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Lightning cracked overhead as Abby crouched down beside Dean. The ground was slick and oversaturated, and her boot heels sank into the soft earth.
“Nice rock,” she teased, leaning against the boulder Dean was using as cover.
He cocked his pistol in time with the thunder, making his smirk seem impressive and not nervous.
“This is gonna suck, you know.”
Abby shrugged and tucked a wayward strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “Not necessarily,” she answered, trying to keep a bit of pep in her voice. “Besides, I thought you liked it when it sucked.” Like a true Southern Belle, she batted her lashes and flashed an innocent smile
Green eyes smiled cautiously as they scanned the tree line. “Well…if you’re offering…”
A laugh caught her by surprise and Abby punched his shoulder playfully. “Not what I meant, Sugar. But, maybe later.”
Sam sighed louder than the rain, eyes rolling at their ill-timed flirtation. Pulling the gun from his waistband, he shifted onto his heels and started to stand. “You two wanna stay here and bang it out, or we are gonna do this?”
Abby clicked her tongue. “So much for romance.”
Sam’s research told them that a baker’s dozen of vamps were holed up in the long-abandoned Newton Asylum- the large, half-demolished, brick building that lay before them.
The trio had planned to arrive well before sunset, but a few minor setbacks had pushed their timetable back nearly three hours, giving them very little wiggle room on the clock. Not that it mattered much anyway; the sky was darker than night, lit only by harsh streaks of lightning that set the storm clouds aglow.
The front door was shut, but not locked; the windows void of their shatter-proof glass. Immortal weeds grew in every crack of the broken stone walkway and ivy crawled like streamers up every wall. Nature was taking the land back, but not before something wholly unnatural moved in.
Sam led the way, flashlight atop his pistol, arms high and locked at the elbows. He scanned the entryway as his boots crunched over dead leaves and shards of glass.
The building was silent.
Thunder shook what was left of the decaying windows as they moved through the first floor, senses on alert, eyes wide in the darkness.
Every turn was taken with a quick step and a lung full of air that lingered, waiting, holding on until the coast was deemed clear. Shadows lurked but not a being, human or otherwise, living or dead, was found.
“What the hell?” Dean cursed under his breath, letting his light fall to illuminate the dark scuffs on his brown boots. “Sam must have screwed something up.”
A deep hiss replied from down the hall. “I didn’t screw anything up!”
Dean mocked him silently, shooting Abby a glance in the dark. She was a room away, but the doors were long gone, hinges hanging naked as old wood rotted away.
As Abby stifled a laugh, every amused by the brother’s biting bickery, her shoe hit something hard and she tripped, arms flying out in front of her to catch her balance. Rubber skidded, metal clanged, and Abby gasped as the room went dark.
“Shit.”
“What?”
Abby turned her blind eyes towards Dean’s voice. “My torch is out!”
A faint laugh hit her ears and Dean shone a spotlight on her from across the giant room. “Who says ‘torch’?”
She rolled her eyes but blushed, embarrassed. “I do…sometimes. Shut up!”
“Catch.”
“What?”
The beam of light went spinning across the room towards Abby’s head and she ducked out of instinct. The flashlight rolled into the corner behind her, light flickering as the batteries shifted.
“Great catch,” Dean teased.
“You ain’t exactly Aaron Rodgers, sir. Toss much?”
She couldn’t see it, but Dean threw a face that was somewhere between impressed and annoyed. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t bring that hack up in public, please.”
Abby reached the light and flashed it across the empty room. “Public? This place is emptier than a Nickleback concert. Where the hell is the nest?”
Dean shrugged, his shadow’s shoulders lifting on the floor behind him. “Let’s keep moving. They gotta be here.”
The rest of the main floor was just as empty. The vast rooms held nothing but old furniture and dusty memories.
They climbed the stairs one by one, Abby taking the lead for once, tired of always being pushed aside. She wasn’t afraid of what waited upstairs; ghost or vamps be damned, she was going first.
A cold breeze lifted the short hairs on the nape of her neck and Abby sucked in a deep breath.
“I don’t know about vampires,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder at Sam. “But this place is more haunted than the Queen Mary.”
“Always wanted to hunt there,” he replied casually.
