InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Take a chance, Vic."

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
2009-07-15 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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