Sam
I shoot through the blinding snow, the blizzard becoming more unbearable by the second. The hard biting cold of the wind stings my face as I run head first, nearly falling several times due to the numbness that's taken over the nerves from my mid calves, down. The only sounds I hear (above the rush of blood in my ears), are the ripping of the wind and my labored breathing escaping from my chapped, frozen lips. I try to squint ahead searching for some source of light - a light that signals hope, or an eternal savior - but I can see nothing of the sort.
I've already firmly decided I wouldn't give up hope; Dean would hate me for that. Thinking of him now, I can already imagine his face scrunched up in disapproval and pinched with rage as I slump back inside, having been missing for hours (and on his watch, too). Surely Dean wouldn't hate me for too long, especially since we'll be cooped up together in the two room motel room for who knows how long.
In attempt to grasp some direction or landmarks, I lift my head more and force my eyes open, the snow flying at me like miniature bullets piercing my skin and sticking to any hair or clothing visible. I scream furiously as the snow wedges its way into my eyes, causing me to dip my head down and tuck the majority of it into the lip of my thin jacket. I knew I should have put a heavier coat on like Dean had ordered me to do, yet I escaped the motel room without one, thinking I would be just fine. Look at me now, though - can't even find my way back whatsoever.
Eventually I come to a shivering halt at the top of surely many rolling hills and fall to my weak knees. I can't take this anymore. I'm going to be forever lost in a whirlwind of this winter horrorland. For now there's just too many factors holding me back - the snow so deep I can barely stumble through it on my short legs, the coldness chilling every inch of me and turning me into a complete 'samsical' - everything.
With these in mind, a darker thought crosses the threshold - this may be my final stand against life and death; both things yanking on me back and forth like a rag doll. They both want me, but it seems like death might want me more. What a pitiful, depressing story I'll make when Dean and Dad come searching and find my frozen body here in this desolate spot. If there's any hidden irony I'll never find do to my departure in this story, it would be that the motel is just over this hill - or I simply will never be found.
As I listen to the snow screaming at itself around me, I slowly feel the darkness starting to close in on me, even though I certainly don't feel ready to leave. Of course, I want the pain to stop and the darkness to turn into peaceful light. But God damn not like this - especially since I feel like I still haven't accomplished anything. I'm not sure what it is, but there's this terrible nagging feeling deep inside of me that says "get up and keep moving". Maybe it's the darkness telling me it just doesn't want me right now.
I picture Dean rolling his eyes and calling me a dramatic.
"You always overthink everything, Sammy. Lighten up and get over it." is what I'm fairly certain he'd say at this point.
Opening my eyes again, I little by little begin to realize the snow is letting up and the wind isn't as brutal as before. Small pockets of relief are released from my mind in the form of a long awaited puff of breath, echoing into the snowy parade dancing around me, calming and soothing me as I attempt to lift myself up. My arms shake and I almost collapse again. Come on, I think to myself with focused determination, you can do this - show this bastard of a blizzard who's boss. Eventually I'm able to stand again, and resume dragging my feet in front of me through the icy mounds of white shit, step by step. The wind tries to push me back, but I persevere, determined nothing will stop me now. I can't see the sky or the sun's position, but either way, I have to make it back before dinner - Dean will kill me if I'm not there.
Dean
Dad's going to kill me.
I knew letting Sam out for a short walk was the worst decision I've made in a long time (and there have been plenty close runner-ups), but I couldn't say no to those stupid puppy dog eyes. I should've gone with him...or I would've if weren't sick as a dog.
It hadn't been that hard for him to convince me to let him out, now that I think about it. Were our roles reversed he probably would've done the same, knowing how long he'd been trapped in here with the ill. It gets to you. Even still... I shouldn't have opened that door for him. I should've encouraged him to put more on - been more forceful about it. I should've shot down his idea first thing before it turned into a plea.
But now he's missing, and what I should have done, could have done, and most certainly would have done, have become what I didn't do, and what I hope to not repeat in the future.
