Gah! I have to again apologize for the tardiness of my update. I swear, I get distracted way too easily. It's pretty ridiculous.
Also, once again there seem to be mixed reviews. Unfortunately for some, because the slight, informal-like poll was so evenly matched, I'm going to go with the one I would prefer writing about. I tried to have it as satisfactory as possible for both sides, but it won't be as graphic as some may like! Despite this, though, there's still lots and lots of Limp!Sam and, hey? That's always awesome! :D
Hope this chapter is still enjoyable for you all!
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Dean drove violently through the dark streets, John in the passenger seat, exasperated.
"Come on, Dean, your brother's fine. You know how he is."
Dean shot a fiery gaze John's way before turning back to the road. They had waited at the house for nearly two hours before deciding enough was enough, and only because John thought that Sam was just being controversial and snotty. Damn him for making me wait this long. What if something happened to his baby brother?
Dean's teeth clenched, his hands tightening on the wheel, the trees outside whizzing passed in a blur. Nothing would happen to Sammy, he'd make sure of it.
They continued speeding down the deserted roads, heading down the road Sam would probably take to get home from school.
And "probably" was the main issue.
Neither of the elder Winchesters had any strong assumption as to which path he'd take, and that worried Dean all the more. They could be driving further and further away from Sam and they wouldn't even know it.
A deserted alleyway was coming up to their right, and automatically Dean craned his neck to get a peak inside. At first, he merely thought the slumped body and surrounding figures were an illusion.
And then all he saw was red.
Not a second later, the Impala squealed to a stop and Dean was jumping out of the Impala, his feet pounding heavily onto the asphalt as the cool air drifted through his clothes, eyes dark with malice and destruction. He didn't notice how John whipped something small out of his pocket and firmly press it to his ear, all his sights were on his baby brother, prone and unmoving.
He was speeding around the beloved but forgotten car when the men looked behind them. The man that had been pressed up against Sammy, his Sammy, took a defensive position, grabbing Sam around the neck and pulling him in front of his own body protectively, Sam's head rolling onto the man's shoulder. He then brought a knife up to Sam's slender and exposed neck, his mouth on the boy's other side beginning to caress the smooth skin.
"Don't go any further, boy," the man said with a wicked smile, his tongue flashing out at Sam's neck. Dean growled, but did as he was told. John appeared beside him, hands up in a reassuring manner. Four other men were all standing beside Sam and the man, one holding a video camera pointing in Sam's direction. Dean stared at the man, his hands clenching into tight fists, his nails dragging against his palms. The man, who appeared slightly familiar to Dean, seemed to notice his gaze, and looked almost frightened by his intense stare, taking a step back.
Dean looked back to the other man holding Sam, his hand curled tight around his brother's neck. "Look, please, just let him go," he pleaded, pushing his hands forward for emphasis. "You don't want to do this."
The dark-haired man holding Sam rose an eyebrow. "I don't want to do this? Weird, because I have a damned persistent boner to prove otherwise."
Dean swallowed hard, noticing this was the exact same man that had been in the shoe store. He still sported the bruise Dean had gladly put on his hideous face, and it looked like Sam did a number on him as well with the large knife wound on his cheek as evidence, oozing blood. Dean felt grimly happy for it.
But it was a mere undercurrent in the raging emotions he was being swallowed by. He grit his teeth hard, feeling useless. There was no way he could save his brother with these four burly, bigass bulldozers in his way. What was he to do?
John stepped forward, purposely blocking Dean from view, keeping his hands up. "What do you want? Say the word and you can have it. Just give us the boy."
The man growled angrily in return. "I don't want anything but the boy and, seeing as how I have the means, you won't be receiving Sam for a very, very long time". He pulled at Sam's hair, exposing Sam's sweat-glistened neck for emphasis before sucking on the sweet skin. A hand crept along Sam's inner thigh, rubbing at the soft flesh and carelessly dipping beneath the thin material of his boxers.
Dean hissed angrily, his eyes feeling suspiciously damp, and he looked away. Thankfully, Sam was still in boxers, which probably, hopefully meant that he hadn't that been...that he wasn't...
A tear fell from Dean's eye.
Dean watched as Sam continued staring at the cold ground, his gaze glued to that one spot in shame. Why wasn't Sam moving? He just hung there, limp, like his body didn't belong to him anymore. Was he so ashamed?
Dean brushed the tear away angrily, even then making sure he did so slowly, so the men didn't think he was trying anything stupid. How could he protect his baby brother? He had a knife in his back pocket and a gun pressed lightly to the small of his back, like John, but how could they possibly obtain them without getting thirty bullets to the chest first?
Or Sam? What if they aimed at his baby brother instead?
The back of Dean's head, the small inkling of logic, was telling him they needed to create a distraction.
