#like objectively its bad because she did throw them for a man ig but its like. so what now bc they wouldve done the same to her vice versa

[imagine-it-like-this]

Title: Hurt & Comfort – chapter 01: Hurt Characters: Rowena, reader, British Men of Letters OCs Relationships: Rowena/reader Genres: Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Torture, Violence, Whump

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When three British Men of Letters jumped you and Rowena while you were out in the forest collecting herbs for a potion the Winchesters had asked you to make, you decided you wouldn’t go out without a fight. And while the magic-binding cuff adorned Rowena’s wrist in an instant, you had a quick moment to throw a hex bag before they slapped one onto yours.

That turned out to be a mistake.

The man who had caught the bag and melted, quite literally, under its influence happened to be the brother of one of the remaining two ones, and you were quick to learn that the Brits could be quite mean when one of their own got hurt – especially if one of their own happened to be a family member.

“You’re going to pay for that,” the brother, whom you’d nicknamed Blondie, told you in his thick English accent. There were no tears in his eyes, no signs of grief or sadness on his face – just tranquil fury, a promise of hell you never once doubted he’d deliver.

He and the other one – Scruffy, as you called him – shoved you and Rowena into their van and sped off to some deserted warehouse in the middle of nowhere. While Scruffy led you inside, kicking and screaming (you weren’t going to make it easy for either of them. If they wanted to kill you, they were going to have to earn it), you noticed Blondie fetching a briefcase from the trunk before grabbing Rowena and following after you.

While not struggling, she made sure to call him every name in the book, existing and made up, and spit every threat she could think of. The point was clear – if they dared harm you, she was going to do everything in her power to make sure they paid for it.

You beamed with pride, grateful to have found yourself a girl who, despite her outward coldness, loved you more than anything.

Your pride dissipated when Blondie told her in a cold, calculating voice that promised hell: “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t touch a hair on her head.”

You found out what he meant when the door was slammed shut and Scruffy grabbed you from behind in a sort of bear hug, holding you in place so you couldn’t further struggle. You tried to free your arms, but the guy was massive, about two meters in height, and as muscular as a wrestler. His grip on you was iron and if he were to tighten it, he could easily squash you like a pancake.

“Let go of me!” you screamed. Just because you were restrained physically didn’t mean you couldn’t voice your displeasure. “What are you doing? Let go! Let go, you motherfucker!”

“No can do, sweetheart,” Scruffy said in his Irish accent, exchanging a glance with Blondie, who looked more amused than he should have.

“We’re going to play a little game,” he told you, dragging Rowena by the arm to the center of the room.

“Let me go, ye Neanderthal!” she protested, every word laced with venom.

He ignored her, directing his growing smile to you. “It’s called: ‘you hurt me, and I hurt you’.” He released Rowena so he could walk over to you and get in your face. “I loved my brother.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” you spat. You knew it was a bad idea to antagonize your captors, especially ones as vicious as the British Men of Letters, but you were going to die either way. The least you could do was go out with dignity. You owed yourself, and Rowena, that much.

“I’m going to make you suffer,” Blondie told you, ignoring your remark. “You’re going to regret ever throwing that hex bag.”

“You’re gonna torture me?” You scoffed, unable to hold back a chuckle. Seriously? This torture thing was so American. You expected more from these fancy Brits. “How original.”

What he said next made chills of dread creep down your spine.

“Who said anything about torturing you?”

Taken aback, the only thing you could mutter was: “W-what?”

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. They were devoid of all emotion, rid of anything remotely human. This man, you realized, what a killing machine and your murder of his brother had pulled a dangerous trigger.

“You’re going to feel what I feel.”

Without giving you time to process what he just said, he backed away and turned to Rowena, punching her in the face with all the strength he could muster.

She fell to the floor with a thud, letting out a pained moan. You called her name, trying to once again free yourself from Scruffy’s grip, but all your attempts were futile – the man’s strength greatly surpassed your own.

“Don’t touch her!“ you screamed, following it up with a barrage of profanities not even a sailor would dare utter.

