Chapter Text
Sebastian watched, baffled and stunned, as a wraith in white slaughtered the police officers on the monitor. He'd grown up on the stories of the terrible things that went on in this hospital, maybe even believed a few, but ghosts? He leaned back, only to sense the temperature shifting behind him. He was greeted with a glimpse of a pale, ragged face, and light glinting off a length of polished, pointed metal.
Everything went dark. Each of Sebastian's sense were hacked from him and there was only the man's low, rumbling voice—not in his ears, but between them, vibrating along his sinews like flies on a spider's web. "It's too bad that they dragged you into this," it said. "But now that you're here, I may as well get some use out of you."
Something stabbed him in the neck, pumping him full of burning chemicals. They stung his veins and shot through his system like electricity, but by the time he cried out the heat was already abating. The world blinked back into existence around him, but it was all wrong: he was upside down, strung up like so much meat in a completely unfamiliar room. There was no sign of Joseph or the doctor, or anything that even remotely looked like the hospital. Shadows cast by sputtering fluorescent lights turned the chamber into a jumble of shapes that Sebastian could barely make out, but there was no mistaking certain additions: dead bodies hanging beside him, a dumpster full of rancid flesh, and somewhere close by, a barrel-chested butcher at work at his table.
What the fuck? Sebastian thought, over and over, as he cut himself loose from the snare and dropped to the tile floor. His clothing was immediately soaked through with rot, and he had to shove his mouth into the cook of his elbow to muffle his gagging. Where the fuck am I? Who is that—what the fuck is going on?
It didn't matter—his only course of action was to escape, ask questions later. Question his sanity later. When a quick investigation of the room's only exit presented him with a heavy lock, he returned to the butcher's layer and there spotted his means to freedom: a key ring hanging from a meat hook in the room's inner chamber, guarded by a goliath of a man wearing a metal face mask.
Sebastian held his breath. For some damn reason he felt echoes of whatever injection he'd been given thrumming through his system, and he began to sweat as his skin buzzed. Poisoned or not, there was still only way out. As patiently and silently as he could manage, he crept toward the grisly table. There was meat atop it, that much he could see and smell, and the butcher seemed to take a great interest in hacking it apart. God only knew what he was hoping to accomplish, if anything. Sebastian stayed low to the ground as he approached, waiting until the man had both hands wrist-deep in his subject and was completely engrossed. Then he made his move.
It should have been a clean lift. Sebastian slipped the ring off the hook, pinching the keys between his fingers to keep them from clacking together. He managed not to make a sound of any kind, even when he turned on the balls of his feet to head back.
But the Sadist turned anyway. Hard breath puffed against the inside of his mask and it almost seemed as if he'd smelled the intruder. Sebastian pushed hard with his knees but he was already too late; the Sadist lunged, grabbing him by the back of his gun harness. With a growl that didn't sound human he yanked Sebastian nearly off his feet entirely, turning him about and slamming him up against the table.
He was met with a face full of internal organs. Cursing and gagging, Sebastian braced his hands to the metal and tried to push away, but the Sadist's gorilla-like palm was shoved between his shoulder blades and he couldn't get any leverage. Blood and fat oozed into the fibers of his clothing and stuck nauseatingly to his skin. The stench was almost worse, and the struggle against taking increasingly panicked breaths made his head swim.
You're dead, Sebastian thought as the Sadist loomed over him, shoving him harder into the table. If you're lucky, he'll break your neck before he cuts you up. But he wasn't entirely out of fight. Still gripping the key ring in one hand, he managed to wriggle the knife he'd used to escape his snare out of his belt. He couldn't see what he was doing and could only pray as he plunged the blade backwards into his attacker.
He struck muscle—was even fairly confident that he was scraping ribs—but it didn't do him any good. The Sadist bellowed and grabbed his wrist, but he didn't retreat, didn't relent. In fact it just seemed to piss him off. He gave Sebastian's arm a yank that had him fearing for the socket, and as they struggled against each other, Sebastian's vest and shirt were drawn up, exposing the small of his back.
"Get the fuck off me!" Sebastian hollered, twisting the knife still embedded in his adversary, without doing any more good. When he tried to kick, the Sadist shoved his feet further apart with his own and bore down, bruising Sebastian's hips against the table. It hurt like a son of a bitch and he expected at any moment that he'd feel a cleaver in his neck. What he felt instead was the Sadist's grimy fingers worming under his shirt.
Sebastian's mind went blank. His instincts knew immediately where that heavy, pawing exploration was leading to, and pure shock sent his reason into a tailspin. This couldn't happen. Chipping and rotten fingernails dragged along his waistline and he couldn't breathe. This wasn't happening, not to him. He felt the press of a hardening erection against his ass and thought he might be sick. It made no sense—what the fuck was going on?