"Sammy...where are you?!" I whisper worrisomely at the foggy window, periodically rubbing it clear to see out into the chasm of greyish white. I peer through in hope to spot a shaggy mop of brown hair crazily dancing in the perilous wind, an arm shielding the face from the snow shooting around like insects. His clothes would be whipping about his skinny body, which they are unwillingly attached to, craving more than anything to be set free. I would do my best to slam the door open and meet him halfway, and I would tug him willfully into the warmth of the dry motel room. I would keep him safe.
Sam
I hope Dean is safe.
I probably shouldn't have left him there so defenseless and alone (especially in his state). I guess I've always assumed he's -invincible-big-brother who has always protected me, so the thought of him being in harm's way rarely crosses my mind. It is a possibility, though, and it upsets my stomach.
Just as I'm about to give up again (because I must be honest with myself and abilities to continue on), I spot a yellow light in the distance. It's faint yet warms my heart and boosts my confidence, and I crack a grin as I plow through the snow with newfound courage. The closer I get to it, the faster my heart beats, and the more forceful the butterflies in my stomach slam against my chest.
"I'm coming, Dean."
_?_-==-_-=_=-!_-=-_-=-_
Dean
I silently pray that Sam is near, as I reluctantly turn away from the window and switch the TV onto local news station.
"-an was last seen in the Clover Hill area in a black 1968 Ford pickup truck with one headlight out. He is to be considered dangerous and should not be approached. If you have any information on him or his whereabouts, please contact your local Crime Stoppers at the number on the screen." I frown with worry - we're in Clover Hill. What if that man somehow finds Sam before he can find his way back? The thought clenches my stomach and I take a step back, falling onto the couch behind me.
What am I supposed to do?! I can't go out there in this state...I'd put both of us in danger. The image of Dad busting into the room with Sam cradled in his arms, blue and lifeless as a corpse, doesn't ease my mind any more than the first idea, but getting Sam back is what matters. If I have to factor Dad into the equation to make everything work out, whether he's pissed about it or not, is a chance that I'm going to have to take.
Sighing, I lean over to the side table and pick up the spiral corded phone, taking a deep breath before slowly typing in his current emergency phone number. It rings for a few long tones before it clicks and a gruff "Hello?! Who is this?!" answers indignantly on the other end.
"Dad? It's Dean. I-"
"Dean? What the hell, buddy, I told you only to call my normal cell. You're damn lucky I just got into the Impala when I heard this phone going berserk. What is it?" I gulp and take a beat to steady my breathing before answering.
"Dad, Sammy went outside for a walk and hasn't come back. It's snowing really bad out there and I'm stuck inside sick as a dog - I'm sorry to ask you for this Dad. If you think I should immediately head out to look for him I will - I just figured I'd be more trouble than I'm worth in my state and you aren't too far away so I was just wondering-" I continued to stutter on, not knowing when to stop until I heard Dad clip my name.
"Why would let him walk out in the middle of a blizzard in the first place, Dean?! And by himself?! He may be 13 but that doesn't make him an adult! And you better be kneeling over the toilet right now if you're so sick you can't set it aside to go looking for him. We're going to have a long talk about all of this when I get back with Sam." he finishes, his breathing heavy through the phone earpiece. After a brief and suffocating silence passes between us, he hangs up, the click sharp and causing me to cringe.
"Yes, sir." I answer meekly in spite of myself, unsure of what to do now. Do I lean out the door and shout Sam's name until the cows come home? Or better yet, him? The conflicting decisions eat me up inside until I let out a furious growl and bury my face into the dusty cushion next to me. It smells of beer and BO, and a destructive avalanche of coughing erupts from my swollen throat when I pull away from it. After coughing into my hands, I pull back and notice blood swimming with mucus and sweat on my palms.
Cursing, I stumble from the couch and into the bathroom, nearly running into several pieces of furniture and a wall as my vision becomes blurry.
