It was hot, maybe a little wet. It was definitely tight. Sam groaned and shifted, trying to find a better fit, but he soon gave up, panting. There was no way this could ever be comfortable.
"Don't give up yet, Sammy," he thought he heard Dean's voice say.
"Too big," he moaned. "Won't fit."
"That's what she said," he thought he heard Dean again, but as he grew more aware, he realized he was all alone.
Consciousness came to him slowly. His limbs were already starting to go numb from lack of circulation and there was a tight band around his chest, preventing his lungs from expanding fully. He let his head drop fully onto the hard surface just inches in front of his face and felt himself drifting off again.
"Hey, what did I say about giving up?" Sam groaned. It figured that, even though he was by himself, he still couldn't get Dean's voice out of his head.
In an effort to make Dean shut up, Sam bit his lip, hard, the taste of the blood and the pain shocking him back into awareness. It didn't really help. He still had no idea where he was. It was made of wood, as far as he could tell. It was also definitely not created for someone of his height and build. He spat and since it didn't spray back in his face or sit puddled on the wood in front of him, he determined he was standing upright. His head was crammed tight up against the top and his feet were losing circulation from being jammed against the bottom. He tried to crouch a little more, but his knees were right up against the wall and he couldn't bend any more. He tried to feel around for a door or any way out, but his arms were pinned tight to his sides and he couldn't really feel his fingers anymore.
He racked his brains to figure out what they had been hunting. It hadn't been anything insane, just a few disappearances. They had almost been ready to write it off as natural. They were even planning on leaving town the next day.
A sour feeling welled up in the pit of Sam's stomach, spreading through out his entire body, tingling, deadened limbs and all. It took him a while to recognize it, but the feeling was pure panic. He tried to breathe deeply, trying to keep calm and not freak out, but within moments he was struggling hard, bruising his limbs against the unyielding surface of the wood. He struggled until he was too weak to move and then the panic was overwhelmed by a wave of nausea. Sam fought even harder against this feeling, but the air was already growing stale and nothing could stop the flood of vomit that was forcing its way up his throat.
He had the presence of mind to crane his head as far away from it as possible to keep from aspirating it. Some of it found cracks between his body and the wood, but most of it stayed pooled on his chest. The smell was rank and the very thought of it kept him heaving long after his stomach was empty. One particularly violent convulsion was accompanied by a loud snap and an excruciating onslaught of pain from his ribcage. After that point, Sam was barely coherent. All he could do was call for Dean amid the aftershocks from his trembling stomach and the urge to curl around his injured rib.
Finally, he managed to calm down. He figured it was more from lack of oxygen than anything else. In his mind, he was begging Dean to find him quickly.
He was just drifting off when a thud against the outside of the structure startled him awake. He listened, but couldn't hear anything right away. Soon his attention was taken away from what was happening outside as the chamber he was trapped in grew impossibly smaller. He would have screamed if there was any extra air available as the pressure on his chest grew unbearable.
A scream shattered his ear drums. A fire seared his retinas and stole the last bit of oxygen from the chamber and then all was silent and still.
Sam gasped for air, but he knew he was out of time. With his last bit of consciousness, he felt a rhythmic thudding below his feet and the voice of his brother. "Hang on, Sammy! Just hang on!"
.~o()o~.
It was definitely wet this time, and hot. But things were definitely different. He could breathe, well mostly. He could move and stretch out. The heat, instead of being oppressing, was drawing out the aches and pains in his muscles and bones. And there was a strong, rough pair of hands working out the knots in his calves and feet.
"Dude, if you don't stop making those noises, I will leave you here to take care of yourself. It's pretty damn near pornographic and you're making me uncomfortable," Dean's voice broke into Sam's relaxation.
Sam smiled lazily. "Says the guy who's massaging his naked little brother in the bathtub," he yawned.
"Whoa, you're gonna give me nightmares! I left your boxers on." The hands withdrew and Sam pouted until they resumed their work, this time on his neck and shoulders. "Damn spirits, trapping people in trees. How do they come up with these things? Do you have any idea how hard it is to chop someone out of a tree without accidentally gutting them? Seriously, the things you put me through, Samantha. First I'm trying to protect your lily white ass from getting chopped to bits, then out slides this sweaty pukey mess. Did I mention you weren't breathing? There is absolutely no reason I should ever want or need to know the taste of my little brother's vomit. And you should see the state of my car! I'm telling you, you are so lucky to have an awesome big brother like me. I dragged you in here, practically breaking my back, and wash you up and massage away your aches when what I really should have done was toss you in the dumpster and gone out to look for another model, one that doesn't smell so bad."
Dean kept rambling and Sam smiled, drifting off to sleep.