okay so this chappy is a little grotesque, maybe not meant for the squimish...so fair warning!! thanks so much for reading and all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)
Chapter Eleven
Sam shifted restlessly, trying to get into a more comfortable position, but found it all but impossible to do so. The restraints around his wrists precluded much movement and no matter how he tried to maneuver his long legs, it always ended up causing him increased pain to his battered body. A chilled breeze wafted over his aching muscles, and he shivered violently, teeth chattering loudly in the quiet of the cellar.
The best he could figure, he'd been trapped in the cell for at least a day, and yet no one had come back to check on him since the Father had left him there. Guilt overwhelmed Sam as he sat alone, mulling over all the Father had said to him, wondering if some of it hadn't been true. He had always taken it for granted that Dean would always be there for him, and hadn't always treated him as good as he should have. His brother had done everything for him, put his life on the line for Sam more times than Sam could even begin to count, and he had never fully appreciated the sacrifices Dean had made for him.
Wincing at the cramping pain in his stomach, he once again tried to move into a more comfortable position, and cried out as a stabbing pain shot through his side. His breath caught in his throat, eyes squeezing shut as the searing pain rapidly spread through his entire body. Slowly the intense ache subsided as he took short panted breaths.
When he'd finally reopened his eyes, he peered up at the Father who had somehow managed to enter the room undetected by Sam. Six of the Father's men strode into the cellar shortly after his arrival, and came to stand behind the imposing figure that stood before Sam. Once again, all the men wore black from head to toe, and Sam was hard pressed to find any differences in their appearances that would make them stand out as individuals.
"Branded your brother today, he is now truly one of the family," the Father said as he unlocked the cell and stepped inside. "You should have seen him shave off his own hair, Boy, now that was truly something to behold."
"Dean would never do that," Sam argued with a shake of his head.
"He does whatever I tell him to do." The Father chuckled, although the mirth of it didn't reach the depths of his pale blue eyes.
"You should have seen him grovel on the ground and kiss the Father's feet," said a shorter man with dark brown eyes. "Truly freakin' pathetic."
"You're lyin'," Sam spat, glaring at the younger man. "My brother would never freakin' do that."
"But he's not your brother anymore, Boy," the Father said cruelly, "he's my child. And like all my other children, he does whatever he is told to do."
"Don't believe you."
"Is it really so hard to believe your brother would fall in line?" the Father questioned as he knelt beside Sam. "Bet he's always done what he's been told to do . . . doesn't really remind me of the kind of man who can think for himself. In fact, that probably worked to your benefit as it did to mine . . . bet you just loved manipulating him, knowing how easy it was to get him to do what you wanted."
"Don't manipulate my brother," Sam vehemently denied, "not gonna let you get inside my head."
"Too late, Boy, I'm already there," the Father laughed, and his men soon joined in, their jeering laughter mocking Sam. "You think you're so damn smart . . . the clever little Boy who found me, but I've been at this game a lot longer than you, an' I know just what makes a man tick. I know how to push all the right buttons to make a man crumble." The Father grabbed hold of a clump of Sam's hair, and yanked his head backward forcing Sam to look him in the eyes. "An' for you . . . that button is guilt. Guilt is that little seething thing that works its way around inside your head, an' eats away at your mind."
"Have nothin' to feel guilty about."
"Huh, really." The Father gave a slight nod, and then gestured to his men to come inside the cell. "Think our first lesson should be about honesty." He glanced down at Sam's hands, and smiled. "I like to think of it as a ten step program, although most people usually only need to go through the first five to really open up and tell me everything I want to know."
One of the men unlocked the shackles, and the others roughly grabbed hold of Sam and hauled him to his feet. Trashing violently, he almost escaped, but then someone slammed their fist into Sam stomach, and he doubled over, gasping for breath. Acrid bile rose in his throat, and before he could manage to stop it, he threw up all over the cold cement floor. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he continued to wretch, his stomach heaving violently as all the contents inside of it spilled to the floor.
Without giving him a chance to catch his breath, the Father's men dragged Sam over to a long table. He squirmed around uselessly as they cuffed his wrists to the table, and then kicked him squarely in the back of the knees, sending him crashing to the ground. Two men moved forward, grabbed a hold of his hands and forced him to spread out his fingers, then wove them through thick metal loops that were bolted to the table.
The Father withdrew a sharpened blade from the pocket of his crimson robe, and quirked a brow at Sam. "Which finger should I start with, Boy?" he asked as he bobbed the knife from one finger to the next. "No opinion on the matter," he further goaded as Sam glared at him, "very well, I'll start with the thumb." That said, he rammed the blade under Sam's fingernail, blood spilling from his injured finger, and then yanked upward, tearing the nail away from Sam's skin.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam clenched his teeth in an effort not to scream out. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he tried in vain to remove his fingers from the metal loops. The two men who had cuffed him to the table, gripped a hold of him and braced themselves against Sam's back as he trashed around trying to get away before the father proceeded with the next finger.
"Tell me that you feel guilty about manipulating your brother, Boy," the Father demanded.
"D-don't manipulate m-my brother," Sam hissed through gritted teeth, his voice trembling.
"That's okay, not everyone gets the lesson the first time around, but we have nine more fingers to go." Without any further warning than that, he drove the tip of the blade under Sam's index fingernail with such force Sam could feel the blade touch his knuckle. Again the madman yanked the blade forward, ripping another nail off along with all the skin before his first knuckle.
"Guhh . . . you freakin' sonuvabitch," Sam snarled, breathing hard against the pain.
"Two down, eight to go. Feel like sharing something you feel guilty about or should we start on the middle finger?" the Father chuckled, and one by one his men joined in, their laughter filling the expanse of the room.
"N-no."
"You're sure? As this will be the last time I'll ask until I start on the other hand."
Sam stared at his bleeding fingers for several moments, working up the courage to deny the man what he wanted to hear. "Y-yes."
With that, the Father wedged the blade under Sam's index fingernail and ripped it away. An involuntary scream burst from Sam's lips as more skin was removed from his fingers. Blood dripped from his fingers to cover the table as the madman proceeded with the final two fingers on his left hand. With each nail ripped away, Sam's cries grew increasing louder, until they overshadowed the men's jeering laughter.
"Five more fingers to go, Boy," the Father taunted as he lightly placed the tip of the blade under the nail of Sam's right index finger. "Tell me something you feel guilty about an' I'll stop now. If you don't, I'll keep going until there are only two fingers left."
With lips quivering, Sam shook his head, and glared at the man, "N-nothin' to tell."
Tears stung at Sam's eyes, and slipped down his cheeks as the Father ripped three more of his nails off. Again the crazed man gently placed the tip of the blade under Sam's fingernail, and then looked to Sam with a gloating smile on his face.
"Only two left to go, Boy," he said in a deceivingly soft-spoken manner. "You tell me what I want to know now or when I am done with this I swear I will break everyone of your fingers one by one."
Swallowing hard, Sam peered down at his bloodied trembling fingers, and then back up at the Father. "L-left my br-brother to go to college when I-I knew how much it w-would kill him inside . . . Needed m-my own life, an' shut him out."
"See, I knew you were a selfish bastard when I first laid eyes on you," the Father said with a snide grin as he tore through Sam's skin again, ripping off another nail. With a look of pure unadulterated pleasure he drove the blade under Sam's thumbnail and tore that one off as well. When he was finished, he wiped the blood off the blade on Sam's arm, slicing deeply into his skin with the edge of the blade as he did so. "It's going to be a lot of fun learning all your dark little secrets," he said as he turned on his heel and head for the door, calling back over his shoulder, "break all his fingers, and then put him back in his cell."