It wasn't until the Sadist began unbuckling his belt that Sebastian jolted back into action. "Get off me!" he continued to shout, ragged with panic as he writhed and stabbed and did everything in his power—again to no effect. "Don't fucking touch me—don't you fucking—" When the Sadist leaned back just enough to undo his own pants, Sebastian shoved against the table with his free had as hard as he could, trying to disrupt the creature's balance, to dig his knife into something vital, anything, but then five iron knuckles were against his spine again, slamming his chest back to the table.
"Stop!" Sebastian thrashed weakly. His hand around the knife was going numb and the rest of him wasn't much better off. "You sick fuck! Joseph! Joseph, where the fuck—"
The Sadist shoved both their pants down, only just enough, and Sebastian gagged all over again at the slap of the naked cock against his ass cheeks. It was slick—why the fuck was it slick?—and then the bulging head was at his hole, bluntly prodding. He could do nothing but howl curses as the beast plunged into him.
He was fucking huge. Sebastian groaned through his teeth as inch by inch filled him almost more than he could take. All the strength was forced out of him and his thoughts scattered; he was helpless, stunned and aching as the Sadist fucked him into the table. This can't be real, he thought, trying to make sense of it. He closed his eyes and shoved his forehead into the metal as he struggled for coherence. Heat was seething through his veins, thwarting his attempts. This isn't fucking real.
"Don't try to fight it," said a voice in front of him, and Sebastian flinched, trying to lift his head, but then there were fingers twisting in his hair, pinning him down. It was the man with the needle; the rough texture of his voice sent ripples across Sebastian's skin, prickling not unlike the drugs he had administered. "I'm already inside you."
The Sadist thrust into him again, with so much strength that the tabled budged. His cock was like an iron rod and Sebastian moaned beneath the force. But past his fear and rage and shame, his blood crackled with energy. When the fingers tightened in his hair his body drew tight with them, throbbing and electric. "Fuck you!" he choked out, but when the Sadist rocked into him again, the jolt that swept through him was disgustingly welcome. He'd never been stretched so fully, never stroked so deeply. It was almost ludicrous that his ass could accommodate, but good God, could it. Sick with revulsion he finally resumed his fighting, but that only made his attacker more eager, punishing him with quickening pumps of his hips.
"Just take it, detective," said the ghost, and the venom coursing Sebastian's torso seemed to buzz in answer, rising in pitch. "Take what I'm offering you."
"You son of—" Sebastian tried again to lift himself up, but then the ghost had both hands on his shoulders, pushing him back—bracing him for the Sadist's next thrust. The smack of bare skin echoed through the chamber and Sebastian couldn't help a loud groan as the intruding cock screwed so tightly up his ass that he saw stars. His agony blurred into unwanted arousal as he hissed and swore into the bloody table. He didn't want to give in. He cursed the stirrings of pleasure that reverberated off each powerful stroke of the beast's flesh. Even so, his body was turning against him: his back arching, his toes clenching, even his own cock swelling. It was as if he'd been set alight and fire was licking his skin.
"Fuck," he groaned, as the Sadist's mad grunting grew sharper, his movements even more violent. "Oh fuck, fuck you!"
The Sadist shoved into him one more time and came, pouring into his victim in burst after burst. Sebastian whimpered at the sensation of wet heat flooding his overworked insides, ashamed at himself for taking any euphoria from it. The cock slid free and he gasped with relief. But then the Sadist stepped back, and without that extra support behind him, Sebastian's knees quickly gave out. He slid off the table and collapsed in a heap.
"Well done, Detective Castellanos," said the ghost from somewhere seemingly far away. "You've proved yourself somewhat entertaining, at least."
Sebastian quaked with anger. There were tears in his eyes preventing him from focusing well on his surroundings, but he was still holding the knife in one hand, the keys in the other. The Sadist was standing over him, mumbling contentedly to himself, giving him a few moments of opportunity. Pausing only long enough to draw his pants back up, Sebastian then took a deep breath and plunged his knife into the Sadist's Achilles tendon.
The Sadist bellowed furiously, and he had to grab for the edge of the table to keep from collapsing. Sebastian slashed at his other ankle, but he didn't wait to see if he had managed to fully incapacitate the brute. Though sore all over and half delirious, he dragged himself upright and bolted. He had the keys. He could get out. Whatever injuries and humiliations he had suffered, he could escape.
By the time he'd unlocked the exit, he could hear the Sadist wailing, followed by the roar of a chainsaw. And he ran.