The Eight of Them

In the end, it was perhaps Dean who summed up the situation most succinctly.

“What. The. Fuck.”

It had been two months since they had last seen the Halliwell brothers, working together on a Wendigo that had somehow managed to find its way into suburban San Francisco. But they had not exactly parted on the best of terms (actually, awkward was more like it), not when Dean, Wyatt and Chris all caught each other at different times lustfully eyeing the last member of their group. Their last, unaware, youngest member.

So no one was more surprised than Dean to receive a call for help from Wyatt and Chris, the self-professed (even if it was true) most powerful witches in the world. Deciding that saving people and hunting things was more important than a few uncomfortable silences, he and his brother had launched headfirst into the new case the Halliwell brothers were stumped on – reports of four… things roaming around New York City, attacking and raping unsuspecting innocents.

Which was why they found themselves in some nondescript back alley when the brick wall suddenly opened up, and out stepped four very familiar people, dressed like they were going to a goth convention. Four people who shared their very faces.

“Fuck.” Goth Dean repeated darkly. “I like that idea.”

He gave a sidelong glance to Goth Wyatt and suddenly Wyatt, Chris and Dean found themselves inexplicably pinned to the alley wall, air whooshing out of their lungs as they were thrown with such force that the sound of bricks crumbling could be heard. And no amount of struggling seemed to be enough to break free. Magical or physical.

Knowing it was foolhardy, but not accepting it to be futile, Sam raised his gun and took aim. Rock salt would do nothing to destroy the threat, but it may distract long enough for Goth Wyatt’s hold over his brother and friends to break, enough for them all to fight back. Or to at least run. But one lazy gesture of the hand from Goth Chris was all it took for that plan to be thwarted, the gun ripping from his hands and sailing into Goth Sam’s. Fuck.

“Sammy, run!” Dean called desperately. “Get ou-” His agonising plea ended in a choking, gurgling sound and blood spurted from Dean’s throat as Goth Wyatt muttered a silence spell on their three pinned victims.

“Dean!” Sam ran towards his older brother, everything else forgotten in his determination to pull him off the wall if he had to, but adamant that his brother would not die on his watch.

A pair of swirling lights appearing in front of him stopped his movement as Goth Wyatt and Goth Chris reformed in front of Sam, lecherous gazes making Sam feel as if he was some tasty morsel they would only be too happy to devour. The fact that he could feel the exact same gazes coming from his counterpart and Goth Dean, intensely boring into Sam’s back, only served to frighten him more and he visibly shook.

“Awwww, poor baby. Are you scared?” Goth Dean mocked, his voice becoming closer with each word he uttered.

Sam balled his hands into fists, trying to ground himself. He may have been outnumbered four to one, but he had been taught to turn every disadvantage into an advantage. Strategic handicap or not, he had to win this battle. There was just no other choice. Not if he didn’t want to end up like the innocents he had came here to save.

A ghost of a hand brushed against the back of his neck, and Sam turned, ready to lay his fists into that doomed individual.

That apparently had been some sort of signal. Because the next thing Sam knew, the Goths had converged on him, hands reaching out and touching him in places that only Jessica had known.

“No, stop!” He twisted and turned, lashing out with all he had as fear spiked through him again and again.

But no matter which way he turned, an invasive pair of hands was always there in front of him, tugging at clothes, ripping and shredding until only his naked skin met the cool night air.

“Don’t cry Sammy,” Goth Chris said, leaning in to lick the tears from Sam’s face that he didn’t even know he had.

“No, no, no, no,” Sam’s breath was ragged, the Winchester need to wear an emotional mask stripped away by the insurmountable fear paralysing the youngest Winchester.

It broke Sam’s companions to watch the independent young man break – Sam had always been so full of life and vigour, always moving and battling the obstacles the world threw at him, refusing to let himself be beaten – but they knew that this was only the beginning. That their goth doppelgangers had something more sinister in mind for their youngest member. Something that would break even the hardest, coldest and most aloof individual… let alone the sensitive boy who was irrepressible in whatever endeavour he undertook.

Goth Wyatt pushed his little brother aside and took Sam in a kiss. The air coloured around the pair, and when Goth Wyatt released the boy, Sam sagged limply into his arms. The world was now swimming and Sam couldn’t do anything but to allow his traitorous limbs the relaxation they called for.