Rowena cradled her bloodied cheek, panting heavily; just as she was about to push herself up on her elbows, Blondie’s booted foot connected with her ribs, sending her flying onto her side. She grunted, trying her hardest to hold back the screams that threatened to tear from her throat.

Letting out a maniacal laugh, Blondie sent another kick her way, this one to her stomach; it was followed by another, and another, until she curled up into a fetal position, arms protectively placed over her wounded abdomen.

"No!” you shrieked, falling tears staining your vision. “Stop it! Don’t hurt her!”

“It’s too late for that,” he chuckled, giving her one last kick before walking over to the briefcase he’d placed atop an old table and opening it up to examine the contents. After a long moment of contemplating, he took out long, thin leather object and held it up proudly, smiling at the expression of pure dread that spread across your face.

It was never a good thing when a sadist had a whip in his possession.

“No!” you repeated, voice trembling with fear. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but I do,” he told you, letting his lips form a charming smile. “You killed my brother. I’m going to torture your lover. It’s only fair.”

What the hell kind of logic was that?

“Please, don’t.” If you weren’t restrained, you would have fallen to your knees. Hell, you would have kissed his feet if he required it – anything so he wouldn’t hurt Rowena anymore. “She didn’t do anything. You want to hurt someone? Hurt me! I’m the one that killed your brother!”

“That’s not how it works, but points for effort.”

He took slow steps toward Rowena, his amusement growing as he observed her writhing form. Curled up like that, she resembled a kitten; a wounded kitten in unimaginable pain.

More tears spilled down your face at the sight of her. She was so vulnerable, so fragile, and every instinct in your body screamed at you to protect her, but the only thing you could do was helplessly watch as the monster circled her like the predator he was.

The first lash across her back elicited a startled gasp from her. She widened her eyes in shock, swallowing the thick lump in her throat.

Blondie chuckled, narrowing his eyes before pressing his foot to her back to push her onto her stomach. He struck her again, this time with more force. The lash tore a piece of her dress, revealing bruised, reddened skin underneath.

Rowena let out a hiss, swallowing back the pain that spread through her body like deadly poison in her veins. Your heart exploded with sympathy for your girl and you screamed at the tops of your lungs, begging him to stop, but it seemed the more you begged, the harder he hit.

Rowena’s own scream echoed throughout the warehouse after the tenth lash. She no longer had it in her to hold it in; the only thing she could do was cry out at the top of her lungs as Blondie viciously whipped her.

You’d lost count, but it was around the thirtieth lash that he finally decided to stop. He threw the bloody whip to the side, smiling brightly as he admired his work. Rowena’s back and shoulders were in tatters; skin was ripped to pieces, and blood, still pouring out the fresh wounds, pooled around her shaking body.

“So beautiful,” he commented, contently observing her injuries as if they were a work of art. Which to him they probably were.

“You crazy son of a bitch!” you shrieked as Scruffy held onto you, his laughter echoing in your ear.

How could they do that to someone who’d done nothing to them? How could they torture a defenseless person and act as if all of it were a comedy? How could they hurt her, of all people?

“Rowena?” you called, hearing her soft moans.

“Y/N?” Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper. Your heart broke at the fragility of her form. Other than involuntary shaking, she didn’t dare move for even the slightest movement deepened the pain. Tears fell from her eyes, mixing with the blood on the floor.

You could tell the only thing she wanted was you to hold her hand, to tell her everything was going to be alright like you always did when she was in pain. She would never say it out loud, but you knew she needed you just like you needed her.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” you said. You may not have been able to hold her, but you sure as hell could let her hear you, in hopes that the sound of your voice would calm her down. “I’m right here. It’s going to be okay.”

The shakiness in your voice exposed the obvious lie.

If she weren’t in pain, Rowena would have chuckled, but the only thing she could do now was whimper like a hurt puppy.