“You’re a nerd,” she laughed, almost missing the top step as she did.
“You brought it up.”
A deep shush cut their banter and Dean snuck up between them, pushing Sam aside to step in front of Abby. “Someone’s in there,” he said, nodding towards a half-open door down the hall to their right.
Abby looked around his protective armbar and shook her head. “You hear something?”
“No, my spidey senses are tingling,” he snit. “Yes, I heard something. Now, shut up.”
Ducking beneath his arm, Abby slipped around him and aimed her light at the door, pistol following. She raced off before Dean could pull her back, her tiptoed run silent on the antique linoleum.
A bolt of lightning set the windows ablaze.
A crack of thunder made Abby jump, her boots slipping through something wet on the cracked floor.
“Oh, fuck.” Her flashlight revealed a pool of blood filled by a stream coming from farther down the hall. “Wrong door, Parker.”
“What’s that?”
Dean’s voice was lost beneath a loud thud and a muffled scream.
Abby spun with her flashlight, nearly losing her footing in the slick flood. “What was that!”
Sam was gone, his spot behind Dean now empty.
“Sam?”
“Sam!” Dean turned on the spot, light shining upon nothing. “Sammy!”
Something creaked behind Abby and her heart skipped. Her face contorted in the shadows, filling with nervous energy as she tried to keep her hands steady. “Dean, someone’s in here!”
Dean was gone, pivoting away from her to find Sam.
“Dean?” She flashed her light but the hall was empty. She had two choices: follow and help, or get on with the show.
Abby continued up the river of crimson, following its flow to the end of the hall. The door was ajar, faint light seeping outwards, calling to her. The hinges moaned in protest as she pushed at the portal, gun raised, heart racing.
She held her breath as she stepped into the room, every cell on high alert, flight response threatening to kick in.
“It’s OK! I got him!”
Dean’s shout startled her back into herself and Abby exhaled in relief.
“What happened?” Abby asked, slowly turning back towards the hallway and his voice, boots sunk into the blood.
“Don’t know,” he called back, muffled by the distance and walls between them. “Knocked out. He’ll be fine.”
“Just what he needs,” she muttered, “another concussion. I swear to Go-”
Another bang of thunder struck, this time hitting Abby in the back of the skull. She thought briefly for a moment that thunder had never once actually hurt her before, but the idea soon died away as the blood-soaked floor rose to greet her. Her left shoulder hit the ground, sending a wave of pain through her system that shook the last breath from her lungs and made the edges of her vision fade to white.
~~~~~
It was dark.
It took a moment for Abby to realize that her eyes were closed, but once she opened them, the darkness remained, somehow seeming even darker.
She coughed, lungs struggling to take in air as if they had been still for hours, but her inhale was blocked, strangled by a leather strap pulled tightly between her teeth. The more she woke, the more details came through to her foggy mind. Her wrists were cuffed behind her back; cold steel digging into her flesh, her shoulders pulling and painfully strained. The leather in her mouth was wet, the hood over her eyes scratchy and thick, making it hard to breathe.
The world around her rocked rhythmically; wherever she was was moving. She uncurled her legs and hit a hard wall just inches away; lifted her head and slammed into the ceiling. She was in a trunk.
“Shit.”
Abby closed her eyes again and relaxed her body, trying to calm the painful pace of her heart. She listened to the engine, the wheels; pavement soon gave way to gravel and the car turned to the right, momentum slowing down.
She twisted her wrists, hoping to wiggle free, but there was no give. She squirmed, hunting for something to pick the locks with, but the upholstered trunk was empty around her.
The car jerked to a stop and Abby was thrown onto her back; arms aching as her weight crushed them beneath her.
A rush of air hit the hood as the trunk was opened and the faint scent of rain and mud passed through the tight fibers. Rough hands grabbed at her upper arms, yanking her from the car into the cold night air. She stumbled as her sleeping feet hit the true ground; toes numb, legs tingling.
“Walk.” The voice was gruff and unfamiliar; the palm shoving into her back was hard and uncaring. “Now.”
A protest bubbled in her throat but was pushed out as a huff, failing to make a difference as it faded inside the hood.