***

Their quarry now weakened and pliant, the Goths grabbed whichever part of Sam they could reach – arms, cock, hips, legs – pushing him hard against the asphalt floor. With barely contained excitement, they moved with coordinated precision. Three zippers were hurriedly opened, all the while Goth Chris moved to straddle Sam’s face, pushing down on Sam’s shoulders with his knees, prying Sam’s jaw apart with his hands and brutally shoving his cock in. The only sounds that could be heard now was the sound of Sam’s gagging as Goth Chris ploughed unrelentingly into his mouth.

Goth Wyatt placed his hands on Sam’s inner thighs, spreading the boy’s legs as far as they would go before his tongue was working its way into Sam’s ass. Sam tensed, trying to cry out at the unwanted stimulation, trying to stop the atrocities being committed on his body; but Goth Chris took advantage of the situation, his prick disappearing further down the opening throat. Sam choked around the member, but if anything, that made Goth Chris more resolute, shoving harder and more forcefully. His pleasured moans – so perverse and decadent – echoed throughout the alley; and to their shame, Wyatt, Chris and Dean found themselves growing hard, their members screaming to be freed from their denim prisons.

Not one to let others have all the fun, especially since it was his idea to begin with, Goth Dean growled his displeasure at being neglected. And acquiescing, Goth Wyatt withdrew his tongue, lightly suckling Sam’s sacs for several precious moments (causing Sam to whimper deliciously and send wondrous vibrations all the way through to Goth Chris’ cock) before he pulled away. Goth Dean wasted no more time, shoving into Sam dry and unprepared, his two hands reaching for Sam’s sex, twisting so hard Sam arched his back, taking more of Goth Chris down his throat.

The beautiful sight of the sweating and crying boy, cruelly impaled at both ends, threatened to send Goth Wyatt over the edge. There truly was a fine line between pleasure and pain, and Goth Wyatt simply found Samuel Winchester in pain to be a most alluring display. A display he had never had the enjoyment of indulging in, considering Goth Dean’s adamant refusals to share his brother, and Goth Wyatt’s own little brother’s jealousy whenever he brought the matter up. When he had finally snapped, asking if it was so wrong to share partners, in a moment of genius he had never expected from his trigger happy, testosterone charged friend, Goth Dean had suggested a little sojourn through the proverbial looking glass. And here he was, finally with a different ass for his seed to fill.

With a content sigh (the world was always kind to those who waited), Goth Wyatt aligned his cock, shoving into the penetrated boy as he enjoyed the feel of Sam’s vulnerable virgin walls tearing and shifting to accommodate his thick phallus, coating it with warm, glorious blood.

The two sheathed shafts thrust experimentally, both men groaning as their cocks slid against each other with divine friction before they found their rhythm – taking alternate turns thrusting into the unresisting ass, always aiming at the prostate and never failing to elicit a yelp (or as much of a yelp as Sam could muster with his mouth wrapped around a dick) and an attempt to lurch forward despite being held down. Goth Dean signalled his brother, and Goth Sam leaned down to press his lips against his counterpart’s abdomen, kissing and nibbling every part of skin he could.

Goth Wyatt snaked a hand beneath the boy’s ass, ignoring the rough surface of the ground chafing his skin as he squeezed the ass he had secretly coveted ever since he had accidentally walked in on Goth Dean fucking Goth Sam into the mattress in the guest room at the Manor. And as he lived out one of his deepest and darkest desires (and considering all that he had done in his life, this was truly a big admission to make) he swore that he would never give it up. Samuel Winchester would be his (as well as his brother’s, his friends’, and maybe their counterparts’; he grudgingly allowed) for all of time.

***

Sam was so uncomfortably full, and oh fuck it hurts! The sensations were steadily getting too much for him, pounding and thrumming pain and pleasure at every turn. But he had no voice. No way to stop the Goths. And the people raping him, treating him as a mere hole to be fucked, bore the faces of people he liked and respected. So when he came, squeezing his inner muscles and letting Goth Wyatt and Goth Dean find their own release, he tried to imagine it was someone else shoving down his throat. That the two people now removing themselves from within him (that the hands now removing themselves from his penis) were strangers he had never met before. If he just closed his eyes, he could just about see it, see…

Goth Chris chose that moment to shoot his load, coming so deep within Sam’s throat, that he choked and spluttered. Goth Chris immediately pulled out, placing a hand over Sam’s mouth and pinching his nose with the other, forcing Sam to swallow all of his seed. He did not release the boy until the semen was gone, and Sam lay dazed and weak with a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Please let it be over…

“Chris,” Goth Wyatt called.

