This story is set during Supernatural Season 12 between Episode 10 "Lily Sunders Has Some Regrets" & Episode 11 "Regarding Dean"

Chapter 1 Waking Up

Present Day

Sam regained consciousness with no sense of how long he had been out. It could have been days, or it could have been months. An underlying ache gnawed at his body, but his thoughts were thick and foggy, and he couldn't pinpoint where the pain was coming from. He felt as though he had been struggling forever towards wakefulness. The struggle was the thing he recalled the most – pushing and kicking to rise from the nightmare, like a swimmer escaping ocean depths. Each time he had been about to break the surface, some unseen force had dragged him under again, over and over. How many times had he been pulled back down into the nightmare?

A sudden flash of memory caused him to shrink back in alarm. Sam raised his arms defensively, his heart pounding. He remembered a blinding light, something stabbing into his arm, and then a searing pain spreading through his limbs, immobilizing him. But this time no attack came, and he lowered his arms cautiously, looking at his surroundings.

He was crouched in the corner of a room. There was no direct light, but he had no difficulty seeing. The walls and floor of the room were all of dirt. Sam blinked up at the ceiling. Wooden planks. Was he in some sort of cellar? He looked to his left and saw a filthy mattress atop a rusted bedframe. He had been lying on that bed, he realized. There were manacles hanging from the frame. He had been imprisoned on that bed. He vaguely recalled pain coursing in waves through his body. But the brief memory skittered away, lost in a gathering darkness.

Nibbling at the corner of his mind was some question that he should be asking himself – some concern that he should have. Was there someone he should be looking for? Some nameless being that was responsible for his being there? Something had been done to him. What was it? The memory bobbed again to the surface, but it was gone in an instant. The fog was creeping in from the edges of his mind, something pulling him under once more.

"No…not again…" the sound of his own voice startled Sam, but it served to push back the fog for a moment. He grasped the end of the bedframe, his other arm bracing against the dirt wall, and managed to push himself to standing. He leaned into the corner, his legs feeling dead and useless, fighting to keep himself conscious.

And then he caught the scent. It wasn't the moldy, earthen smell of the walls and floor, and it wasn't the dry, dusty boards above him. It was rich and warm, and it excited him and terrified him. His eyes darted around the room, frantically searching. His unfocused gaze found only the bed, a table and chairs, some cardboard boxes, a doorway. Nothing there was the source of the exquisite odor.

The fog in his brain was whisked away, replaced by an overriding purpose. The nightmare he had awakened from was forgotten. The questions he had about where he was were forgotten. Only one thing mattered. He had to find the source of that scent.

The gnawing pain that had awakened him now exploded throughout his body. It wasn't like the remembered pains from before. This pain did not spread through him or sweep over him in waves. Instead, it seemed to possess his body, compelling him, wringing his bones with desperate need. It pushed all other awareness from his mind.

Sam stumbled to the door. The scent was stronger there. Before him lay a hallway, and to the right he could see an opening. He staggered in that direction. A set of steps led up to a wooden hatch far above him, but that was not where the odor was coming from. His head jerked to the left. He could hear scratching, scraping noises. At the far end of the hallway was another door, this one shut, and from underneath it he could see the smallest sliver of light.

There.

Whatever was creating the scent was in that room. Pain and desire drove him forward, slamming him into the door as his trembling hands fumbled to turn the knob. Again, Sam could hear the noises from inside the room. They had grown more frantic when he had crashed into the door, and need raced through his body like an electrical jolt. The way the sound of a rat struggling excites a python – the thought flitted into his mind and then was gone.

The door was unlocked, and he finally managed to turn the knob and throw it open. Sam stood in the doorway, squinting his eyes against the harsh light of the one dim bulb that hung bare from the ceiling. On the other side of the room stood the source of that intoxicating scent – a man, chained to the wall, his arms above his head. He was turned away from the door, twisting and wrenching at the heavy bolt that held him, but he spun around when the door opened.

Sam could hear the man's heart pounding, and his gaze homed in on the man's throat. His eyes were still narrowed against the burning light, but he could see the pulse throbbing there as the man panted with exertion. He could hear the blood rushing through the veins.

Sam wasn't even surprised when his upper lip curled away from his teeth, when the fangs descended. He was long past remembering why he should be appalled. His only thought was that he had to get to the warm, rich blood that stood in front of him. The excruciating need threatened to rip him apart if he did not. The human body containing the blood was just a flimsy barrier. Sam lurched forward just as the man spoke.

"Sam? Sammy?"