This is the chapter where it gets really dark. Be careful.
I woke and tried to sit up. I couldn't. My wrists were still handcuffed to the bedposts. This time, I was lying on my back. At least I could see. It made it a little less terrifying, as I'd have a little warning if I was attacked.
My legs were tied to the bedposts as well, so I was stuck looking like a starfish, with limbs sticking out at the corners. And I was still naked from the waist down. That was scary. Couldn't Sam have at least had the courtesy to cover me with a sheet or something? This was horrible.
I wished I could cross my legs. But no, they were held open by the ropes. I was so exposed. Tears filled my eyes. I wished this was a nightmare that would stop. If it was reality, couldn't it at least be livable? Wasn't that a common courtesy the universe could show its residents? This wasn't livable. I wasn't ok.
Sam walked in. His hair was mussed, like he'd just been sleeping. He rubbed his eyes and blinked at me for a moment.
"Gabriel?" he asked tiredly.
I tried to scowl at him, but the memory of him straddling me in my dream came to me and took the edge away from my expression. I tried hard not think of how he'd pressed against me and I'd been so locked in his eyes- damn it! I was not getting hard. Absolutely not happening.
The tears in my eyes got dangerously close to spilling over. Why did I have to be so exposed? My brand new mortality left me so fragile and vulnerable already, and now I wasn't even dressed and couldn't hide it when my lower brain kicked in. It was horrid.
"I had a weird dream," Sam commented, sitting down on the bed beside me. "It was sort of a mix of a vampire hunt and following you down an alley."
I froze. That had been my dream. How had we dreamed the same thing? Had we dreamed the same thing? I started fishing for information.
"Lemme guess," I sniffled. "You got to beat me up in the dream, just like reality?"
"A little," he said casually. "Not as much as last night."
I shuddered and turned my head away from him.
"I just scratched your cheek and generally roughed you up a bit," Sam continued. He pulled my head back towards him and ran his fingers along my cheek where I could remember his nails tearing into my skin.
I shivered and tugged helplessly against him. We had dreamed the same thing. How?
Sam did have some psychic powers from the bit of demon blood Azazel had dripped in his mouth as a child, but the power was supposed to be dormant. And it wouldn't make sense for that to manifest in dream sharing. There had to be some other connection.
"I kissed you in the dream too," he said suddenly. "I wonder-"
Sam leaned in and pressed his lips firmly against mine. I let out a shocked gasp, and his tongue slipped into my mouth. Sam was kissing me. In the real world. It was a million times better than in the dream. It was also a million times worse, because I kept my head for it. I knew the entire time that I was desperately, passionately kissing him that this was the dark Sam who hated me, not the gentle Sam I loved.
He pulled away, studying me coolly. Had that meant anything at all to him? More tears filled my eyes, but they still didn't spill over. "Your mouth tastes the same as it did in the dream," he noted. "Strawberries and sugar."
I shivered and turned my face away, a single tear tracing it's way down my cheek. "Stop," I pleaded.
"Stop what?" he asked, carding his fingers through my hair.
"Stop going back and forth!" I cried. "It's horrid of you. Just pick whether to beat me up or kiss me. I could live with either one."
"So, if I freed you now, you'd be willing to just forgive and forget. Live as a human, stay in crappy motel rooms and date the hunter who beat you up and tortured you." His tone was teasing.
I stared at him. "No." Maybe if he'd been serious, if he'd really wanted that, maybe then I'd have agreed. I didn't know. I probably would've. It sounded like a dream to me, and I couldn't help wanting it.
I don't know what I wanted. Everything got so complicated when my long term crush captured me, stole my grace, tortured me, and then started kissing me and saying confusing things. I have no idea what to do about anything anymore.
"J-just go away, will you?" I asked. "I know you h-hate me."
"I've been dreaming of this revenge ever since you started killing my brother," Sam said. "I'm not going to just 'go away' now that I've got you in my power."
I turned my head to look at him. "Can't you- can't you just go back to the normal Sam before the whole Mystery Spot debacle?" I knew it was futile, but I had to try. "I-I liked that Sam. He was nice. And- if it could all go back to normal- I never meant for it to go this far. Sam, please."
"He's gone," Sam spat. "He's never coming back. You killed him with those Tuesdays."
It was the Wednesday that broke him, though. I knew that. He survived the Tuesdays, because he knew Dean would come back, time and time again. And then Wednesday came and Dean really, permanently died. I was sorry. I wanted to take it back, but I couldn't. And I wasn't sure if it would matter to him even if I could anymore. This went so much farther than I'd ever, at my worst, wanted.
"I don't believe you," I said, as strongly as I could. He had to be in there somewhere. I had to find a way to bring him back.
He struck me across the face, hard enough that I was sure it would leave a bruise. It wasn't gonna be pretty, not that that mattered. Only Sam was going to see me, and it was his fault if I was black and blue all over.
Sam got out a serrated knife. I groaned. Serrated knives made such awful, jagged cuts. And it would take a lot longer to heal since I had a human level of power. I hadn't even thought about the pain.
Sam carelessly cut my shirt off with the knife. I was terrified that he'd slip up and cut me, but he didn't. He ripped free the pieces of shirt, leaving me completely naked and chained to a bed. Normally it would've been sexy- but this circumstance wasn't at all interesting like that. At least that was an improvement. Torture was bad enough without Sam watching me get more and more aroused the whole time.