Abby listened as best she could, counted each step she took, noted the temperature change as she was led inside somewhere. The smells, the sounds, the feel of the ground beneath her feet- it could all be used later if she ever got a chance to escape. It was a trained instinct, ingrained in her mind, and no amount of fear for the unknown or her life could make it stop.
Finally, her journey came to an end, and the big hands pushed her forward until she fell, knees hitting cold concrete, chest bouncing against the ground. Abby grit her teeth as pain webbed through her body, but she refused to cry out.
A door slammed shut.
She rolled and sat up; tried to stand but gave up, slumping down against an empty wall instead. The cold seeped into her back, soothed her raw wrists, but only for a small moment until panic made her blood boil, and she began to sweat beneath the hood, gasping for air. She screamed and the echo called back, mocking her. She struggled to free herself but it was no use and the twisting only made her hands go numb.
When the air became thinner and her head began to swim with lack of oxygen, she let herself fall, hoping to rest against the stones and dream of rescue.
The door opened.
Shoes clicked against the concrete.
Abby was pulled up suddenly by smaller but just as forceful hands that curled easily around her arms. Her balance was off but they kept her steady, helping her to her feet and shoving her back against the wall.
She screamed, muffled beneath leather and wool; still raging against the unknown captors.
The world was set aflame with bright white as the hood was pulled away and Abby blinked into the fluorescent lights, struggling to focus on the gray and black shape before her.
“Ms. Watson. So nice to see you.”
Abby blinked furiously until his face came into view. She growled at him, trying to speak against the strap between her lips, but doing little more than drooling and moaning.
Warm hands lifted to her face, pulling away the gag. “Please, allow me.”
Her eyes narrowed as he drew near, slinking close like a snake ready to strike. His right hand curled around her neck and shifted through her hair, tangling in the deep red locks as he tugged, forcing her chin upwards.
She sneered. “Ketch.”
Arthur smiled. “Abigail.”
His lips found hers, easily pushing against her willing mouth, feeling it part instantly for him. His tongue dove inside and she moaned against it; eyes closing as he licked into her mouth. She smiled, sucking hard on his bottom lip when he backed away, breathing a gentle sigh.
“You bastard,” she sang. “What are you doing?”
Ketch cocked his head and looked down at her, his hand still tight in her hair. “I wanted to see you.” His tongue shot out again and ran across her lips, making them visibly shudder.
She gasped as he let her go unexpectedly; backing away into the room and letting her stumble to catch her balance. “Where’s Dean?” she asked, regaining her footing. “And Sam? What have you done with them?”
A smug smile pulled at his lips. “They’re fine. Back home in their little Bunker by now, I’d assume.”
“They’ll come looking for me, you know.”
“I’m counting on it.”
She laughed. “Dean’s going to kick your ass.”
Ketch’s jaw twitched. “Is he?” Rushing forward, he grabbed her throat with one giant hand and slammed her back against the wall. “Tell me about Dean Winchester,” he growled, lips ghosting across her cheek. “Tell me about how he’s going to burst in here and kick my ass.” He hissed, tongue pushing out the words on deep, rumbling breaths that vibrated through her his chest into hers.
She swallowed hard, barely able to breathe against the wide palm pressing down on her windpipe. “He’s going to kill you,” she managed, ruddy lips trembling as she spoke.
Ketch came back to center, hazel eyes boring into hers, lips meeting once again in a whisper of a kiss. “I very much doubt that,” he said softly.
She smiled, softening even as she began to collapse. Her vision faded once more as his fingertips bruised her throat. “So do I.” She kissed him hard, pushing back with all her strength until she had what she wanted. Her tongue snuck between his lips and he allowed it, savoring her desire as his grip loosened around her neck.
“Delicious,” she grinned, lapping at his lips when he withdrew. Somewhere inside the kiss, her voice changed, words taking on a crisp and proper accent much like his own.
“You’re awfully stuck on Mr. Winchester,” Ketch observed, dragging his thumb slowly down the middle of her, dipping into the curves of her collar and cleavage.
“That is my job, isn’t it?” she teased, neither denying or confirming her entanglement.
“Have you fucked him yet?”
Abigail laughed politely. “I really don’t think that’s relevant information.”
