InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "squiffy"

Vas Captio Mods (vas_captio_mod) wrote in vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-07-11 12:04:00

Entry tags:

!complete, day 15, dean winchester, experiment, leonard mccoy

Experiment: Dean Winchester and Leonard McCoy
Who: Dean Winchester and Bones McCoy
What: Enjoying the scenery
Where: An undisclosed location
When: Day 15, 8:00 AM
Rating: R. Explicit violence

Status: Complete

Good morning, subjects!

As Dean Winchester and Doctor McCoy wake up this morning they will find themselves strapped naked to metal exam tables. Above them, a blinding set of surgical lights prevents them from seeing directly above them. When Dean looks left he will be able to see Bones; as Bones will be able to see Dean.

No talking! Neither subject will be able to speak. You may grunt, you may groan, you may scream; but, you may not speak anything intelligible.

Hold tight, the doctor will be in shortly.

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hellsboy
2009-07-14 05:19 pm UTC (link)

Dean watched as the fucker walked toward the other man and smiled! What the hell was the guy playing at? The other dude wasn't under, wasn't - oh shit! The scalpel sliced the other man and Dean's shoulder had a momentary empathy pain. No, not momentary. It hurt like a bitch and when his eyes fell to his own shoulder there was a clean slice oozing a little bit of blood. How the fuck?

He tugged at his bonds and shouted garbled obscenities at the doctor. This couldn't be happening. This was a nightmare, wasn't it? It wasn't like Dean not to believe something was real but how else was he supposed to cope with this? Nothing in his life before had prepared him for anything remotely similar to this.

He wanted to get free and put an end to this but even that crack he'd thought he'd seen in his bonds had been illusion. With the pain in his shoulder he was focused enough to see clearly now that what held him back was impenetrable. For a brief moment he felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him but he shoved it away hard and fast as the next flick of the scalpel against the other man drew a sharp red line over his bicep and then his ribs.

He was caught so off guard by the deeper cut that he screamed. His voice sounded high and scared in his own ears as it was wrenched from him. Out of control. He had to rein himself in but his ribs burned white hot with pain. That fucker somehow managed to cut him while cutting the other man. This had to be a dream. One of those sick dream realities cooked up by the twisted mind of some demonic entity. He was supposed to break and give up, right? Not going to happen. Wake the fuck up, Winchester!

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justmybones
2009-07-15 01:16 am UTC (link)

Bones couldn't believe what he was seeing. He was watching as a surgeon pressed a scalpel into the unanesthetized flesh of a living being. Not only that, but the surgeon was smiling and moving carefully; as if relishing the pain he was causing. Though, this observation of Leonard's only lasted a few minutes as he realized the feeling in his shoulder and his side and his calf.

Bones heard the anguished scream from the stranger and he tried to bite back his own. Another round, another press of the blade. This time it was across his belly. The closest thing his scream sounded like was 'No.' Bones knew what a slice like this could do to a person. It could kill them. Quickly.

The Surgeon was pausing a moment, inspecting his cuts, pulling at the flesh and trying to get a better look at the world beneath the skin. It was like he was exploring. How? Why?

Bones found himself wishing he could pass out. His head listed to the left as he looked at Dean, his eyes fixated on the surgeon and not on his own skin that seemed to be victimized of it's own accord.

'It's all in your head,' he tried to convince himself. It had to all be in his head.

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hellsboy
2009-07-15 03:33 am UTC (link)

Dean felt his head grow light and his thought fuzzy. It was like he'd had too much to drink which hadn't happened in years. Winchesters held their liquor. But watching the dude in the white lab coat root around in the other man's abdomen made him want to vomit. That wasn't right. He wasn't squeamish. Why? Oh fuck.

Looking down at his own body, Dean could see the skin parting and the cuts rippling as though the psycho were looking into his anatomy. The sensation was beyond nauseating and the idea that someone would actually do something like that was worse than actually seeing it happen to someone else. Not worse than it happening to him. No, the skin had ceased to feel the pain and was now throbbing and sending grotesque signals to his brain.

Bile rose in Dean's throat and he gurgled, his eyes pleading with the other man. To do what? The other dude was being brutalized beside him! Did he think that was some sort of illusion too? Was that guy just a mirage of the pain being inflicted on Dean meant to give false hope of something? None of it made sense and all he could think of was wanting to get out of there and not knowing how.

Tears trickled into the corners of Dean's eyes before he could stop them and without his hands to wipe them away they forced him to blink, magnifying the light in his eyes. He screamed, this time a feral scream of frustration and anger, trying to kick his feet to no avail and suddenly his thigh slit open, tendons and muscles laid bare. There was no sound to the scream from his throat.

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justmybones
2009-07-15 02:38 pm UTC (link)

There was blood rolling over the edges of the cut, it was pulsing stream that was collecting on the table and rapidly cooling against the metal. There were holes in the tabletop, and the blood was flowing through it, down to drip to the floor beneath them where it collected in a drain and siphoned off elsewhere. Not that Bones really cared where his blood was going.

Hazel eyes slammed shut and squeezed painfully. Unfortunately, no amount of self inflicted pain could make the searing, burning, pulsing, ripping pain of the cuts that were striping his form go away. His shoulder, his arm, his cut, his leg; the cuts were crowing in number and frequency. Bones dared to peak at Dean, seeing the man was writhing in the similar fashion that he was. They were dead men, weren't they?

