Guess what day it is? Comment-fic day!
Once again, it's everyone's favourite day in Supernatural: May 2nd! You know what that means, right? Time to hurt Sam! ;)
You know the drill, right? Allow me to post a refresher:
( Read more... )
You know the drill, right? Allow me to post a refresher:
( Read more... )
Wherever they were it was outside. Each of them were given the instructions to get naked. Sam figured he was right - there would be some act of exhibitionism that Dean would most likely be unhealthily proud of. His socks went first and the grass under his feet was cool; someone held his hood in place when he pulled his arms out of his tee shirt, and someone else lifted it off for him. When he heard the jangling of belts he hesitated; it occurred to him that he had put himself in a vulnerable position with no means of protecting himself. Essentially, a bunch of strangers wanted him to strip naked, and gave no indication of what would happen after. His hesitance didn’t go unnoticed.
“Can’t hear, Winchester? Pants. Off,” he was told in no uncertain terms. He didn’t know who was speaking, but Sam had good instincts and they said something was up. “Take the pants off, or I’ll do it for you.” The hair on the back of Sam’s neck stood on end; something wasn’t right with this.
“I-I don’t think-“ He was cut off by a hard and unforgiving blow to his face. His teeth cut into his cheek and lower lip, throbbing instantly in the wake of the punch. He could feel blood start to run down his chin.
“I didn’t tell you to talk,” was said viciously, while one of the brothers held his arms uncomfortably behind his back, the brother in charge roughly rid him of his belt and then his jeans and boxers all in one pull. “Do what you’re told, don’t talk, and you’ll be just fine, Winchester.”
He listened to the taunting that started, comments about whose dicks were too small, who probably took it up the ass. This was not what Sam had expected. “Looks like Winchester is packing,” someone chuckled and a hand grabbed him roughly. He’d been hit in the balls before, accidentally, and it hurt - having someone grabbing at you with no gentleness or finesse didn’t really feel that good either. He jerked away, trying to pull his arms free.
“What are you doing?!” Sam shouted, voice muffled by the hood and making his lip and cheek hurt worse.
He didn’t get an answer, just another blow to the side of the head, a knee in his stomach; the person holding his arms guided him down to his knees. He gasped into the stale air of the hood, spitting blood and trying to get his breath. He had not signed up for this - he wanted out.
“You afraid of homos, Winchester? We accept all kinds of brothers, even the ones that like dick.” Sam whimpered when the owner of the voice grabbed him by his sore jaw and forced his head up. “Do you need to learn how to like dick, Winchester? How to accept all your brothers?”
“No,” Sam said. The hit this time was meant to incapacitate him, as well as the one following. His face ached, his head was swimming from getting hit so hard in the temple twice.
“Get him down,” the voice said, and he was pushed roughly by more than one set of hands. His cheek and chest were pressed to the grass, hood still firmly in place, and another set of hands grabbed him by the hips and hauled him up onto his knees. He knew better than to speak, but it didn’t stop him from trying to fight back, kicking at the person near his legs. “Hold him the fuck still!”
The grip on his arms was suddenly stronger, pulling and twisting up. He knew it was coming - the angle his arm was being manipulated at wasn’t natural, and he felt the searing pain before he heard the audible pop. He fought not to throw-up as his right shoulder tore from it’s socket, pain firing from his shoulder down his arm and across his back. He screamed into the hood, he couldn’t help it.
“Stay still or I’ll break your legs - got it?” Sam nodded, blinking back tears.
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