Both of his hands rose to grip her shirt. “Did…” He tore at the top buttons, popping them without much effort. “…You…” Down and down until her shirt was open; plain black bra and full breasts greeting him in the bright lights. “…Fuck…” Deft fingers slipped under the thin strip of fabric holding her tits in place and snapped, shredding the fibers instantly. “…Him?”
Her chest was heaving, breaths shallow and fast. “You told me to get close to them,” she reminded him, slowly licking her lips as he pushed the satin cups from her nipples. “So I got close.”
Ketch huffed loudly and slapped her cheek hard, forcing her face to the side, left ear crushed against the cold wall. Her body shivered with arousal as the skin on her cheek prickled with pain.
“Do it again.” Her voice was hard and rushed, her pale skin flushing as his handprint bloomed on her face.
“You do not tell me what to do,” he grit.
Heavy breaths and a husky voice defied him. “Do it.” She turned her eyes back to his, lips slightly parted as she waited for his response.
It came like a wave of aching pleasure; his thick fingers nearly leaving a mark on her creamy skin. Abby moaned as her flesh absorbed the sting, sending prickling bliss throughout her body. She swallowed it all down and her cunt pulsed in anticipation.
“Again,” she begged, voice dropping to a pathetic whimper. “Please.”
“No.”
He leaned in, black lashes brushing like wings against hers. She reached with her lips, catching his and sucking the bottom in, taking a bite of revenge for his lack of compliance. Ketch growled, his hands sliding firmly down her body, grabbing and massaging, bruising and caressing. She slumped against the wall, knees weak under his weight and attentions. Every pinch of his fingertips, each suckling kiss down her body melted her strength until she was limp in his arms.
“Arthur, please…”
He ignored her, sucking a bright red mark over her left nipple. He scraped his teeth across the bud and she screamed, thighs shaking against him.
“Take the cuffs off,” she whined. “Please…I need you.”
Pulling back he looked her over, plump tits out and shining with his spit, body marked by his lips and hands. A smug smile pursed his lips and his jaw pulsed as he clenched his teeth, holding in a proud moan.
“You need me?” he asked, running his left hand gently through her hair.
“Yes,” she breathed, eyelids fluttering as he offered a sweet kiss. “Please.”
The moment was over too soon and Abigail sobbed as he jerked her around; rough hands digging into her shoulders. Her tits slapped against the wall and she cried out again, all the heat in her body flooding between her thighs. The cuffs were gone in a snap, hitting the floor with a harsh clash as Ketch tossed them aside to take hold of her now bare wrists. The skin was raw and his touch burned.
“What about this?” he asked, forcing both of her hands up above her head. “Is this what you need?” He held them tight in one big hand and let his full weight fall on top of her as his teeth found the crook of her neck.
Abigail gasped. “Yes.”
His breath warmed the nape of her neck as he pulled his hips away and kicked at her feet, violently spreading her legs apart. “And this?” She bit her lip as his free hand rammed between her legs. He rubbed at her jeans, pushing the hard seem up into her already aching pussy.
“Yes!”
She pushed back, shoving her ass against his crotch, feeling him already hard and ready for her. Abigail wiggled her hips, grinding on him, panting lips pressed to the wall.
“Oh, you do want this,” he mumbled, teeth cutting into her ear.
Her eyes rolled as his left hand dropped from her wrists and slid down the wall. He pulled her hips back just enough to pop the button on her jeans and slip his hot fingers inside.
“Yes! Fuck!”
He plucked at her clit, strumming his fingertips against it, grinning as her body jerked in his arms.
“That’s right,” he whispered, “my dirty slut needs to be fucked so badly, doesn’t she?”
Her voice was as shaky as her legs. “Y-yes…please…”
His hand pushed farther down into her soaking panties and Ketch shoved two fingers deep inside her cunt.
Abigail clawed at the wall, her arms falling as the sudden fullness took the last of her strength. “Oh please…please…” Her head fell back against his firm shoulder and Ketch took advantage, tasting her rapid pulse with hungry lips and sharp teeth. “N-need to be… to be fucked…need your-your cock.”
Suddenly, he was gone, hands leaving cold spots on her body where they lifted, lips abandoning her throat causing a chill that spread through her system.
