Disclaimer: I do not own anything Supernatural related.

Author's Note: Okay, so here's a pretty dark, gory fic for you, like I talk about in my bio. I hope you guys enjoy it, despite the content and Sam pain. In my previous two stories, I noticed there was a severe lacking of Dean. There will be more of him in this story as well as in future ones, because I love Big Brother Winchester :) Also, this story will resolve itself in I think 3 chapters (2 and a REALLY short epilogue). I'll try to post the second chapter within the next few days and the epilogue by the end of the week to wrap this up quick. Also, for this story, I have absolutely no medical knowledge besides the stuff I see on TV, so pretty much nothing legitimate. Everything here is either researched of BS'd. I've never been to prison nor do I know anyone who has so, though I've heard stories, I mean no disrespect to prison guards in real life. I'm sure the majority of them do their jobs quite well. I also mean no offense to anyone who's ever suffered any type of violence as such written in this story against them. Unfortunately, I do have people in my life who have, so you, like they, have my sympathy and support. It's all for the sake of the story here. Enjoy!

Summary: AU Supernatural 2x19 Folsom Prison Blues. Sam said his cell mate made him "uneasy" but he never expected it to come to this. While Dean is locked up in solitary confinement for the sake of the prison job, Sam is abandoned by the guards there to protect him and is brutally attacked by his cell mate and another inmate. Will anyone be able to save him? With Dean in solitary, Sam finds himself alone in his own worst nightmare. Warning: Rape.

Warnings: Violence, Language, Sensitive Content, Gore, (Graphic, but not too terribly obscene, I think) Rape.

Un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own.

"He keeps looking at me in this way that makes me really uneasy…"- Sam Winchester, Supernatural Season 2, Episode 19, Folsom Prison Blues

Sam sighed.

He hated this plan.

God he hated this plan.

He had since they had arrived at the prison and he wouldn't stop hating it until long after they were out and this town was far behind them in the rearview of the Impala.

Sam walked with his head bowed in the single-file line of neon-orange jumpsuit clad men back to their cells, as he had after every meal and outdoor activity time since Dean and him had arrived. But this time, there was no Dean.

No, Dean had just got his ass hauled off to solitary confinement.

Sam knew it was all a part of the plan, but still…

And he wasn't exactly comfortable with how willing Dean was to be used like a punching bag all the time here.

Sam stepped into his waiting cell, sighing as he took in the small, sad conditions. Gray walls, gray floor, less-than-sturdy metal bunk bed with flimsy mattresses, a dirty sink with rusty water and a pathetic toilet, too low to the ground, right in full view of the cell.

Turning around, Sam saw something.

Just outside his door, his bunkmate, Earl, he had learned his name was, was chatting animatedly with one of the guards. Earl's towering frame, somehow taller than Sam even, shifted from foot to foot; his long, greasy brown ponytail bobbing with his nodding head.

Earl pulled something out of his front pocket and handed it to the guard; a pack of cigarettes.

The guard took it with a greedy grin on his face and Sam knew whatever was in the small, cardboard Camel packaging wasn't just sticks of nicotine and tobacco waiting to be lit up; especially since it was a guard accepting it.

Chances are it was something harder and far more illegal and the guard was being supplied with it by some of the seedier inmates at this prison- like Sam's roommate.

Earl glanced back into the room and smirked as he saw Sam quickly avert his eyes, turning his body towards the wall with the sink on it in a meager attempt to feign disinterest and ignorance to what just happened.

Dean may be okay with being beat around and thrown in solitary, but Sam wasn't ready to go there just yet, not even for the sake of the job.

Sam glanced back up quickly to see Earl bidding the guard goodbye before turning to join Sam in the cell… except Earl didn't come in alone.

Behind him was a giant of a man, even bigger than Earl, which meant he was far bigger than Sam. He had a shaved head and tattoos covering every inch of his body that could be seen as well as parts of his beefy face. At first glance he looked hefty and overweight, but on closer examination Sam could see he was actually extremely well-built; buff even.