Leonard's hands clenched, digging his nails into his palms, drawing blood. He didn't think it was really possible, for a person to bring themselves to the point that they could squeeze blood from their own palm. It was something they did in movies; something that they made up. Yet, he'd one it. It didn't help.

Bones heaved, looking away from his fellow captive, the vomit coming up quickly and fiercely as it tore at his throat. The doctor sputtered, trying to breathe, feeling the slice across his middle split more. Another cut, this time up the bottom of his foot. Bones couldn't scream any more. He just laid there, limp. his spirit had been broken.

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hellsboy
2009-07-15 10:19 pm UTC (link)

There were latex encased fingers in his thigh. They moved around, pulling and rearranging. It felt wrong. Like something distant in the back of his mind. There was very little pain at this point. His body had either anesthetized itself in preparation for passing out or his mind had just stopped accepting the pain impulses. It was however freshly aware of the nauseating sensation of things that were never supposed to happen to any living human being while awake.

Whatever he'd eaten, the beans he'd had with Gambit this morning, seemed to curdle in his stomach and fought their way back up his esophagus. Dean coughed and spluttered. He could smell the warm, metallic scent of blood and taste its coppery sweetness in the back of his throat. That was the final straw. His silent screams became wet, frothy heaves ending in fits of coughs. He could feel his open skin rub against itself and his organs seemed to slosh around more freely.

He was going to die. Not because the asshole was cutting him and he was losing blood. No Dean Winchester, Captain Fantastic who ran around to save everyone, defending the innocent. He was going to drown to death in his own vomit.

No. Fuck this shit. He was not going down without some kind of fight. Eyes opening wider, Dean lifted his head as far as he could and spat out whatever he could get out of his throat and mouth. His eyes ablaze with renewed fury, he looked down his body to where fresh cuts were tracing lines above his kneecaps. Intending to holler the words, "When I die, I'm coming the fuck back to haunt your ass and drag you straight to hell, motherfucker!" he was only able a long garbled bray not unlike imitations of a gobbling turkey adults made for kids at Thanksgiving to amuse them. Whatever. The fucker knew exactly what Dean meant, Dean was sure of it.

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justmybones
2009-07-16 03:45 pm UTC (link)

Bones was thinking of medical school. He was thinking of the course they taught in basic anesthetics. The way the instructor had taught them about the proper use of anesthesia and how to avoid having a conscious patient. How, in that doctor's humble opinion, the greatest torture a surgeon could inflict upon someone would be to violate their bodies while they were fully comprending what was happening. At this moment, McCoy concurred.

Those probling fingers pushed skin and muscle and tissue aside and rammed themselves in where nothing but flesh was ever supposed to go. It took every single bone in the physician's body to make his head turn, just in time to see the other patient vomit there on the table beside him. "Unnngh," he moaned, trying to get the other's attention, just in time to hear the unintelligable groan from him. Bones could only imagine.

Another cut, this time up his foot again, between his toes, over the top. The incision was careful. Then came an odd slice around his bicep, a square. On Dean, the square would be around the 'expired' tattoo, the flesh picked off and removed. The doctor hissed. He was still feeling, he was still conscious. There was something keeping him awake because every bit of medical knowhow he had told him that he should have passed out long ago with that slit across his belly.

Good God in heaven... McCoy was starting to pray for death.

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hellsboy
2009-07-16 05:23 pm UTC (link)

Dean heard the other guy hiss and saw the fucker cutting his feet. Of all things that seemed like the worst thing possible. For some reason that was worse than anything in his mind. It made his own toes curl and he wanted to vomit again but he swallowed hard, forcing his eyes away to the face of the other man. The poor bastard. They had to get out of here. He couldn't stand anymore of this.

He was so intently focused on struggling his way free, the adrenaline flooding his system as though injected rather than natural, that the sensation of his tattoo being cut from his arm was merely a scratch and a pinch to him. He snarled loudly at the sight of it, momentarily frightening himself with how feral and animalistic it sounded. He was not completely human anymore, was he? Something had pushed him within a breath of that place where men go insane.

When the slice of the blade found the soft skin below his right eye in a superficial nick of the flesh, the fight suddenly left Dean's body entirely. He held so still, his breath caught in his chest, nostrils flaring with a sudden renewal of the fear he hadn't allowed to surface before. It was flooding him now.

In his mind's eye he saw himself naked and strapped to another table, this time face down as unseen hands did one spinal tap and lumbar puncture after another in between multiple slashes into his spine with a scalpel, severing and separating and filling him with the dread of knowing that if he didn't die from the amazing amount of pain and loss of blood, he would be completely paralyzed for the rest of his life.

Except they'd patched him up good as knew, stamped him expired and sent him back into the game for more horror. Dean's eyes filled with tears again. The tears mingling with the blood beneath both eyes as the skin beneath his left eye was nicked with the unseen scalpel. Right then the only thing he wanted was to die. But there was nothing he could do but endure. He could hear himself, as though he were outside of his body at some distance. Gurgled sobs wrenched from his throat and if he could have, Dean would have given up.

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