When Goth Chris moved to join his big brother down by Sam’s legs (With the previous stimulation removed, Sam could now feel the scratches and abrasions that had been inflicted on his body with every push against the pavement), Goth Sam took the spot Goth Chris had vacated, now kissing and nibbling at Sam’s chest. Goth Dean shook his head indulgently - his brother always liked doing that sort of pansy stuff. Luckily, that meant more of the better stuff for him and their friends.

Sam came back into himself when he felt Goth Chris… oh God, was he sucking Goth Dean and Goth Wyatt’s combined fluids… from inside him? He gave an exhausted wriggle but Goth Sam gave a particularly hard warning bite and he stilled once more. Sam turned his head to the side and closed his eyes, trying to disassociate himself from his rapists, but still refusing to look into what he assumed would be pitying eyes from his brother and friends. And as he allowed himself to drift, he never knew that there was no pity in their eyes, but rather the same wanton desire as reflected by his tormenters.

Sam didn’t notice anything more until he felt Goth Chris leave his hole, then suddenly Chris’ lips were against his, the seed in Goth Chris’ mouth being forced into his. Too tired to do anything more, he swallowed obediently, looking into Goth Chris’ darkly glittering eyes as he prayed that it was now all over. His eyes fluttered close…

…Sam woke abruptly, hoarse and cracked voice screaming when he felt two cocks shove inside him simultaneously once again. His eyes flew open… and he wished he never bothered to do so. Because all he saw now was what could only be described as an orgy of limbs, nakedness and bodies - Goth Sam and Goth Chris now taking their turn filling him, with their respective brothers fucking them into him.

He may have been stretched from the previous fucking, but the pain was still indescribable as Goth Sam and Goth Chris, propelled by their older brothers, thrust into him – this time at a slow, torturous pace. They drew out of him, then back in, continuing a consistent rhythm as they thrust as one; Sam’s limp body jerking slightly with every movement within him.

Feeling that he was being split in two, his tears (and blood) continued to flow without restraint. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and he was almost relieved when his rapists came (blessedly much sooner than the previous ‘session’) and pulled out of him. It killed him that they thanked him for the good time, as if he was nothing more than a whore (but he probably was. Oh God, he was gang raped!), and he could hear snippets of conversation in the background.

“You know you want it just as much as we do.”

“Did you see that? He loved it, that slut.”

“Enjoy him like we do.”

“It’s not rape if he enjoys himself. And he does.”

Sam only began to take more notice of the voices when someone (Goth Dean, he would realise later) pulled on his hair and forced him to look up at his brother and friends, still restrained on the wall.

“See that Sammy? See how hot and bothered they are for you?” Goth Dean mocked softly in his ear, sneering as he saw Sam take notice of their flushed expressions, the primal need and want in their eyes and the tent in their telltale wet jeans. “They don’t care about you. They don’t see anything wrong with what we did. What they secretly want. They just want a good time. A good fuck. Unfortunately for you, that’s all you are.”

Despair entered Sam’s eyes before he closed them in muted acceptance. He was nothing. A fuck toy. To be used time and time again. And didn’t it hurt so much to know it was the people who were supposed to love and protect him unconditionally who viewed him in this fashion. Sam never knew that as his body gave out, as he allowed Goth Dean to lay him back down and arrange him to their pleasing, that his acquiescence wrongfully translated to his companions the same need and want in him as well.

Only one more voice could be heard before all hell broke loose. “You see? He wants it. Go for it.”

When Goth Wyatt finally released Dean and the Halliwell brothers from his hold, the Goths laughed at the way at which their former prisoners ran for the boy they had just used, fumbling with their own clothes as they all rushed to be the first among them to claim that hot, delicious heat.

Goth Dean gave a satisfied sigh at the sight, loving that it only took him, his brother and his friends to show their counterparts how things with Sammy really should be for them to embrace their own inner desires. That, and a little white lie. And as he, Goth Sam, Goth Chris and Goth Wyatt joined their counterparts around the fuck toy (Dean apparently winning the race to be the next to thrust into Sam’s core), they each clambered around Sam in whatever free space they could find. Touching. Licking. Biting. Anything they could to claim Sam Winchester.

Life was good. With just the eight of them.

THE END