Blondie and Scruffy’s laughter tore through the room, making your stomach churn in disgust. How could they laugh at something like this? How could they possibly think torture was funny? You knew the British Men of Letters were crazy sons of bitches, but you’d assumed that monster going by the name of Mr. Ketch was their only psychopath, a sort of a pet they kept for dirty work. To think that their entire organization consisted of people exactly like him…

Anger burned through your veins, hot like lava. They would pay. That much you swore. If they do what they came here for – if they kill you – you promised you’d come back as a vengeful spirit and make them wish they were never born. Not just these two idiots – the entire British Men of Letters. People like them shouldn’t exist.

All this time you thought yourself a monster for deciding to become a witch, when the real monsters were humans all along.

Blondie knelt down next to Rowena, patting her hair in a way that was almost caring. “You know she’s lying to you, don’t you?” He tucked a messy strand behind her ear and traced one of the mascara-smudging tears down her cheek. “You’re going to die.”

“Fuck ye!” she spat, pushing all her remaining strength into those two words. If the situation weren’t so brave, you would have been proud of your girl.

Blondie chuckled. “Feisty, aren’t you? A real Scot!”

“Get away from her!” you shouted, fidgeting in Scruffy’s arms, prompting him to tighten his grip. You let out a pained hiss as his strong arms pressed against your chest. Was this how you were going to die? Were you going to be crushed to death by a giant Irishman?

Blondie ignored you. “I’d apologise, but I’m not really sorry. You are a monster, after all. But let me just tell you – it’s nothing personal. It everything had gone according to plan, the two of you would have already been dead. But your lover here killed my brother and I couldn’t just let that go. The British Men of Letters have a code – and he was my brother. You get what I’m saying? No hard feelings. That’s all.”

He grabbed Rowena’s chin, nails digging into the pale skin hard enough to leave red marks, and got into her face.

“Really, if you want to blame someone for this, blame her. If she hadn’t killed my brother, none of this would have happened.”

A part of you agreed with him. If you hadn’t tried to act tough and thrown that hex bag, the third Brit would have still been alive and you and Rowena would have died quickly and painlessly. If you’d know what would transpire, you never would have tried fighting the useless battle.

The only thing your actions did was cause your captors to torture Rowena just so they could get their revenge on you.

“The only one to blame is ye,” Rowena said defiantly, giving him her deadliest glare. Even in the face of death, she was proud. “Think doin’ this makes ye a man?” She scoffed. “Ye’re just a wee boy on a power trip!”

She could have been beaten and whipped and immensely weakened, but the one thing they could never take away from her was her pride. Being Lucifer’s plaything had taught her to stay true to herself no matter what. Kissing ass would only get her so far, and she’d promised to never sink that low again. If death was the price, so be it.

Blondie just smiled. Then, in a split second, he released her chin and swung his fist at her; knuckles collided with soft skin, sending her head flying sideways. She let out a grunt as the sudden movement caused her back injuries to sting, taking in deep breaths to calm her fast-beating heart.

The only thing you could do as he got to his feet and pressed his heavy boot against her back was shout pleas and obscenities – and god knows there were plenty swirling through your mind, begging to be freed from the cage of your mouth.

Rowena screamed as the pressure reopened her injuries, causing more blood to pour out the torn skin.

“So pathetic,” Blondie spat, smile fading into blankness.

He gave Rowena’s ribs another sharp kick, prompting another scream, and then used his foot to push her onto her back. Rowena could only whimper as the dirty floor aggravated her already painful injuries; that morphed into a groan when Blondie laid his foot atop her chest, pinning her down hard.

“I was told you were one of the wicked ones,” he said, his eyes meeting hers in a determined stare. “Turns out you’re just a whiny bitch like the rest of them. It’s a shame, really. I was expecting a challenge.”

How dare he talk to her like that? For that alone you swore to do things to him that would make what he did to her look like child’s play.

Rowena swallowed, taking a breath to compose herself enough to speak. “Take off the cuff and I’ll show ye wicked,” she hissed venomously, like a snake tearing into its prey. Her voice was weak, words struggling to leave her trembling mouth, but that signature fire of hers still burned strong in her tone. Even close to death, she was still herself.

