Work Text:
Sam woke up with a pang of hunger deep in his stomach. His eyes were forced shut by a cloth tied over his eyes, so tight that he could not push it off or pull it down. He felt around with his hands, and found cold metal bars on all sides of himself. He couldn’t even stand — it was a small cage made for an animal smaller than him. He clutched his aching head and tried desperately to remember how he’d gotten here.
All that was coming back to him was the incident, the horrible affliction and the way he’d hightailed it to the only person he thought might have some idea of how to fix him. Pastor Jim had nodded solemnly along to his tale of woe, and then… nothing. Sam didn’t know what more had happened.
Another pang, but lower. He was hungry, thirsty, and had to piss. Where the hell was he?
Sam felt around again, looking for a way out with his hands. His knees were starting to ache, too.
“Well, what’d you wanna do with the kid?” A familiar voice sounded nearby.
Sam tipped his head, tried to listen for more. What did they want to do with the kid, assuming that was Sam?
“I don’t know. John’ll be pissed if he finds out, but… He’d do the same, or worse. This way, it gets to live. Small mercies, right?” Pastor Jim?
Sam scooted back, pressed his back to the side of the cage furthest from the voices. He curled up as small as he could. Whatever they wanted from him, it wasn’t good. For the first time in a long time, he did want his dad to burst in here and save him. But Dad didn’t even know he was missing, because how would he? Sam had left it all behind, and now no one was coming for him.
“It’s kind of cute, huh. Look at that. You wouldn’t even know it was a bloodsucking freak.” A third voice, completely unfamiliar. “You gonna leash it? Use it as a weapon or something?”
Sam shivered. Were they still talking about him? He had never been so scared in his whole life.
The bars rattled sharply, like someone kicked the cage, and Sam jumped and tried to scramble backwards.
Pain shot through his head. He needed help. If not help, another drink of blood, at least. Guilt racks his chest at the thought.
“More like a dog than a weapon, if you ask me.” A fourth voice. Laughter.
The second voice – Uncle Bobby? – soft and slippery. “Well, then maybe we should treat it like one.”
The cage clicked open, and a hand wrapped around Sam’s collar, dragging him out onto the floor. Sam tried to scramble to his feet, desperately, but he was quickly pushed down again. Something heavy — a boot — lands on his back, keeping him pressed to the floor.
“Please,” he gasped. But the only response was another peal of laughter.
His hands were quickly kicked away from tugging at the blindfold. He was completely helpless.
“Bad doggy needs to be punished!” A betrayal from Uncle Bobby’s mouth.
The cold blade of a knife slid under his shirt, and the boot lifted just enough for the knife to slice the shirt open, leaving his skin bare. Sam shivered, whimpered. The boot slammed back down onto his back, rough and mean on his bare skin. He just wanted help, needed help, and no one was helping him.
Another foot slammed into his ribs, one pressed down experimentally on his arm, seeing what kind of pressure it could take.
“Please,” he begged again. His heart pounded in his head.
“Aw, the doggy wants something,” one of the unfamiliar voices teased. “Bet we could give it something to beg for.”
The boot left his back, and a hand wrapped in his hair instead. It hurt to be yanked up by the hair, but at least he was standing and off the grimy floor. He was quickly bent over a hard surface, chest pressed to what felt like rough wood. His right wrist was pinned down, and he couldn’t do much more than flail his left arm and his legs to no avail.
The knife was back, and his jeans were roughly cut and stripped off of his body.
Something dry and blunt slid into the crack of his ass and started prodding around his hole. Sam squirmed and whined, but he was held tight against the table. The thing – a finger – pressed inside of him slowly. His body barely stretched to accommodate it. Burning, splitting, aching.
He screamed, only to have his head yanked back by the hair. A thick, heavy length of wood was shoved between his teeth. A cross.
More fingers shoved into him, each more painful than the last.
“Dumb fucking dog.” He couldn’t even differentiate voices through all the pain.
A hand on the back of his neck shoved him down, and then —
There was something bigger than just a few fingers pressed against his hole. He tried to scream against the wood in his mouth. Tears stuck in the blindfold and snot ran down his face. Drool dribbled down his chin. There was no way he could fight off these men, bigger than him and all trained hunters. All he could do was keep his head down and take it, whatever they gave him.
The dick shoved in hard, dry and painful against his barely-prepared hole.
The blindfold was ripped off of his face, and Pastor Jim was looking him in the eye. Sam squinted against the too-bright lights, and another wave of nausea hit him.
Sam whimpered pitifully. He came to Pastor Jim for help, and all he got was this torture.
“You disgust me. Demon whore. You’re dirty, and you’re going straight to Hell. No better than the demon scum your daddy hunts.” Pastor Jim spit right in his face.
Sam shook his head desperately, but it was useless trying to argue.
The man behind him — he turned around and saw Uncle Bobby thrusting rough and mean — finished up and pulled out, leaving a trail of cum leaking out of his abused hole. Sam shuddered as a drop of it rolled down his balls.
“Move over, Bobby. I want a turn on the bitch!” One of the unfamiliar voices belonged to a hunter Sam hadn’t seen since he was a kid. Tim. And next to him was his hunting buddy, Reggie. “I’ve wanted this one for a long time. That little guard dog of a brother of his and their freak daddy were just always in the way…”
Sam whined. He wanted Dean here more than anything. He wanted his dad to burst in, guns blazing, so that Dean could sneak in and grab Sammy and get him out of here. He never should have left them. When everything went wrong, and he had that first taste of blood, he should’ve run straight back to the only people he could trust.
Now, Tim and Reggie were lining up to take their turns on him, and no one was coming to save Sam.