean with nothing but his imagination to fill in the blanks of what Marlin might have done, might again to do his brother.

Carter tugged insistently on Dean's arm. "We gotta go."

"No. This way." Dean pointed to the corridor leading down to the access door, the room Sam had been taken to before.

"Uh huh. There's something I have to make sure of first, there's other places." Carter tipped his head to a wall, indicating outside.

A shudder ran though Dean, thoughts of Sam abandoned far out in the desert, no food or water, exposed to the elements with nothing but a t-shirt, light weight button down shirt, jeans and boots banged around his head. With no weapons, no way to hunt or protect himself, no shelter at night, how long would someone last in those conditions? Dean had no idea. How long would it take Sam to drop from exposure, exhaustion, trying to find his way back to their prison? Back to Dean? How would Sam even know which direction to pick?

Numb, Dean followed Carter to the clinic, agreeing to wait while Carter checked whatever it was he wanted to check. The second the man was gone, Dean was at the computer. The layout he'd found and the pictures weren't the best, but they were better than nothing. He printed them off, folding and tucking them into his pocket just as Carter returned.

"He's in here somewhere, they haven't taken him outside, and there's no one in the sweatboxes."

Dean felt his stomach drop, closed in on itself and clenched into a hard, hot acorn. He'd forgotten about the sweatboxes, remembering only Marlin's previous threats to dump Sam so far out in the desert he'd never be found. Mental images of Sam in one of the sweatboxes invaded his mind, sent new shudders through Dean. Sam, who was kind and gentle, would ask Dean not to hurt these men, they were victims. Yet, it was these men who thrived on Sam's pain. Dean figured he had it coming at times, but not Sam, never Sam. Dean hated how often Sam was targeted in someone or something's efforts to make Dean suffer, pay somehow.

Sam had been snatched to force Dean into fighting. That much was clear. But there were pieces missing, it didn't all add up. Dean fought, did what they'd wanted as long as Sam was left alone, left with him. So why target the kid? Why harass and threaten him? What purpose did that serve? Dean didn't know. His only conclusion was it served some purpose not involving Dean. It brought Marlin some sick pleasure.

"He's intimidated by you, afraid of you. You know that?" Carter broke into Dean's thoughts. "I bet he thinks you want to take over, have his job."

Dean snorted, "I have a crappy job, why would I want a crappier one? He damn well better be afraid of me after what he's done, after hurting my brother."

They moved through the corridors without further comment to one another. Carter seemed to have an idea where Dean was going. They headed toward the door, the room Sam had been in before, but were immediately cut off at the top of the corridor. Unlike his previous visit, this time it was swarming with men.

Carter's hand on his arm stopped Dean before they were spotted. "I think you're right, he's in there. We can't get close right now."

"You got any guns, any sort of real weapons?" He knew it was a silly question, but asked anyway.

Chuckling softly, "No." He tapped Dean's shoulder. "Come on, we'll get your brother back. But we can't fight these guys off. There's too many of them. If we try they'll hurt him more. They won't stay here long."

"How do you know?" Dean whispered over his shoulder, eyes leaving the door for nothing but seconds, skimming across Carter's face before being drawn back to the door.

"Because that's how he operates. I've been here a while. It's what Marlin does." Carter's hand rested against Dean's arm, fingers curling around slightly, firmly. It made Dean turn to him fully. "I've always been alone. It sucks. We'll get your brother back, you won't be alone."

Sam howled, shaking his head a few times. Small water droplets flew in all directions from his hair. Only his head moved freely. He could barely move his shoulders, shift one at a time off the table. His voice stuttered, gasps and harsh yells from the cold water poured over him ripped from his throat. Shivers coursed through him, rattling every part of him. Giving a jerk with his arms, legs, he confirmed what he vaguely remembered. He was wearing nothing but his jeans, tied to a table. The table. A quick glance around showed Sam he was in the same room as before. Only this time it wasn't some stranger on the table, it was him.

Marlin's harsh laugh drew his attention to his left. There was no knife in Marlin's fist…yet. Sam shuddered, was he next to be sliced open, left to die?

Teeth clenched tight, Sam swallowed convulsively, forcing a sob and a plea for his brother's presence back into his chest. He wouldn't give Marlin the satisfaction.

Pacing the length of the table several times, Marlin's eyes never left Sam. They skimmed, wide and excited over Sam's neck, down his arm, the length of his torso. More shudders ripped through Sam, causing his muscles to shiver and jump of their own volition. He tried to quiet his body, tried to be still. The harder he tried the more he shook. The more Marlin's face and eyes lit up with sheer anticipation and glee.

Sam's stomach clenched, his chest tightened to a hard knot, making it nearly impossible to draw a deep breath. His fingers curled so tightly to a fist his nails dug into his palms.

