Hey all! I have been gone for a LONG time and have returned with a Supernatural fanfic. No romance stuff much really (sorry! Unless you ship Wincest then idk, hurt/comfort feels?) but basically the story is set in California, 2001 a few months before Sam Winchester leaves for Stanford he is attacked and mo-joed up by a Djinn. Inspiration for this story came from two tumblr posts where one is of comatose Sam, and Dean watching over him. The caption was "Imagine Sam getting hurt in his first hunt alone and gets hospitalised and Dean watches over him thinking that he would never let his Sammy get hurt, ever again" or something like that ? And the other was of fresh-faced Sam in tears after Bobby told him to never call him back and the caption: This is 26 year old Sam's reaction when Bobby told him to never call him again. Now imagine 17 year old Sam when his father told him to never come home after leaving for Stanford. Basically I thought it would be cool to combine the two together ina span of a year and basically this story happened!

This is my first Supernatural fic so I'm sorry if I have a few facts wrong but hope you enjoy!

ps: be sure to leave reviews or comments below 3

This is Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency, leave a message. If you're calling about 11-2-83, please page me with your coordinates.

"Damn it Dean," Sam hissed under his breath as his brother missed his call, again. He waited as the tone beeped and left yet another message. "Hey, so get this- The last victim, James Morgan, works as a construction builder at an old warehouse. The place is basically a large ruin, a perfect hiding spot for a Djinn. I'm heading there n-" The line ends.

Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair as he shoved the phone in his back pocket. He left the library in a hurry, clutching the small messenger bag.

The Winchesters had been in California for a few months now. John had gotten a lead on the thing that killed the boys' mother and Dean had kept himself busy with cases around town. Meanwhile, Sam finished his last year of school. He had just applied for Stanford University a few weeks ago, John oblivious to what he did. Of course Sam wouldn't think he'd get in, despite the fact that he topped his class in Legal Studies, he never stayed in town long enough to make a permanent life; applying for Stanford was just out of curiosity as to if he was good enough.

He was better than enough.

He hadn't told Dean yet, and he wasn't planning to seeing as he thought he wouldn't get accepted; little did he know the seventeen year old boy who wore an oversized carhartt hoodie would soon become a Stanford boy.

He dropped by the motel which they were staying in, picking up a fake ID, a gun and a few knives and shoved them into a duffle bag before he headed back out in the rusty 1997 Pontiac. He had never really gone out to hunt on his own, Dean refused to let Sam drive by himself or do anything else that could get him hurt. He always had his brother guiding him, but he wanted to prove to him and his father that he could hunt on his own without any of them protecting him.

He drove towards the warehouse, fidgeting nervously in the drivers seat as the bag filled with all sorts of things which could get him arrested, sat shotgun. As he pulled up to the edge of the warehouse he heard his phone ring and fumbled around in his bag for it before picking up. "Dean?"

"What you got for me Sammy?" His brother's voice breathed over the phone.

Sam climbed out of the seat and grabbed the bag with him, setting it down on the hood of the car. "Where the hell have you been? I tried to call you three times and you didn't pick up, and dad wasn't picking up either, I assumed that-."

"Slow down, tiger. I was with the Morgan's; the victims wife wouldn't stop offering me her grandma's 'famous apple pie' and well... Pie."

Sam rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Okay whatever, look we're dealing with a Djinn." He rummaged through the duffle and grabbed the gun before zipping the bag back up.

"A what? You say that like you're sure."

"Well I think I am. I mean Djinn's like to live in ruins and feed on the victims blood as they're being put in a dream-like state, making it out as you are living your biggest wish or fantasy. And-"

"Wait... Are you telling me we're dealing with a freakin' vampire-genie?" Dean interrupted. A smile grew in his voice. "Vamp-Genie."

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "Djinn. Look, it would make sense why the rescued victim was so low in blood but no bite mark. It wasn't a vampire and she said that she was a millionaire living in Hawaii with two corgi's and a 'backyard full of exotic animals.'" Sam laughed at the thought.

"So? She's filthy rich."

Sam dropped his hand and straightened his face, sighing exasperatedly. "Dean... Her bank account was close to empty and she lived in small bungalow in Arkansas. That doesn't really scream 'filthy rich' to me."

"Right, so you're telling me her biggest dream was to live an apple pie life in a house with a white picket fence?"

"Well what would you dream of if you wished to be rich?" Sam shrugged.

"Stripers, Sammy. A lot of them. And beers, and a new-"

"Dean. Just- If I am right then I'm gonna need your help so get your ass over here now." He threw the bag over his shoulder and budged the gate open. He stopped, furrowing his brows. "It's unlocked."

"What?"

"If there's a missing persons case then the area should be locked but the gate was open." He cocked the doghead of the gun, his hand starting to sweat anxiously as stepped onto the premises.

"Sam, just wait for me. If you are right about the Djinn then it could go after you. Just wai-"

Sam hung up and pushed his phone back in his pocket. He crept through the area, hearing a soft echo of water drops nearby. The light seeped into the warehouse through small cracks and dust circled the air. The smell of oil and rust and blood... Blood. Sam gripped the gun tighter, his heart pounding in his ears. Come on, Dean.

The sudden sound of his phone ringing made him jump. He answered, "What?"

"Samuel Winchester, I swear if you are going in without me-"

"Dean, this can't wait. The victims are being drained by the minute and if I wait for you..." He trailed off.

"Saaaaam..." A hushed voice echoed through the warehouse.

"Sammy?" Dean sounded desperate. "What was that?"

The boy gulped and brought the phone up to his ear. "It's here. I know it, Dean if you just-" He dropped the phone as he gets jerked back, being slammed against the metal structure that supported the building.

"SAM!?" Dean's voice over the phone was barely audible, despite the fact he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Sam groaned, coughing as he tried to gasp for air. He felt the blood drip from the back of his head, his mind disoriented and fuzzy. He blinked looking up at the blurry figure that stood in front of him. A man, no taller that 6ft covered with swirling tattoos all over his body towered over the boy, his hands emitted a glowing blue smoke as he came closer to Sam who tried to reach for his gun. He pushed him up against the cold wall, clutching his shirt as he pressed his hand against Sam's forehead.

"Sweet dreams, Winchester," he hushed.

The tattoos swirled up his arms onto Sam's cheeks. Images flashed before Sam's eyes; his mother, Stanford, Dean, him living a life without hunting. His eyes rolled back and he gasped quietly before his head dropped to the side and fell silent.

The Djinn stood back up, grabbing Sam by the collar of his shirt and dragged him towards the hooks, stringing the boy up like fresh meat next to James Morgan.

He went back to where Sam dropped the phone and picked it up, only to see the line was still running, and the deep breaths of Dean Winchester heaved on the other side.

"You listen to me, you son of a bitch, if you hurt my brother I'm going to rip your freakin' lungs out with my bare hands and shove it up your sorry ass, do you hear me?"

The Djinn huffed and dropped the phone, stepping over it as he went back to his dark corner, watching as the blood began to drain from Sam.

This Djinn was a rookie, an amateur, any monster or human who as so touched a hair on Dean Winchester's little brother should be afraid and trembling to their bones.

Yet this one did not.

He didn't know what the older Winchester was capable of, how many monsters he has killed in the short time which he had been hunting and how he was trained by John Winchester himself, and was the son of Mary Campbell. A generation of hunters and men of letters.

Anything that stood in the way of the two brothers should be shaking in their boots. Though there he stood, a smug grin on his face and dragging his fingers along Sam shoulders, oblivious to the fact he was less than prepared, but more than amused as he waited for Dean.