The man's demeanor turned back to light humor again, his mouth tinged with a smile as he played with Sam's long, beautiful hair, his fingers weaving through the locks effortlessly. He kissed Sam's hair, then moved back down to his neck, sucking on the skin before biting lightly. This boy belonged to him, him, and there was no one that could stop him. Not even the boy's family.
His eyes had closed from the intense scrutiny he'd put into giving Sam the best hickey of his life, albeit unable to fully react to it, and opened them when an idea entered his head. He smiled, his eyes looking both from what he assumed was Sam's brother then his father.
"So, I think introductions are in order. You first," he indicated to the older one.
The tall man flinched, his eyes raging but calm features otherwise relating calm. "My name is John," he said attempting a calm demeanor then pointed shakily to the right, "and this is my son Dean."
"Hey!" the man yelled, suddenly angry, abruptly bringing his hand around and squeezing Sam's balls angrily. "Did I say you could answer for him?"
The older man flinched, and Roy spoke again, suddenly calmer. "Now, let's try again. What is your name?"
He gulped, absently standing straighter. "My name is John Turner."
Roy looked to the other. "And you?"
"Dean Turner," the younger one said, and Roy could tell he was biting his lip from saying something else, the only result a strangled exhale.
Roy nodded, satisfied, and released his harsh grip on Sam. He cooed, "Aw, I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to hurt you." He lightly rubbed Sam's crotch as apology, his fingers dying to reach under the thin material of Sam's boxers.
But he had more than enough time for that later.
Sam did not react outwardly to Roy's touch, his head rolled back on the shoulder, his gaze staring into the cold ground.
Roy went back to petting Sam's hair, one arm wound possessively around his small waist. "Mmm, he's beautiful, isn't he?" He closed his eyes and took a whiff. "Delicious." He looked to the two Turners in front of him. His hand flicked in their direction. "Search them for weapons." Automatically, two of his own, much larger men went and frisked them, retrieving a small knife and gun from both. The brother and father were none too happy. Roy smiled. "And now that that's been done, I think we should play a little game."
Both the men's eyes narrowed into small slits, rage palpably emanating from them in huge waves. The father spoke. "What game?"
Roy smiled widely. "What, you don't know? We're going to play the 'Who Gets to Fuck Sammy?' game. It's going to be so much fun." The two men looked completely disgusted. "Oh, come on, incest isn't illegal in all states...I think. Now come closer, don't be a party-pooper." He waved his hand forward excitedly, and two of his own men, Vick and Simpson, ushered the men violently forward.
"Sit," Vick said harshly.
Both sat, each only a few feet from their beloved Sammy. Their eyes were locked on the boy's face, and from Roy's view he couldn't tell if Sammy was making eye-contact with them or not.
Roy readjusted Sam in his lap until his ass was on the ground between Roy's legs, his head resting lightly against the larger man's chest. Roy then began playing the boy's hair, silky strands twirling around his finger.
"So Dean-your name is Dean, correct?" After a terse nod, Roy continued. "Do you love your brother?" He watched the man's hands turn to tight fists, his nails no doubt leaving crescent marks against his palms. Roy's eyebrow raised. "Is that a 'no'"?
Dean growled. "Of course I love my brought, you shit."
Roy smiled at his words. "How much do you love him?"
"What?"
Roy shrugged, Sam's hand held in his own, now admiring Sam's pretty, thin fingers. He kissed each one before placing them on Sam's nude leg. "Well, would you die for him, kill for him? Would you trade spots with your brother right now to save him?"
Dean jumped to his knees in an instant, swiftly covering the little distance between him and Roy. "Yes, yes, please-".
Roy shoved Dean violently onto his ass, backing him away from him and his baby. "Stay the fuck away from my boy. It was a hypothetical question, damn it. There is no one I want more than this boy."
He watched the man John twitch furiously, his entire body jolting with what was probably wrath. He's displeased that I said he was my boy, Roy thought, I guess I have a few lessons that need to be taught. Roy couldn't help another smile that escaped. The older man's eyes were suspiciously damp, and he thought he heard a choked sob come from Dean, who had failed to sit back up yet. The young man put his hands on his face and cowered in them. "Please, please."
Roy shook his head adamantly. "No, he's mine."
Dean sat up quickly, eyes red. "No, he's not."
Vick came in and hit Dean fiercely across his cheek. Dean clenched his teeth against the blow, but did not retaliate or argue further.
Roy smiled, once again happy and jovial. "Good boy. Now, we need to get back to my game, who knows how much longer the effects will last."
Both Dean and John looked to Roy, their mouths working on empty words in question to his statement. John licked his lips. "Effects? What...what are you talking about?"
Roy smiled, his eyebrow raising. "What, you think my beautiful Sammy is always like this?" he asked, indicating his prone, almost comatose state. "I needed to give him a little something to calm him down a bit, didn't want him getting too agitated."
