Fic: De Profundis (1/2)
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Author's Note: This is for the h/c bingo card at spn_littlebro. The prompt is 'crucifixion'. Please read the warnings.
As always, many thanks to nygirl7of9 for the help.
The story has been split in two for length.
Warnings: Given the nature of the prompt, this story deals with sensitive and potentially disturbing themes. It's one of the darkest things I've ever written, and while it doesn't end unhappily, the focus is on the hurt and there is violence. (Though, since I'm considering a follow-up to this, the comfort may come later.) Please don't read it if the idea of crucifixion in a story upsets or offends you.
Summary: The boys split up and Sam gets in trouble. Set anytime after S5. Spoilers through to 5.22, Swan Song.
De Profundis: Part I
It turns out not all non-supernatural murderous lunatics are like the Benders. Some of them are old 'friends' from high school.
Sam doesn't know why this surprises him.
Josh Hart was an underfed, undersized teenager when Sam first met him. He's an underfed, undersized twentysomething now. The only difference is that now he has a tweed coat and an office with a door that locks, and people call him Professor Hart instead of That Weird History Geek Nobody Will Eat Lunch With.
This, from Sam's point of view, is not an improvement. If somebody had warned him that Professor Hart hadn't had a willing lunch companion since the day he finished his PhD as an overly precocious (but insufficiently sane; Sam cannot emphasize that fact enough) twenty-two-year-old, Sam might have thought twice before accepting his offer of a sandwich and a protein shake.
Sam's musing is interrupted by a stab of pain from his abdomen.
He groans, the sound muffled by the wad of cloth in his mouth.
"Be quiet," Josh - Sam refuses to think of him as Professor Hart, especially after this - says, not looking up from his book. "I'm trying to figure out how this works." He sounds completely normal, which just makes it worse. "Wikipedia isn't helpful. Idiots." He does look up then, favouring Sam with a broad, bright smile. "You should be happy, Sam. This is our salvation. This is the world's salvation. You should beproud."
Sam tugs futilely at the ropes holding his arms behind his back, wishing he hadn't talked Dean into splitting up. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Dean would pick up the books that Bobby's old friend Tom Harding had waiting for them, Sam would meet Joshua Hart, Professor of Archaeology, to discuss a couple of very interesting artefacts mentioned in his most recent paper, and they'd meet in four days in Utah where a case was waiting for them.
Now it's going to be three days before Dean even realizes he's missing.
Josh shuts his book. "To quote Archimedes, Eureka. Eureka, Sam. I have it." He gets to his feet. "This is going to be so perfect, Sam. And to think that neither of us had any idea, when we first met, that we'd be saving the world together. I'm honoured that I was chosen for this. Aren't you?" He comes to Sam and pats his cheek. "It's almost time. Is there anything you want? A final confession? I can get you a priest."
Sam rolls his eyes. A priest. He almost laughs.
"No? Are you sure? All right, then." He reaches behind Sam for a small bottle and a rag. "Chloroform is so old-fashioned. But appropriate, I think. I wouldn't have to do this if you would accept your part, you know. We all have a part to play. There's no point fighting it."
And that's when Sam realizes that it's real. It's happening. It's real and it's happening and Dean isn't going to kick down the door and shoot Josh Hart in the face.
Sam's going to die.
He knows Josh can read his expression when the professor laughs as he holds the chloroform-soaked rag to Sam's face.
And then there's darkness.
Sam wakes up slowly. He's lying down on something uneven and uncomfortable. His head feels heavy and his vision is blurred. He hears a voice, but it isn't Dean's.
That's odd. With how horrible he's feeling, he must be in hospital, and that means Dean must be right next to him.
Unless the doctors aren't letting Dean in. That's a possibility. He could be in ICU or -
Memory comes back and he groans. This time he hears himself, and he's surprised until he realizes that the thick fuzzy thing in his mouth is his tongue, not the wad of cloth. He isn't gagged anymore.
He opens his mouth to scream - maybe there's someone near enough to hear him - but a hand clamps down over it.