"Fuck, what's happening to me..." I hiss as I try to balance myself with the sink. My reflection in the faucet grimaces back at me, and when I look up into the filthy mirror I see a creature that couldn't possibly be me. Its pallid skin drips with sweat, its bloodshot eyes bulge, the veins in its neck seem larger and are visibly pumping much too fast - too much blood going everywhere. My vision is flooded with black dots and I rush to the open toilet with the urge to puke so much it'd be easier to simply turn me inside out.
A single thought rung out among the chaos I had suddenly leapt into, and it couldn't be filled with more malice.
I hope you're happy now, Dad.
_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_[WARNING: this scene gets pretty gnarly so I'll corner off where you may not want to read if you feel uncomfortable with sexual abuse]_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_-_
Sam
As I get closer to the light I realize it's a truck. There's a man in the cab, a conductor's cap pulled down over his bearded face as a universal sign for 'I'm sleeping, leave me alone' (a sign I've seen played many times when Dad is propped up on the couch or in the back seat of the Impala when Dean is driving). Any other time I'd let him be, but no matter the intensity of the snow it will still be colder than ghost's ass out here, and I'm not going to let this chance of warmth and safety slip by without me having to do or say something about it first.
Approaching the driver's side with caution, my hand at my back pocket where I always keep my switchblade when I go out anywhere, I tap with summoned confidence on the window. My hand is an ugly and sickly shade of violet, and my knuckles are white when they rap against the frigid glass.
The man inside jolts awake, his eyes bulging and the engine revving as he momentarily panics. I step back in fear of getting ran over or slammed backwards if he decides to throw the door open too, but when he catches sight of me bundled in nothing but a like jacket with a nose redder than Rudolphe's, he grins and rolls the window down a bit.
"Whatcha doin out here, kid?! Cold as fuck - you could get frostbite dressed like that!" the man looks me over, a strange glimmer in his eyes that I assume to be what any caring old guy would do when he sees a kid shivering in the middle of a blizzard. But something is still off about it, and my warning signals go off.
"Well, I was hoping you could maybe give me a ride - see I went for a walk and then this blizzard come out of nowhere, and now I can't find my way back to the motel my sick brother and I are staying at!" I'm forced to yell over the scream of the snow whipping by, its fierceness seeming to pick up the longer I simply stand out here and talk. The man rubs his beard between his greasy fingers, still looking me over almost hungrily, and as soon as he nods and waves for me to hop in, every fiber of my being screams for me to turn and run until I can no longer see the light that I'd once thought as to be a given saviour.
Instead, I nod with a somewhat merciful grin and slowly trudge to the passenger side. God, I hope this doesn't bite me in the ass, I think over and over as I tug the door open, it letting out a shrill squeak that lasted until I got it open enough to get in. Closing it behind me, I suddenly feel trapped.
Why am I doing this!? I was probably so damn close to the hotel...what if we're sitting just down the road from it!? I'm so screw-
"So what's your name, kid?" the man asks, interrupting my flurry of panicked thoughts and startling me for a moment, my eyes wide as I watch him eying me. Something is not right here.
"Uh, Sam. What's your's?" I ask in trade, heart rate skyrocketing when the man sets his hand on the section of seat between us. He grins.
"Thomas. But you can call me Tom." he answers with a sly grin as he leans closer, and I grab for the door handle. I feel his large hand wrap around my arm, tight but not bone crushing, and he jerks me away from my escape route, using his other hand to twist my head around to face him.
"Where are you going? It's cold out there and there's no point in hurrying off. I've been needing some company." he pouts and I grimace.
"Let go of me." I answer in disgust, a sliver of trepidation hiding behind my confidence. I have to be strong, like Dean. He would kick the guy in the nuts - actually he wouldn't have gotten in in the first place; he isn't as street stupid as me. Dad would tell me 'you got yourself into this, now you gotta get yourself out'. He wouldn't be wrong.