The Turners' mouths fell open, "How fucking dare you" and "Excuse me?" spoken simultaneously.
Roy's eyes squinted. "And I will do the same to you if you don't behave." He looked to both Dean then John before lightening up a bit, his hands rubbing together readily. "So alright, back to what I was saying. Here's how we'll play the game. First of all, you two," he pointed to the two, "will do exactly as you're told, and nothing less." He waited until they both nodded, albeit reluctantly, before raising a hand out. "Joshua, be a doll and get me my box of fun things." He smiled. "I'm so excited."
Joshua, who was still conducting the video recorder, reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small, rusty cardboard box, placing it at Roy's feet.
"You're going to be recording this, correct?"
Joshua smirked deviously, "Don't worry, Roy, I ain't missing a damn thing."
Roy produced a smile of his own before putting the box between the Turners and himself. "Alright, boys, this is how this game is going to work." Removing the lid he revealed a multiple of miniature pieces of paper, each with blotches of ink etched into them. "One at a time, you will each take a note from the box and whatever is scribbled on it must be performed on little Sammy here. Sounds like fun, right?"
He watched as both Dean and John looked to each other in desperation, anger, and utter hopelessness. It appeared as though John was trying to convey a message to Dean, an important one but, seeing as how they weren't given permission to speak, it was just a damn fucking shame.
However, they weren't really given permission to cry and slobber over this either but, Roy supposed, it would be alright for now.
Roy smiled, looking over Sam's shoulder to get a good look at his face, kissing him hard on the lips. "Vick, can you take my place for the remainder of our marvelous time with the Turner family? I would very much like a good view of this." He placed the boy into Vick's strong arms, Vick cross-legged on the cold ground with Sam's legs laid out in front of him.
"Alright John, don't be shy, take a paper from the box."
John looked to him, then the box, unsure what'd he'd find inside each little note. He picked one up, unfolding it slowly. Once read, he gasped audibly, his hand going over his mouth to soften the crying wail he released.
Roy watched impatiently. "Well, you old fart, what's it say?"
John's mouth quivered, and Dean watched, destroyed. "I..I..." He sobbed hard, and Dean jerked the note angrily out of his father's limp hand and read it, each word making him flinch in horror. "You think either of us would ever do this to Sam, you sickass pervert?" he shrieked at Roy. "All your words about your damn total devotion to my brother doesn't mean horseshit if this is how you want him treated. You don't love him, never have." He was greeted by a very angry Roy, his face at the receiving end of a very mighty fist.
"How goddamn fucking dare you," Roy seethed out from between his teeth. He hit at Dean again, letting out his furious wrath. He hissed, liking how Dean cowered. "I love my boy, you hear me? You hear me? Just because your dumbass of a self doesn't understand true love doesn't mean you are given the right to tear down others."
"Like fucking hell-." Roy punched him again before finally settling back into his spot. He took deep breaths.
"Now, John, what does your card say?" Roy eyed one his men with a firm gaze, and the man brought up his gun and aimed in the direction of the Turners.
John whimpered. "I-I must pleasure my boy-."
"No! You must pleasure the boy. What are you, a damn idiot? He doesn't fuckin' belong to you." Roy stated angrily. He easily shrugged it off. "Now go on."
"I must pleasure...the boy by..uhh," John sniffed and Dean looked at him dejectedly, sporting a few upcoming bruises. "Thrusting something up his...". John shook violently, weeping.
Roy rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be a baby. You haven't even fuckin' started."
John clenched his fists violently and made to stand up before being hit with the butt of one of the men's guns. He looked to Roy, a furious glint in his eye. "You're sick."
Roy shook his head. "No, you're just weird. Look how pretty that boy is," he said, pointing his hand in Sammy's direction. "People would pay hundreds just to have him for one night. Besides, it never said you had to use your penis. I'm sure we could find some sort of pipe or something." Roy shrugged indifferently. "If you don't feel expert enough I'd be more than willing to show you the basics, maybe get you started?
John growled, tears falling heedlessly down his face. "You will not touch my boy."
Roy stood, his gaze stuck on the father as he slowly circled around him. "There you go again with calling my boy yours." Roy's upper lip curled. "Who the hell gave you the right?" he asked through squinted eyes.
"Excuse me? Are you fucking joking?" exclaimed Dean from Roy's left, sitting up to stare at him maliciously. "Sam belongs with us, we're his family. You think he likes what you're doing to him? How the hell could he love you for kidnapping, hurting, and molesting him, huh? You think he enjoys that?"
Roy felt more than saw his fist connect with the young man's face, his knuckles pounding into his cheek before gliding off his ear to send him crashing back to the floor, blood flowing freely from his mouth. He knelt by Dean's face, his eyes never leaving the man's. "I would never hurt my boy. It's people like you I don't want my little Sammy around." Roy smiled, for the first time humorless. "I guess it's a good thing I'm getting rid of you soon, then."
