(Okay first fanfic on here!, please be nice, this is like my first time, so uhhh, I love Supernatural like crazy, sooo I would make like little stories about them on random pieces of paper, and so I just wanted to give this a try...I'm fifteen-just turned fifteen actually . So basically I like stories where Sam is more of the protective one, but I mean you know Dean always is going to try and protect Sam...but you know what just read, PLEASE READ AND REVIEW if you like this, and I will update...I have like three more chapters done already so even if I get one good review I'll update for ya okay :)
"-"-talking, Italics-thinking. All grammar and whatever else is my fault okay.
He could hear footsteps on the creaky boards of the stairs. His body curled into a ball unconsciously, thin arms hugged his knees closer to his chest. The bones of his spine pushed back against the cold cement wall behind him. The clap of heels made him snap his neck in the direction he thought it might be coming from, which was slowly moving directly ahead of him. Sightless pale green eyes blinked frantically, as if it would help. Finally it stopped a few feet away from him, only the sound of a steady drip from a leaky pipe somewhere in the room existed. What do you want!? He desperately wanted to scream...it was silence again for about three minutes...drip...drip...drip...drip.
" ...What do I want?" He flinched when she spoke, the voice was so loud...he almost thought he had imagined her ever coming down the stairs.
"...I was bored, so I thought I would pay you a visit." Before he could brace himself, invisible hands clenched around his throat, lifting him in the air. His bare feet barely touched the concrete floor. His fingers scratched at his neck, his mouth opened and closed silently gasping for the stale air. His ears started to ring, only his thundering heartbeat was what he could hear.
He began to feel his body slowly becoming numb.
...Shit!
He tried to kick whoever was gradually strangling him to death...only meeting air...demon. What is this?...something warm was coating his fingers, ...blood? Multiple cuts were carved along his neck with what nails he had, the lacerations oozed a crimson red liquid sluggishly making a trail down to his jutting collarbone.
A low sigh left the long-haired brunette. Her ebony black eyes watched as he thrashed around, trying somehow to obtain the cold air into his burning lungs. Bit by bit his movements became languid, she had enough of this little game. She let her arm fall to her side and loosened her fist next to her. He fell to the ground, instinctively he quickly protected his head before hitting the hard cement floor. The air he could not even believe he had was violently forced out of his chest on impact.
His whole body constricted...painful ragged coughs left out of his unused throat. Naturally his lungs seemed to have a mind of its own and tried hastily to swallow the rancid air. His eyes scrunched up in a wince from the ache that spread across his chest. Almost instantly his mind screamed at him to move...do something!, his dull green orbs shot open like a deer caught in headlights.
He tried to crawl back to the wall but his brain was disoriented and dizzy...he stopped his movements...he did'n't know if he was facing the wall or not. He just stayed still...listened...the slap of heels started again, his breathing accelerated when the sound got louder the closer she came.
She smirked and took a fist full of his blood encrusted hair from previous visits. She dragged him to the center of the basement with little trouble, and the amount of weight he had lost it was like pulling a small child, his struggling had little strength behind it,...even though it most likely would not have helped anyway.
She pulled him up into a kneeling position, he was clawing at her wrist trying to make her let go!, it felt like she was ripping the roots from his scalp; Her smirk left because of this.
She did let go, but before he could retreat away from her, she punched the left side of his face with an un-natural strength that almost broke his neck when his head turned to the right, she did this for five minutes straight, punching, slapping and then kicking his sides repeatedly when he collapsed to the dirty floor. Now that seems short, but by the the time she was supposedly finished, he had blood-splatters all across his body, and was covered in even more bruises than before-if that's possible. Sharp toed heels hurt...how'd he forget about that?
The women-well...monster, tightened her hand into a fist again, but with a different outcome...
He grabbed for his abdomen, he would have screamed if he could, but even that was taken from him. He couldn't help the involuntary tears that prickled his eyes, it felt like someone had put barbed wire in his stomach and was grating it against the lining of his intestine. That's funny, because he doesn't remember having barbed wire stuffed down his throat.
She watched as he crumbled to his side soundlessly screaming, clutching his midsection tightly. After about 15 minutes of watching him gagging, she then proceeded in making a slow twisting motion with the hand that was in a fist. The man on the ground instantly reacted.
He turned onto his elbows and started to retch. At first it was very unpleasant dry heaving leaving him laboring for breaths, then something started to burn its way up his throat. Hot blood was spewing out of his mouth to the concrete floor.