"Well, didn't your folks ever teach you not to talk to strangers, boy?" I squirm under his grasp, a frustrated growl rumbling in my throat, "Ah ah ah, you're here now, aren't you? Hell, you want a ride? I'll give ya a ride." he purrs menacingly, wrapping a hand around my throat as he pushes me down against the cold material of the seat. He crushes my thin legs between his own, making it impossible for me to kick at him.
************heeeereee************
Once he's gotten a good grip on me he reaches down towards his pants and starts to undo his belt, and true fear sets in. I scratch at the arm forcing me down but even when it starts to bleed, he shows no signs of giving way. Soon his belt is off and I feel like an animal in the jowls of its predator - a predator that likes to play with its food before eating it.
He's pulling his jeans down now, and I suddenly remember the knife in my pocket again. If I can just reach that- his dick is already hardened and looks diseased and sick.
He starts on my pants, having trouble with one of my bitchiest belts I've ever owned. I've always hated it because it's really too small for me and the last holes are still small from its previous owner having never used them. I used to hate wearing it, but now it's about to aid in saving my life.
I lift up slightly as if trying to help - like I've given up - and he smiles, starting to make headway with the belt when I reach back behind me and quietly pull the switchblade out like it's a lifesaver and I'm in the middle of the ocean drowning...drowning.
Just as I flick it open I feel him yank the belt away, and I know it's now or never. I'm frozen for a split second, my nerves shot to hell and unsure of what to do next even though my mind is screaming instructions right and left. Time is moving like a train speeding out of control, doomed to careen off the tracks unless I save it - save myself. It isn't until I feel my dick break out into the cold air NO FUCK NO and my alarms burst inside my head as he leans forward and wraps his tongue around the tip NONONONONONO when I bring the blade up from my back (accidentally cutting my side in the process) and slam it down into the skin just over his heart with an ear splitting scream. I swiftly yank it out and stab him again...and again...and again. Over and over I stab and slice at him, tears water-falling from my eyes faster and heavier than they have for as long as I can remember.
********he[In the long run, Sam overpowers him and stabs him several times with his switchblade after nearly getting raped. He nicked himself in the side of the stomach with the blade on accident in the process.]re********
I know he's either close to or is dead when he slumps over on top of me, blood leaking from his mouth like even his insides hated him. I scream at his lifeless form and shove it off me and mostly into the floor. Blood covers nearly every inch of both the cab and me, the cut on my side only accounting for 3% of that amount. I tuck everything back in and pull my belt back on, my vision so blurry it takes me a few minutes.
Once it's been done (and I've fashioned a bandage from my undershirt over my surprisingly fairly deep cut), I sit in the fetal position with my back against the passenger side window, my arms wrapped tight around my legs. I allow myself to sob and cough and scream as loudly as I want. Dean isn't here to hold me and tell me everything will be OK, so I have to do it for myself, which will take some time getting to.
I've probably been sitting here for an hour or two now, sniffling and carrying on like my family had just been killed. I could have just been killed. Or worse. I do my best to shove the whole incident from my mind, never daring to even look down in the man's direction. He's nothing but some crusty dirt from another person's boot which they carelessly scraped on the driver's side floor mat. Nothing more.
I stare out the windshield instead, barely able to see through my watery eyes. I can make out the silhouettes of pine trees in the distance, their figures like bystanders wondering what happened, but not caring or curious enough to come and ask or console me. They just stay where they are, their invisible judging eyes never able to wrench themselves away from my violated spirit. Another sob racks my chest and I bury my face in my hands, as I switch into the questioning phase from my traumatic event.
How could so much happen in the span of a few minutes? How could I have been so damn gullible to get into this god forsaken truck with that...creep-sicko-twisted-ass shitter? What's wrong with me? Maybe I deserved what I was supposed to get..
The guilt is never ending - it shouldn't affect me, but it does. It's relentless.