Roy looked back to the man's father, who was now being restrained by both Vick and the other guard he couldn't recall the name of. Roy immediately looked to Sammy, who was previously being held by Vick, and ran to him when he saw him laying dejected on the ground.
"Aw damn, I'm sorry, baby." He knelt and picked Sam's torso off the ground to settle in his arms. He thought he caught a glimpse of something red, and turned the boy's head in horror to see a shallow gash running along his temple. He snarled, looking to Vick angrily.
Vick held his hands up defensively, the other guard now sitting on John's back. "I'm sorry, sir, we had to confine the father, so he wouldn't interrupt you," he said, his excuse hopefully persuasive enough.
Roy stood immediately, setting Sam down carefully before striding toward Vick in long, purposeful steps. He cuffed the man hard on the cheek, adrenaline making the hit much harder than anticipated. "I don't care if you're trying to stop the fuckin' apocalypse, I don't ever want you hurting my boy, do you understand me."
Vick nodded quickly, stepping back slightly.
Roy sighed before looking to Joshua, who was holding the camera in Sam's prone position. "I wanna get this on tape so I can finally have fun with my boy. I've waited too damn long."
Joshua nodded, snickering. "You got it boss. We'll have the father have his fun with the kid then we'll finish the two off. They won't be needed any longer anyway."
Roy agreed, turning back to get Sam.
A gunshot rang loud through the air and Roy spun around to watch the nameless guard fall heavily off John's back and to the ground, blood spurting abundantly out of his back. Another gunshot reverberated through the air and Simpson dropped beside him, his left eye out of its socket as blood oozed down his cheeks, as if crying blood. Not two seconds later, Vick fell to his knees, his right leg tinged bright red. Another shot and it was his throat, too.
Roy looked to the entrance of the alleyway and saw an older, bearded man, an AK-47 held expertly in his grip. Roy hissed in anger, his hand reaching for the gun at his waistband. Apparently he hadn't been fast enough, because not even a second later he was gasping for breath and clenching his hand tightly, blood dripping annoyingly between his fingers and falling to the ground. He growled, looking again toward the old man and seeing him edging forward.
Both the older son and father got up from their positions, heading for cover behind the older man. Roy's teeth clenched in fury, his hand still holding onto the other. "What, you think you can take my boy? After all the fuckin' work I put into finding him and you can just take him?" Roy shook his head slowly. "No, no, I will keep what belongs to me. You can't have him, fuckers."
A loud bang went off and whizzed passed Roy's ear, hissing through the air and hitting flesh behind him. He turned to see Joshua clenching his shoulder, his grasp on both the camera and a gun gone as they crashed forgotten to the floor.
Roy turned back to watch the three men, regrouped after the two Turners acquired weapons of their own, each pointed in either his or Joshua's direction.
Roy backed up slowly until he was standing evenly with Joshua. He removed his hand from the other bloody one, holding both in front of him innocently. "Look, I realize you're unhappy, so I'm willing to compromise. Maybe I could just have him on weekends or-".
Another bullet soared through the air, and, having expected it, Roy purposely grabbed Joshua's arm and threw him into the bullet's path. Roy watched his friend of twenty years fall, his body sagging to the floor, dead.
Before Roy could fully recover, agony tore through his left knee, his body falling lopsided onto the cold ground. He managed to stay kneeling in place, barely, one knee supporting all his weight. He hissed through the pain, his eyes switching from both the Turners and the old man. "Alright, I'm okay with just Fridays. Honestly, I can negotiate the terms, just talk to me."
Another shot and Roy was sent flying onto his back, his shoulder burning in indescribable pain. He hissed, his vision blurring around the edges. A bang echoed through the alley and Roy screamed as a bullet got lodged in his other hand, both now massacred. He groaned loudly, moans escaping his lips before he could hold them back. Two figures were looming menacingly over him, their faces hazy with adrenaline and fright. Roy gulped, his hands beginning to shake as fear coursed violently through his veins. For the first time in his life, he wondered if he was going to die.
One of the men, seemingly shorter than the other, though he couldn't tell for sure, raised his hand up, a dark, familiar object held in his hand. Roy squinted to see better, but his mind disallowed it as it continued to make known the numerous injuries he carried. His vision grew darker, darker, and soon all he could do was hear what he couldn't see. There were voices, menacing, angry voices talking to him, shouting at him. He just continued to lay there, blind and unknowing and, as his last few moments began to leave him, he wondered if his boy had been worth all his efforts, wondered if his boy had been worth his untimely death.
He was.
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Well there you go, hope you enjoyed. I predict there will be one more chapter, but who knows? Once again, sorry for the late update. If I do another fanfic I'll be sure to have several chapters written before ever putting it up so updates won't be so unpredictable.