He started tracing lines of burning pain into my skin with the knife. It was agony. I screamed and thrashed against him, which just made the pain worse and worse when the knife cut deeper than he'd intended. He didn't seem to care.
The pain burned and stung and seemed to overwhelm my whole being. I was starting to wish I'd been easier on certain of my victims. Pain was so hard to deal with from a mortal level. I couldn't think. Breathing seemed almost impossible and I could only gasp shallowly. Sam was too skilled with the knife.
At some point he stopped. I think he was worried I'd die if I lost too much more blood. I could breathe and think again. It was such a relief, even if I was still in agony. I looked down at my torso. The jagged lines he'd cut into me formed words. There was too much blood to read them, but I could tell they meant something. I doubted it was kind.
Blood flowed red and fresh across my chest and onto the pale cream sheets in some places. In others it was already dry, crusted onto my skin in all it's gory, rust colored glory. It looked awful. I was surprised I was conscious. Then again, I know almost nothing about the human body's limits. I knew my head felt funny and it was a little hard to see things clearly. I guess maybe that's dizziness. I let my head drop back against the pillows.
Sam was studying me critically.
"What're you looking at?" I demanded angrily. "You think just because you can torture me it gives you the right to stare? Ogle your own bloody bruises."
"I have the right to do anything I want to you," Sam said harshly. "I won it automatically when I defeated you. I'll stare as much as I want." His eyes traveled down to the bloody mess of my chest and farther.
"Just because you can do something doesn't make it right," I argued. "Torturing me like this is wrong. Maybe staring isn't really morally objectionable, but you get the point!" I was flustered. If he'd stopped staring at my dick, a part of me I very much wished to keep private under these circumstances, maybe I'd have been calmer. I felt so exposed and helpless, and I couldn't handle this right after torture.
"Cuz you've always stayed out of questionable areas morally," Sam snorted. "I don't care about your dumb angelic standards of right and wrong anymore."
I would've scowled if I wasn't so flustered and miserable. Why did my lower brain have such an attraction to being handcuffed and exposed? And Sam staring at me was just making it way worse. "Can you at least cover me with a towel if you're going to be horribly creepy?" I asked.
"What would be the point of being 'horribly creepy' be, then?" he asked me with a smirk. "It's obviously the most effective torture with you."
"No," I begged. I could survive being cut, but not being- messed with. Not like that. "Sam, please."
"Every time you beg me not to do something, I remember begging you to stop killing Dean," Sam said angrily. "And you never stopped. So guess what? I'm not going to stop either."
He reached down between my legs. I'd been expecting him to go for my cock, but he came up with something worse. He started rubbing his fingers against my asshole. I shivered and flinched, trying to pull away from him. The chains wouldn't let me.
"Sam, stop," I pleaded.
Sam pulled back for a moment, sticking his fingers in his mouth to dampen them. And then his hand was back, and he pushed a finger into me.
I desperately tried to yank myself away from him, and started crying. The time he jerked me off had been bad, but this was so much worse. He was in me. This was the start of the worst way he could possibly violate me. I didn't want it. This couldn't happen! It couldn't! Please.
"Get out!" I cried. "Stop." My voice was reduced to a whisper.
His finger slid most of the way out of me before pushing back in, farther this time. He crooked his finger and wiggled it around. And it felt so good. And so horrible. I bit my tongue to hold back a lewd moan even as I cried from how violated and dirty I felt. This was my worst nightmare- on steroids.
Sam pushed in another finger, and it burned. I cried out. He scissored his fingers, opening me farther.
"Don't," I whimpered.
He paid no attention. His fingers wiggled around, exploring the inside of my ass. He brushed lightly against my prostate. I screamed. I hadn't meant to, but I couldn't help it. I had been planning to be silent throughout the torture, but that plan never seems to pan out. I keep ending up screaming or moaning or both. This was a both kind of day.
He brushed against my prostate again, and I moaned. I was too weak to hold back my reactions anymore. I was building towards orgasming untouched. That would be devastatingly embarrassing.
Sam pushed in a third finger and pressed hard against my prostate. I sobbed and whined. It was horrid. I wanted it to stop. "Please stop," I begged in between whining and moaning. I felt so dirty. How did this happen? How?!
Sam started finger-fucking me, slamming into my prostate with almost every stroke. It was an arousing agony. I gasped and groaned, reacting to his every tiny movement. I was completely helpless and at his mercy. I wished I was dead. It would've been so much less painful.
Against my will, my incoherent string of pleas for him to stop became a string of desperate pleas for more and deeper torture. I bit my tongue, but it didn't do any good. I was just bleeding from my mouth as well as my chest.
I don't know why it happened. Sam was focused on what he was doing to my butthole one moment, and then he was looking up at my face. Something changed for him in that moment. He pulled his fingers out of me and ran from the room. His face was like he'd seen a ghost. Well, not really like he'd seen a ghost. That wouldn't have phased him. Maybe like he'd seen Death? No, that probably wouldn't really shock him either. I'm blathering, aren't I? Anyway, Sam ran from the room in a panic.
I was left chained thoroughly to the bed, completely naked and spread open and with a throbbing erection. It was awful. At least he was gone. Maybe he wouldn't come back. Except then I'd die here. I had no way to escape. But dying didn't seem so bad. I felt so- dirty and worthless and just awful. I never wanted to have sex again. I just wanted to not have to exist anymore. Please, somebody kill me. Please.