Marlin bent down, his face close to Sam's. One finger brushed lightly over the swell of Sam's shoulder, down the length of his arm, tracing the veins of his forearms. Sam tried pulling away from the touch, but he was bound too tightly. Each hitching intake of breath sent slivers of pain through Sam's chest. Clamping his mouth shut, he glared back at Marlin.

"Guess it's just you and me now. Breathe one word to big brother, Dean and—"

"What is this, the sixth grade, don't tell?" Sam sneered back, sounding braver than he felt.

Rough fingers skimmed through Sam's hair, across his cheek. "One word and Dean gets everything I showed you, and more."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam turned his head away, tucked his chin against his body.

"No." Marlin demanded, jerking Sam's head around so he was forced to look at Marlin. "Not again. It's you and me, and this time you're not going to ignore me."

Sam cringed, skin crawling when Marlin's finger tips ran across his neck, down his chest. Breathing deep to quiet the shivers running freely through him, it didn't entirely work.

"You need to learn not to ignore me. Your brother needs to learn he can't waltz in here and take over." Marlin's other hand rubbed his own thigh and groin, his body rocked in time with his motions. "Your brother, he was just a bonus, some icing on the cake, see? But I'm in charge, not him. I knew I had to have you, know what you feel like; bring you here as soon as I saw you walk in the bar. The fact you have that brother of yours, willing to do anything, fight to the death for you. Think he'd so willingly kill someone for you?"

Hysterical, cackling laughter bubbled out of Sam. It took him nearly a full minute to comprehend the noise came from him. "My brother is already wanted for murder. That guy hit me too." He supposed that should have impressed Marlin, but he couldn't tell if it did or not.

Marlin's fingers moved lower, pressing against his hip, inching across his leg, to his groin. Sheer reflex had Sam rolling away, or trying to; he was bound up too securely to move much. Snarling some low, guttural noise Marlin pulled his hand away, but Sam wasn't relieved. In the next instant white, shattering pain ripped through him as Marlin's fist slammed into his testicles, pulled back and repeated.

Arching, screaming, Sam had nowhere to escape. Nauseating pain throbbed through his belly, up his chest, crawled to his head. His stomach lurched. Barely able to turn his head in time to keep from asphyxiating, Sam vomited. The putrid contents of his stomach puddled next to his head, dribbled down his cheek, oozed into his hair and ear.

"You need to learn. You both need to learn."

Marlin was gone in a whoosh of air. Sam heard him move to the door, it opened. A muffled voice sounding more like crying, whimpering, came into the room, closer to Sam. When the room stopped its spinning and tilting Sam had a good view of Marlin and the newest arrival.

A boy, probably two or three years younger than Sam, fair-haired, sort of chubby was thrown to the floor, hands bound behind his back, mouth gagged.

"Leave him alone." Even as Sam rasped out the words he knew it was useless. He was totally unprepared for what happened next.

The kid's face was shoved against the floor, Marlin's foot between his shoulder blades, he grabbed the boy's shirt and pulled, ripping it off. The boy trembled and sobbed, begging around his gag.

"Stop it. Don't hurt him."

Marlin ignored him. Taking his knife out, he cut away the boy's jeans, underwear, pulling the cloth away, leaving him completely naked, then shed his own jeans.

What was happening rampaged through Sam's brain. Jerking and straining against his bindings he shouted, pleaded with Marlin to stop. The kid tried shoving away from Marlin, but got nowhere. Bending over him Marlin slipped the knife around the boy's neck, pressing but not moving it, not cutting. The boy screamed when Marlin pushed closer, completely over him, hips ramming forward into the kid with more force than needed.

"You're next, when your brother is gone, maybe I'll kill him myself, just like this." Marlin's voice was harsh and raw.

Sam's breath caught in his chest, acrid bile rose up, burning his insides, his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut to the sight of Marlin raping the boy, but he couldn't shut his ears off from the sounds. The boy's crying, begging for mercy, the slap of skin against skin in an unwanted act assaulted Sam's ears. Sam begged Marlin to stop, not even sure his words were spoken aloud or simply screamed inside his head.

A sickening sound, and suddenly there was quiet from the kid.

"We're going to have so much fun when it's just you and me. He can't really keep me from you, not forever."

Sam heard Marlin move, pull his clothes on. There was not another sound, other than Sam's own harsh breathing, his pathetic attempts to stop his sobs. The door opened, closed, and Sam knew Marlin was gone. Turning his head, cracking open his eyes, Sam saw the boy through swimming vision. Head cranked back at an odd angel, naked and in a pool of blood, his throat slit. Lifeless eyes stared at Sam. Staring back for a few seconds, Sam barely got his head turned to the side before he vomited again, succeeding in mostly covering himself in more of the vile fluid.

Sam shouted, beat his head against the table, struggled against his bonds. All to no avail. Another person died because of him. Marlin may have actually completed the act, but Sam was just as much to blame. Dean, his brother, Dean was next. Marlin intended to see Dean die, beaten to death in some fight. What Marlin did to Sam after that, he didn't care.