The new occupant of the room shut the heavy metal door behind him with a resounding clang, and Sam couldn't help himself from gulping with anxiety.

"Hope you don't mind if I have a friend over," Earl said, sitting on the bottom bunk bed.

Sam just nodded, not meeting either man's gazes as the bigger guy stood in the corner stoically, his arms crossed over his chest.

This wasn't a dorm room, there were no "friends over" or visitors, but Sam couldn't find it in him to say so. Dean probably would have. But Sam was more cautious than Dean, by far. And, in most cases, smarter, at least when it came to protecting himself and saving his own skin.

And he was book smart.

Not that Dean wasn't smart, because he was. Dean was far smarter than anyone, including himself, gave him credit for.

But that was beside the point.

Sam carefully looked over at the bigger man to see something black poking out of his right fist. He couldn't tell what the man was holding, but from the looks of his fist bulging with the effort to keep the object inside, he knew it was bulky.

Feeling a nervous sheen of sweat start to bead on his forehead, Sam decided, with nowhere to go literally, he would just go up; up to his top bunk bed. Higher ground meant he was harder to see and harder to reach and hopefully, whatever these two were up to, probably more drug stuff, he assumed, he could just listen in from a safe distance.

At least these two men were in prison, Sam thought. That was obviously where they belonged.

Sam, on the other hand, not so much.

Sam made his way towards the bunk, brushing past the new guy.

"That's Steve, by the way," Earl pointed out suddenly, in a casual tone that would suggest this wasn't an extremely off situation.

Sam nodded in Steve's direction but didn't look at him.

Quickly, but not fast enough to look as if he was scrambling, Sam ascended the metal bunk ladder to his bed, lying down on his back once he was up there. Crossing his arms over his stomach, Sam closed his eyes, feigning drowsiness so Steve and Earl could make about their business, thinking him oblivious, and go on their own way.

"Where's your buddy?" A deep, gruff voice asked.

The speaker wasn't Earl so Sam knew Steve had finally found his voice.

"Hmm?" Sam mumbled, not really in the mood to talk.

"Your friend, the little tough guy?" Steve spoke again, his raspy voice rumbling throughout the room. He sounded as if he smoked 12 packs a day. "The guy that bunks right across the hall. You're always eating with him too."

Sam shrugged, "Don't know."

"Funny, you don't seem to care too much 'bout that boy. The way you two have been hanging all over each other, I thought he was your boyfriend or something," Earl spoke this time.

Sam couldn't help the grimace of distaste that crossed his face. Because of their unorthodox occupations, Sam and Dean had to spend most of their nights sleeping in seedy motels out in the boonies of whatever state they were in, and it was assumed, more often than not, that Sam and Dean were a couple. He couldn't blame the people who thought as much either. You see two guys come to a motel in the middle of the night and ask for a room together? It's just a natural assumption.

But this statement, as Earl said it, just sounded different. It sounded more wrong and it made Sam almost as uncomfortable as he had been the night before, when he had awoken in the early hours of the morning, long before the sun came up, to see Earl, sitting across the cell on the floor, just staring at Sam. Staring for possibly the whole time Sam had been asleep.

After that, obviously, Sam could not find it in himself to sleep again. So, he had resided to rolling over to face the wall, keeping his eyes open and his ears on high alert for his creepy cell mate.

The assumption made Sam almost as uncomfortable as last night, but not quite. And for a simple statement to make Sam that uncomfortable…

Sam almost shivered, but managed to keep it inside.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Earl asked again, Sam having been silent for too long.

Sam shook his head, "No."

"Just your friend then?" Steve asked this time.


"Good," Steve chuckled. "I ain't no home wrecker."

Sam's eyes opened at that. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"We good?" Sam heard Steve mutter.

"Yup," Earl responded.


Suddenly, big hands were clasping at the front of Sam's jumpsuit, ripping him from his bunk and letting him fall harshly to the ground. Sam landed on his right side with a punitive grunt, and a resounding snap, the wind knocked out of him. His arm was throbbing from the impact with the concrete floor.