Just as I'm about to scream at myself this time, I see headlights slowly approaching in the distance. They're low and hold a form of familiarity. Once closer, my eyes brighten and I practically dislocate my shoulder from slamming the door open with such unbridled excitement and relief.
Now out in the cold again I start shivering almost immediately, but don't allow it to hinder me from stumbling out into the road to catch who I know it is' attention. I wave my arms over my head and the Impala stops a few feet away. I can see Dad's surprised though grateful face through the windshield just before he puts it in park and wrenches the door open.
"Sammy! What the hell are you doing way out here!? Dean called and said you-" I cut him off by slamming into him with a tight hug, sobs releasing themselves as if they hadn't been for the past hour or so.
"Come on, get in the damn car before you freeze to death - wait, are you bleeding?! Shit, Sammy, come on get fucking in the car! We'll get you back and fixed up OK?!" he's forced to shout over the constantly howling wind, concern clear in his gruff voice. I nod and climb in through his already open door and over into the passenger side, my body still shaking furiously - both from the cold and my sobbing. I just want to be warm. I just wish that the last five hours of my life never happened, and I'd never asked Dean to go on a quick walk because who fucking walks around anywhere anymore. Not me.
"Here - try to keep warm until we get back, alright, Sammy?" he pulls his jacket over my scrunched body as I pull in tight to conserve body heat. I mutter a quiet thank you and he grunts in response. He's never been great at even the simplest of pleasantries - at least not with Dean and me. Typically he's all business, which suits me just fine since I'm fairly certain my teeth would chatter themselves out of my mouth and into tiny pieces on the floor if I'm to say anything more.
The rest of the drive back to the motel is silent as Dad maneuvers the Impala through the thick clumps of snow. I'm extremely surprised it can make it through such harsh weather conditions, but it seems like it always pulls through for us. I lean my cheek against its soft worn leather, the seat back smelling of whiskey and...Dean. He'd been the last one to ride in this seat with Dad when he'd dropped us off at the motel a day or so ago. I begin to feel guilty again about leaving him alone there, but feel a little better knowing I'm headed back to him.
Time edges by, and eventually we make it to the motel in one piece (though there were several moments when the Impala lost its footing and slid a little, causing Dad to hiss a few curse words and slowly ease it back into place). By now I'm aching to see Dean - tell him how sorry I am, reassure him that I'm alright, that nothing happened. I guess theoretically nothing did happen, in the sense that sure I was violated a little, but obviously I handled it (still am). If anything he will be proud of me. Dean is good about seeing the best out of bad situations.
As we enter the motel room I call out for Dean, my voice timid and childlike in my ears, not ringing true to be mine. A few moments go by before a subtle groaning noise comes from the bathroom. "Dean!? DEAN!" we find him up against the wall next to the toilet, puke wading in the toilet with strings of blood.
"Oh, Dean." I sigh as Dad cusses behind me and grabs a cloth from the rack and starts wetting it with cold water. We can't ever seem to catch a break.
Hey guys :3
So I've been putting more thought into my writing (haha riiiight) and reading a lot of other non pairing fanfics because I honestly value the boys' relationship more than any otp. That's just me. It's kind of easier to write? I dunno. I hope you'll enjoy this one though.
There's only going to be a couple more chapters to this, seeing as I've written so much in just one. I'm not sure spreading it out among several chapters (like I've done in the past) is the best option for this, so we'll see how the ball rolls. :)
Thanks for reading and please comment and stuff! It really boosts my confidence when I find people actually like what I write. Ha. And I know this one has some parts in it that are quite uncomfortable to read (it was awkward for me to right as well), but I feel that the more real situations the boys are put through, the more lifelike they (the characters) become. [It's like comparing animations from the 50's to today.] Sometimes it's grounding to put your characters through things that could happen to any person in reality.
Well, I've been rambling and I'm sure no one is actually reading this, but pink flamingos I can scream as loud as I want on this broken kiddy ride.
Love you guys and thanks again :)
~Carrie