Ketch took a giant step backward, smirking as she nearly fell over. “Then you shouldn’t have fucked the Winchester.” His voice was steady but filled with jealousy, words spilling out over tight lips into the empty room.
Body shaking and pleasure stunted, Abigail pressed her forehead against the cool stone wall and took a breath. She tried to calm herself, but he’d already wound her up too tightly. She wanted to turn and beg him, but rage churned in her gut and she spun, eyes like daggers trained on his face.
“You son of a bitch.” She took a step, mindlessly pulling the shirt from her arms and letting her torn bra fall away. “You’re so obsessed with what I did with him? Why don’t I show you…”
Ketch crossed his arms defiantly as she rushed to him, her hands out like claws about to scratch him blind. Her strike came against his shoulders, shoving him off balance unexpectedly, and Arthur flew back a few feet, jaw agape at her sudden fury.
“Well now,” he began, steadying his stance. “This is new. I didn’t think you-”
Abigail shut up him as she jumped into his arms, giving him no choice but to move to catch her. They stumbled backward together, thankfully braced by the door, and her hands moved roughly through his short black hair, scraping at his scalp and gripping what she could.
“He always likes it when I do this,” she growled, shoving her tongue between his lips as her slight nails dug into the nape of his neck. “He’s a glutton for pain.”
Ketch let out a breathless moan and regained himself by slapping her ass hard. “Not unlike yourself,” he noted as she tried to take a chunk out of his collarbone.
She laughed against his throat as she dropped down, letting her feet tiptoe on the ground. She kept one hand around his neck, gently dancing through his neatly trimmed hair as the other tugged roughly at his belt. “He likes it when I take charge.” His slacks fell open, zipper pulling easily downwards. “Likes being used…being taken care of.”
“Is that so?” He tried to keep his composure, his face a mask of mystery, seemingly unaffected by her words or touch, but his blood was boiling, his cock throbbing, mouth watering.
Abigail tugged at his pants, nails scraping at his hip bones as she yanked his bottoms away. The cool air hit his cock and he tightened, letting his eyes fall closed for a split second.
“It is,” she replied, still on course, wrapping a tight fist around his full shaft. “He’s very needy. Very soft underneath all those scars and ripped flannel.” Her thumb slid over the tip of his cock and Ketch grit his teeth. “Very… compliant in bed.”
“Well, now I know you didn’t enjoy it,” he said with a smug laugh. “You’ve never enjoyed a wet blanket.”
Her lips curled in a secret smile as she rubbed through the wetness on the head of his cock. Ketch ran a finger up her spine and then grabbed the back of her neck, ripping her body away from his in a fury.
“You need to be roughed up,” he reminded her as she moaned loudly. “Need to be used like the whore you are.”
“And who’s going to do that?” she spat. “You?” Abigail cocked a condescending eyebrow and Ketch’s hand closed around her jaw, fingers puckering her lips painfully.
He leaned in; a devilish spark behind his eyes. “Yes.”
The floor greeted her, painfully jutting into her side as Ketch threw her down, barely using any effort to push her away. She landed with a thud and rolled onto her back, determined to fight him off despite the arousal deepening inside of her.
Ripping off his shirt, Ketch knelt down at her feet and caught her left as it came up swiftly, trying to connect with his jaw. While he was occupied with that, Abigail cocked her right knee and jabbed forward, aiming for his chest. Ketch was quick and dodged her attack, knocking both legs down and apart and reaching for her waistband.
“You fuck!” she cried, lustful anger burning her voice.
His hands tore at the denim on her hips, yanking it down and way as he sat back on his heels. “Don’t fight,” he cautioned, “it’ll only make this worse.”
She kicked at nothing, blows blocked by large forearms that bruised her calves and shook her bones.
He had her naked in no time, ducking beneath fists and soaking in her cries like nourishing sunshine.
Abigail fought him still; finding perverse joy in slapping his meaty shoulders and scratching at the soft down on his chest. The more pain she could inflict, the more would come back to her ten-fold, and all she really wanted, all she needed, was him to break her down to nothingness.
She didn’t have to wait long. Once Ketch was satisfied that the bruises on her arms and the marks on her stomach would set, he tugged at her knees and twisted them around his waist, lining himself up with her hungry cunt.
“Do it,” she hissed, “do it. Fuck me. Hard.”