Rolling onto his back and pulling his unnaturally bent arm out from under him, Sam spent a moment focusing on the sharp, intense pain, cradling his wounded arm, which was more likely than not broken.

Steve grabbed Sam again by his shirt, lifting him up off the floor slightly. Getting right in his face, Sam could smell the stench of too many cigarettes and something far nastier, like BO for the mouth, on him. Sam held his breath, feeling nauseous at the scent, as Steve spoke, "You're a real pretty one, you know that?"

Throwing out his left arm, his good arm, Sam clocked Steve right on the side of the face. Steve barely flinched, the man so big that even a punch from Sam couldn't knock him off balance. But he did look pissed.

Smirking, Steve growled, "So we got a feisty one, huh?"

Steve shoved Sam back onto the ground. "Good, I like that."

Sam kicked out his legs, hitting Steven in the shins. One of his kicks was hard enough that Steve actually, stupidly, bent down to rub at it. Sam took the opportunity and kicked him hard in the head. Steve stumbled back and into the door and Sam took the chance and stood.

The second he was on his feet, Earl was on him. Throwing a mean right hook to Sam's jaw, Sam staggered backwards, but quickly composed himself. Sam used his good arm again, throwing a punch out at Earl's stomach but just missed as Earl jumped back in defense.

Earl threw another punch at Sam, hitting him hard in the right eye.

Sam reached out again with his left arm, trying to grab Earl's jumpsuit, wishing more than anything that he had use of both arms at the moment, but was met instead with hands tugging his good arm sharply behind him, twisting it until Sam was forced to his knees on the floor.

Sam looked up to see Earl standing before him, meaning Steve had recovered himself and was the one holding Sam.

Earl bent down and whispered hotly in Sam's ear, "You're gonna be real fun, pretty boy."

Sam threw his head back, butting against Steve's with as much force as he could manage.

Steve let out a yell of pain before pushing Sam down forcefully to the ground, holding the back of his head. Steve pulled Sam's hair sharply before slamming Sam's face into the concrete floor, effectively shattering Sam's nose.

Sam tried to hold back the moan of pain from escaping his lips, but failed that time.

Steve raised Sam back up onto his knees, still holding his left arm tightly behind him, as he felt blood pouring out of his nose and down his chin.

Earl suddenly threw out his fist again, hitting Sam in the cheek; right below the eye Sam could already feel bruising nicely. Sam grunted and looked back up at Earl, glaring at him. "What the hell do you want?"

Steve twisted Sam's arm harder behind him and Sam winced at the pressure.

"You, pretty boy."

Sam watched as Earl began to unsnap the little gold buttons on his orange jumpsuit, feeling true panic for the first time through this whole ordeal.

Sam had seen enough movies, had heard enough stories about what went on in prisons, to know what was happening.

Men were locked away in these jails for months, years sometimes, without any women around. A few were lucky enough to have conjugal visits set up with whomever, but most weren't. And the rest… had to find satisfaction elsewhere.

Sam hated himself for what he was about to do. He was a Winchester after all, and Winchesters did not like asking, or accepting, outside help for the most part. But this was different. He was in prison, and there were guards everywhere whose jobs were literally to stop the inmates from hurting each other…

Sam took a deep breath and screamed, "Help! Guards, help!"

Earl took a second away from his disrobing to punch Sam hard in the stomach. Sam gasped in a shaky breath, the hit taking his air, before looking up through black spots in his vision to see Earl speak, "Ain't no one gonna help you pretty boy. I know you saw what happened out in the hall. The guards are on our side. They helped us get you."

Sam felt his skin crawl in revulsion. If Deacon knew what his guards were up to…

Earl delivered a swift uppercut punch to Sam's jaw, sending him falling onto his back, splayed out on the ground.

Before Sam had a chance to try to overcome his dizziness, fists began flying at him from everywhere it seemed. He was beaten relentlessly, his arms, legs, stomach and face. His already broken nose seemed to be broken further, he felt his ribs crack and maybe even break, he felt his broken right arm twisted until an agonizing pain shot through his forearm as a bone snapped and ripped from the prison that was his skin.