She exhaled some of her displeasure...she didn't know why, but this wasn't as fulfilling as it used to be. She let her fingers unfurl from the fist it was in and turned to leave, she dug into her jacket pocket taking out one of those new touch screen cellphone as she walked up the wood stairs.
Before she closed the basement door she turned around, "Goodnight, Dean...I'm sure you'll have a nice dream tonight." She closed the door,"...I'll make sure of it." She muttered to herself locking the doorknob from the outside, even though she knew he wouldn't attempt to leave again any time soon.
She looked down at the screen which was flashing 'Missed Calls' across the glass. She rolled her black eyes that flickered back to brown as she strolled down the hall of the house.
Muted sobs racked his body as he found 'The wall', he grabbed his knees to his chest and leaned his shoulder and pounding head against the concrete.
You know it wouldn't be so bad, if only she didn't tell him about the upcoming dream he was bound to have, he already knew he was going to.
Bitch!
Dean squeezed his eyes shut...s'not like he could see anything anyway, his body pushed closer to the chilled wall getting no comfort from it at all. It wouldn't be so dang cold if he hadn't worked himself into a sweat, who knew vomiting took so much out of you? Dean took his right hand and wiped the liquid coating the sides of his mouth...at first he didn't know what it was , because it didn't taste like regular vomit...but he can always remember the coppery flavor of blood.
30 minutes later...
Drip...drip...drip...drip...
Dean licked his dry and cracked bottom lip.
Drip...drip...drip...drip.
Jesus Christ was he thirsty...
Dean huddled as close to the wall as he could, he wrapped his arm back around his knees.
Can't sleep, no I'm not tired, nope not at all...not tired, ...can't sleep. Sam...pl-please find me man, you know I don't beg but...I-I don't know how much longer I can hold out.
Sam's eyes shot open to the stained ceiling over him, he quickly leaned up in the motel bed with a gasp making the springs creak under him.
He scrubbed a weary hand down his face, Sam was covered in a cold sweat, his T-shirt was soaked and clung to his skin. He put both of his hands over his eyes and sighed through them, he glanced over to the digital clock on his right.
2:44 a.m.
He huffed.
Only two hours of sleep...
Sam turned his body to the side of the bed so his legs were over the edge.
His large feet hit the carpeted floor, he stretched his arms and back slowly getting up out of the low mattress. Sam turned to his right to the bathroom, he flicked up the light switch with his finger instantly squinting his eyes from the intensity of the bulbs light. He walked up to the porcelain sink when his pupils adjusted and turned the squeaky knob for the cold water.
Sam leaned forward and cupped his hands together under the flowing liquid, he splashed it on his face sending a small shock to his body, waking him up. Clear water trickled down his chin as he straightened his back to look up into the mirror over the bleached white sink. His chin had stubble growing faster than he thought, he rubbed his fingers over the sides of his jaw...it was scratchy and rough to the touch.
I can shave later...s'not too bad...Sam thought to himself.
He turned back out of the small bathroom to the dark motel room and heavily footed to the kitchen area.
The room had fairly good appliances for the price, anyway all he used mostly was the coffee maker on the counter, which he was going to make good use of right now.
Sam had later cut on the light as the coffee brewed in the machine...
Sam sat down at the small kitchen table staring at the map and books laid across it in front of him. Red dots covered a large amount of the dried up crankily paper of the map.
He brought the white mug to his lips and swallowed two large gulps of the sweetened warm liquid. He set the mug back down on the light wood table with a 'clunk'. Sam leaned back into the chair that was moderately comfortable with an angry puff of air out of his mouth. He tilted his head to the side to release the twinge of pain in his neck.
A few hours later...
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap...
Sam tapped his red sharpie against the light cracked wood...since the coloring was a pale bamboo color of wood it showed years of damage done to it.
Where the hell are you Dean?
Sam put the cap back on the sharpie and tossed it on the table, he stood up from the seat he was in, he needed to take a break, a headache was beginning to form behind his eyes. He went to reach for the cup but stopped half way staring at the still light brown coffee-because of the cream and sugar inside.
...Probably cold by now...
Sam Winchester walked over to the window next to the front door and peeked through the dusty shades, the sun was peering up in the horizon creating a purple-ish pink and blue hue to the sky. The impala sat in the parking-lot across from the motel room, almost alone, only two cars were left, not including the impala. An old rusty blue truck and large van was out there.
Dean would have probably called it a 'Soccer mom's car', a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.
...Don't worry, Dean I'll find you, no matter what, whoever took you will pay...I'll make sure of it. The muscles in Sam's jaw clenched.