His palm connected with her cheek, knocking her command away. “You’ll get what I give you.”
“Fuck!” Her cry faded into a desperate whine as he sank inside; thick cock filling her up perfectly. She whimpered as her body reacted, nipples stiffening, cunt tightening, lungs seizing. He’d been too long away, but her body remembered.
Arthur thrust in deeper. “I see Mr. Winchester wasn’t man enough to give you what you need. You’re just as tight as I recall.” Another hard snap of his hips. “Perhaps even more so.”
Her eyes rolled and she clawed at his chest. “No. No. He was nothing,” she cried, blissful tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “Nothing compared to you. Fuck.”
“That’s right.” He smirked above her and then dropped down, elbows framing her face as he set his pace. Every thrust pushed her spine into the hard floor, every jerk of his hips made her gasp and curse under thinning breaths. “You’re mine.” His teeth reclaimed her flesh, marking the delicate spot just behind her ear and Abigail gave up all fight, going limp beneath him as her body trembled.
“Yours.”
“Again.”
Abigail arched beneath him, pressing her tits into his chest. “Yours.”
“Again!”
Her body convulsed as his shout tore through her. “I’m- I’m yours!”
He took her lips, sucking the last breath from her lungs. “Then prove it,” he snarled. “Cum. Now.”
It took but a moment for her body to catch up with her mind, and Abigail let out a wail as she came, the orgasm rushing through her like fire, burning her inside and out. Ketch slapped a hand down over her mouth and nose, muffling her screams as he rode her through the pleasure. Her mouth pulled at his palm, her eyes bulging as she tried to breath against his skin, and the look of terror and surrender in her eyes pushed him over the edge.
He spasmed as he came, body shivering and hips locking between her thighs. He laid down, dropping his full weight on top of her; grunting loudly in her ear, hand still sealed over her face.
When her jerking ceased and her eyes began to roll, he sat up, removing his hand and kissing the corner of her slack mouth.
“Good girl,” he teased, already pulling out of her ruined cunt.
She rolled over, curling into herself on the freezing floor; waves of aftershock making her body twitch uncontrollably. “Fuck.” Her lungs burned; her face swollen and hot. Not a single part of her body didn’t hurt, didn’t feel his lingering presence.
“Indeed.”
Ketch was already up and dressing by the time she regained enough of herself to sit up. She stared up at him from the floor, eyes wide, body wrecked and dripping; a beautiful mess.
“So,” she asked, reaching to pull her clothes back on. “What’s the plan?”
“You’re going to be debriefed and then put back in the field,” he replied, closing the final button on his shirt.
Abigail stood and buttoned her jeans. “We could have done this with just a phone call…”
Ketch rushed forward. “Could we?” He reached out and grabbed her tits, squeezing hard, molding them in his big hands.
Her heart raced and her shoulders fell, feeling the rush of desire once more. “I suppose not,” she laughed, head flooded with endorphins. “What am I going to tell them?”
He turned away and she continued fixing her clothing, adjusting her shirt to fit better around her now unsupported breasts. “You know Dean Winchester won’t let this slide.” There was a hint of mischief in her voice, daring to bring his name up again. “He cares about me. He’s going to come looking for me.”
Ketch bent to retrieve the handcuffs from the floor. “That is the plan.” Grabbing her arms, he spun Abigail around and locked her wrists back up, tighter than before.
She was intrigued and let him do what he pleased. “What are you doing?”
The leather gag wrapped around her face and Abigail turned in his arms, confused.
“You’re going to wait here,” he explained, not a hint of sympathy in his deep voice as he fit the gag in place. “The Winchesters will call us for help and of course, we shall oblige, being the wonderful, helpful organization that we are…” He left her only for a moment to grab the wool hood from the corner. “And I shall help them rescue their poor, pathetic, little girlfriend.”
Abigail’s eyes went wide with anger and fear as he lifted the hood over her head. She shook violently and protested, drooling around the gag as her pleading words were stifled.
Ketch leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before sliding the hood down over her eyes, sending her back into darkness.
“See you in a few days.”
It was dark, cold. Her body ached.
A muffled scream left her mouth as the door slammed behind Ketch, but no one could hear her.
She simply had to wait.