"You'll want to save your breath," a voice hisses in his ear. "You'll have enough to scream about soon enough." The hand moves down to his chest, and Sam shivers as it brushes his shirt. "Your God has forsaken you, Sam. The only way to earn forgiveness is to die to save the world."
Sam tries to squirm away from the touch, and that's when he realizes he's strapped down. His arms have been pulled out to either side of him, and they're tied at wrists and elbows.
Josh laughs. "You can't get away, Sam. Don't waste your energy trying." He pats Sam's chest. "I know what you're thinking. You did die to save the world." Sam turns to stare at him. The brown eyes that meet his are unbearably calm. "You're surprised I knew that? I've heard things, Sam. You think you and your brother are the first hunters to be interested in the artefacts I know about? I've heard all about how you are the Antichrist, the one who set Lucifer free. And I also heard how you jumped into Lucifer's Cage. That should earn your forgiveness, shouldn't it? But, you see, Sam, that doesn't count."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asks. His voice is hoarse. He barely recognizes it.
"You came back. You think a short period of suffering is enough to cleanse you of all you've done? You think you deserve to live? Oh, Sam." He straightens. "Don't worry. I'm going to help you. We're going to earn your forgiveness together."
"You're insane."
"Nobody's sane, Sam." Josh strokes Sam's hair. Sam tosses his head. "The world will remember you, Sam. The world will remember us. And then…" Josh glances around, as though making sure they're alone, and lowers his voice. "I have to confess I have a selfish reason for doing this. I'm happy I was called on to play this role. It's good for my research."
"Your research?"
"I'm writing a book about it. From an archaeological standpoint, you understand. And this gives me a whole new level of understanding. So few scholars are privileged to actually witness it."
Oh God. He's going to do it. He's going to -
Sam's going to -
Sam clenches his mouth shut. He isn't going to beg. He doesn't think that'll help in any case, and if he has nothing else left to him, he's at least going to die with his dignity intact.
Sam's going to die.
Dean's never going to get over it.
Dean.
"Can I talk to my brother?"
"No. From what I've heard of him, he won't understand why this is necessary. We can't have him interrupting." Josh suddenly sounds very businesslike. "I've had to give some thought to how we're going to do this, Sam. I did want to use nails, but I'm not an expert on anatomy. Getting them between the radius and the ulna…"
His fingers touch the ropes on Sam's wrist, and for a moment Sam dares to hope that he'll untie the rope. If he does - if Sam gets even a hand free -
But then Josh shakes his head. "No. That would never work. And it'll be bad for my research, you understand, if you die of blood loss or an infection. I need to know if you'll asphyxiate if you're otherwise unhurt, or… Well, maybe it'll be dehydration that gets you first. We'll just have to see, won't we?" He steps back. "It's time. I hope you don't mind, I've arranged for us to have some… company. I wasn't sure I could manage you on my own."
Two figures step out of the shadows. Sam would start in surprise if his arms and legs weren't strapped down.
"Walt." His voice doesn't shake, not even a little. He's relieved. He couldn't have borne to show fear in front of them. "Roy."
"Sam Winchester." Walt sounds as delighted as a kid on Christmas morning. "I never thought we'd get another shot at this. Those damn angels were so eager to keep bringing you back… And then when we thought you'd gone for good…" He laughs. "But there won't be any mistakes this time, Sam, I promise you that. You're going to die, in just the way you deserve."
"Don't worry, Sam." Josh is smiling at him, the maniac. "This will earn your pardon. I know it."
Oh God. Sam's about to be murdered by a gang of lunatics.
Roy smirks at him, drawing his gun and training it on Sam. "Walt's going to untie your feet now. Any funny business and I'll put a bullet in your brain."
Sam's tempted to provoke him into it - a quick death has to be better than what they have planned for him - but he doesn't. Dean's still out there and Dean might find him. He just has to keep himself alive till then.
Sam holds himself still as his feet are untied, though the temptation to kick out at Walt is strong. It won't help.
Nothing will help.
Walt steps back, smirks, and says, "Get up."
"You going to untie my hands?"
"You're a big boy, Sam. Weaker men than you have carried bigger crossbeams than that. Get up." The gun's pointing straight between his eyes. "Go on. Stronger than the devil, aren't you? Get on your feet."