“Tempting,” Blondie snickered, “but I’m going to have to decline. That wouldn’t be a fair fight, now would it?”

You barely resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his comment. His definition of a fair fight was apparently a tall, muscular man beating the hell out of and mercilessly whipping a tiny, defenseless woman.

Next time you hear the Winchesters (particularly the younger one) say the British Men of Letters aren’t all that bad, you promised to give them a smack.

That is, if there even was a next time.

The way things were going, there wasn’t going to be, but you were still hoping for a miracle. That, or coming back as a vengeful spirit. Either way worked for you.

“Now,” Blondie continued, “I’m afraid we’ve had our fun. It’s time to end this game.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, hoping to buy some time. You weren’t ready to die; not now that you and Rowena were finally happy, enjoying a life of something other than wreaking havoc just for the fun of it.

Why couldn’t these people just leave you be? Why couldn’t they let you leave in peace? You weren’t hurting anybody – not anymore. You were just two witches in love taking your second chance and enjoying it to the fullest.

“Oh, but we do,” Scruffy told you, his sleazy, snake-like voice sending shivers down your spine. “We have a code.”

“That’s it? You follow a stupid code?” You couldn’t resist sass anymore; the urge was too strong. Your mouth widened into a sarcastic smile. “Here I was, thinking you were some badass hunters wannabes, but turns out you’re just some corporate pig’s little bitches.”

“Think that insults us?” Blondie inquired.

“I don’t give a fuck if it insults you. I just wanted to say it.”

He smiled. “I get it. Last words and all.”

“Not quite, but sure. Let’s go with that,” you retorted.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to cut this conversation short,” he said, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a silver gun.

You froze as he pointed it directly at Rowena’s forehead, your body going numb in an instant, all rational thought gone from your mind and replaced by flashes of your happiest memories with your girl, like a series of flashbacks all melting into one another.

Rowena narrowed her eyes at the barrel of the gun, trying her hardest to keep her breathing under control. You could tell that her insides were screaming with fear mixed with pain, but on the outside she was defiant, proud, the Rowena everyone knew her as.

“Ye’re a coward,” she spat, locking her eyes with his for a short moment before averting them back to the gun.

“Maybe,” Blondie agreed, shrugging casually. “But I’m not the one who’s going to die, now am I?”

“No! No, no, no! Please, don’t! Kill me, torture me, do whatever the hell you want to me, just, please, let her live!” you begged, a river of tears spilling down your cheeks. Watching her be tortured was horrifying enough; being forced to watch her die would shatter you. It was bad enough when Lucifer snapped her neck, and you were only friends back then.

Having to witness it again would be worse than death.

“It’s alright, dear,” Rowena soothed, despite her weakness. Another tear slid down her face. “I’ve lived long enough. Don’t be scared. Just close yer eyes. It will all be over soon.”

“No!” you sobbed, giving struggling another try, but the only thing that accomplished was a stronger grip. “Please, Rowena, I… I can’t lose you!”

“We will meet again in Hell,” she told you, voice serene, calm, as if she’d already made peace with death. “Whatever becomes of us, know that I love ye.”

“And I love you,” you squeaked through tears. Always and forever, you thought. Even if Hell tortures all the love out of you; even if it destroys every shred of your humanity and twists your soul beyond recognition, you swore to never let yourself forget what you felt for her.

The love that the two of you shared would never die.

“How sweet,” Blondie commented, laughing along with Scruffy. He looked down at Rowena, who shot him a defiant scowl. “Almost makes me want to not kill you, but, you know, rules are rules, and there’s also this teensy-weensy fact of her killing my brother. You understand why I can’t just let that go, don’t you? Watching him die really hurt my feelings. So I think it’s only fair that she watches you die. And eye for an eye. A brother for a lover.”

“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that.”

And just like that, the future didn’t look so glum anymore.

Next chapter

Editor: @oswinthestrange