Then it all stopped.

Sam couldn't move. He could barely even think through all the pain clouding his mind and hazing his vision. He tasted the coppery tang of blood on his tongue and he had to force himself not to spit it out on the ground. He just wanted to go to sleep, for he was so tired…

Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and flipped him over onto his battered stomach. Sam groaned but didn't open his eyes. He prayed that the mercy of unconsciousness would take him before these men killed him, then at least he wouldn't know he was dying when the time came…

Sam jumped when he felt hands grab the back collar of his jumpsuit and tear forcefully, ripping his clothing off of him, rending the thin, orange material to shreds.

Despite the state he was in, Sam still found it in him to struggle, albeit weakly, squirming around on the ground, trying, and failing, to kick and punch out but never hitting anything solid.

Through the pounding of blood rushing through his ears, Sam heard the sounds of Earl and Steve laughing above him, taunting him like a caged animal… which, he supposed, he was.

Then hands were gripping at the waistband of his boxers and those same hands were tugging them off and over Sam's legs, then throwing them to the side like garbage.

Sam was naked.

A sharp snap echoed throughout he small cell.

"Your daddy ever belt you when you were naughty growing up, pretty boy?" Steve laughed.

That's what he had been holding in his hand upon entering the cell, Sam realized with horror.

A belt, folded to fit in his fist.

The snap came again; this time to Sam's bare behind.

Sam clenched his teeth together, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain as he was whipped with the belt over, and over, and over, and over again…

He lost count somewhere around 26 or 27 but he knew it went on for a while after that.

Finally the belting ceased, the feeling of angry red welts on his sensitive skin making Sam impossibly nauseous.

Sam opened his eyes for a moment to see Earl walk around to the front of Sam, then kneel down before him as he began to stroke Sam's hair like Sam was a frightened child or pet, causing him to shudder in revulsion.

Steve grabbed Sam's arms and forced them behind his back, cinching them with the belt and pulling it tight, binding his hands behind him so he couldn't fight back- even if he had it in him.

Too weak to fight back and too hopeless to call again for help that wouldn't come, Sam lay there and tried to block it out.

He was a Winchester, and he wouldn't beg.

He was a hunter, and he wouldn't cry.

He was Sam, and he'd be fine.

Sam closed his eyes and tried to block it all out as he felt hands pull his waist back and something hard enter his ass with such quick, ripping force it left him gasping.

Sam took deep breaths bitterly through his nose to stave off the pain and shame as he felt one of the men pound himself inside of Sam's ass over and over as the other man did the Sam in Sam's mouth.

Sam tried not to gag as he felt the man behind him grab Sam's own penis and toy with it.

Sam held back tears as he felt the man behind him release himself only for seconds later the man in his mouth to do the same.

Sam refused to think as he heard the men laughing and jeering at him, slapping him and punching him some more as they ordered him to swallow, only to kick him in the ribs when he spat.

Sam held back the tears burning behind his eyes like liquid fire as Earl and Steve switched their positions and repeated the same process as before.

Finally, Earl and Steve finished, each taking a turn on either side of Sam three times each.

Six times total, they had done this to Sam.

His body was sore and he felt blood dripping down his legs, mingling with the blood from his stomach and face on the floor as he lay on the concrete on his stomach.

His mind stayed blank. He could no longer comprehend what had happened.

He didn't want to.

No one came to help him and he couldn't help himself.

"Look here, pretty boy."

Sam felt a light tap on his face, someone's foot.

Against his own better judgment, Sam cracked open an eye from the floor and looked up to see Earl and Steve grinning devilishly down at him, their penises in their hands, right before they promptly urinated on him.

Sam vomited and passed out.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed my first super dark, multi-chapter (of sorts) fic. Like I said, Chapter 2 and the Epilogue should be up in a matter of days.

Please, please, please review and let me know what you think! Even if it's just your reaction, I'd love to hear it and I respond to them all! I also welcome constructive criticism! That's the only way for my writing to improve, isn't it? Thanks for reading! :)