Sam tries to rise, and he manages to lift the crossbeam tied to his arms about an inch, but then he feels it wrench at his shoulders like it's trying to pull his arms out, and he collapses back down.
"On. Your. Feet."
Sam tries again, and this time he manages to heave himself and the crossbeam all the way up, and God, this hurts. It's not the worst pain he's ever felt, not by a long shot, but it's definitely the worst he's felt that didn't involve dying or being tortured by angels. The crossbeam is pressing him down - it has to be heavy; it has to take the strain of Sam's not-inconsiderable weight, after all - and he feels like every last one of his vertebrae is breaking under it.
"Walk," Josh growls, and there's the snap of a whip.
Sam staggers forward a few steps.
He can't do this. He can't die like this. Far better to just refuse to move and force them to shoot him.
But Dean. He has to give Dean time to find him.
The whip cracks again, and Sam forces himself to focus on the thought of his big brother. God may have abandoned him - it seems to Sam that God's abandoned everyone - but he's got Dean, and that means he's got hope.
"Walk."
Sam lets them herd him to the wall - just about ten feet, and he can't imagine how condemned criminals carried the things further than that; his knees are about ready to buckle.
Roy keeps the gun trained on him while Josh and Walt turn him around. Sam tries to use the weight of the crossbeam against them, but a moment after he's moved, he hears the retort of a gun and feels a line of fire in his left thigh.
Sam's knees do give, then, and Josh and Walt grab him to steady him.
"No funny business," Walt growls.
"You've ruined my experiment," Josh mutters accusingly. "Now you might die of blood loss. The results will be worthless if that happens." Then he brightens. "I suppose we can wrap your leg. Clean it and wrap it. Keep it from getting infected."
There's a low stool against the wall, and Josh and Walt urge him up onto it. Walt keeps him standing - Sam's legs aren't strong enough anymore, not with the crossbeam weighing more with each passing second and blood running in rivulets down his left leg, sticking his jeans to his skin. Josh, standing on a stepladder, pushes the crossbeam up and onto a bracket that was clearly hammered in just to hold it.
"Do you think it'll hold?" Josh asks, testing the bracket. "We don't have an upright."
"Only one way to find out. Undo his elbows."
The ropes around his elbows are cut, and more loops are added around his wrists. Sam knows what's coming, and he can't help squeezing his eyes shut.
"Ready?" Josh asks.
"Go for it."
The stool under his feet is pulled away, and Sam's weight shifts to his wrists. At first it's just a mild stretch, not too painful, but as the minutes tick by he feels the weight of his own body more and more.
"Should we try nailing his feet to the wall?" Roy asks. "Make it more authentic?"
"Did the book say anything about authenticity?"
"It just said we had to crucify evil."
"What?" Sam gasps. "What are you talking about?"
"You think it was an accident that old Harding got his hands on that full set of bestiaries a week ago? We arranged for it. We needed big brother out of the way."
"This is best for us all, Sam," Walt adds. "The only way to end the evil that began when Lucifer was released is to scourge it. We had to crucify evil. That was what the book said. That's what we're doing."
If Sam lives through this, he's going to find out which book that was and burn every extant copy.
"Don't you see?" Josh says, eyes shining. "You will be forgiven, Sam."
Sam lets his head droop and shuts his eyes, trying to breathe through the pain.
He jerks his head up and his eyes open when he feels cold steel on his abdomen. Josh is back on the stepladder, eyes shining with glee as he cuts through Sam's shirts.
"Roman criminals didn't get to keep their modesty," he says calmly, pulling the shredded garments off. "Humiliation is part of the punishment, Sam. Mortification of the flesh…" he caresses Sam's bound wrist, and Sam fights the urge to throw up. "… And mortification of the spirit." The knife moves to the waistband of Sam's jeans. Sam jerks his leg away, and Josh sighs. "I know it's difficult, but think of the good it will do your immortal soul, Sam."
Sam tries to kick at Josh. Josh sighs again, like Sam's a disobedient toddler, and presses down hard on the bullet wound in Sam's leg.
The sudden spike of agony bursting on his nerve endings makes him black out.
Part II