Sam sighed heavily and checked his watch for the nth time, slouching in the front passenger's seat of the Impala on an isolated dirt road that led into the town of Texarkana, Texas.

Dean and Dad had just gone to look for clues ten minutes ago but the nine-year-old was already bored. He didn't want to read any of the books he'd brought with him. He wanted to go with his father and brother, hunting down werewolves in the middle of the night and saving people.

But no, instead he was forced to wait in the car, like he did every time they were on a case. Dean tried to make it seem like staying in the car was important- a respectable task- but Sam knew better. He knew that his dad and brother were worried about his asthma.

Automatically, Sam's hand went to the inhaler in the pocket of his zip-up hoodie to make sure it hadn't fallen out on the ride out here.

Opening his book again, Sam turned on his flashlight and forced himself to pay attention to the words printed on the pages.

W

Sam hadn't been reading long when the sound of an approaching car engine told him he was no longer alone of the road. Closing his book and turning in his seat, he saw dark coloured vehicle pull up behind the Impala.

Maybe its just some teenagers, Sam told himself, but he still checked his watch at the same.

Getting ready to settle back and continue reading, the nine-year old looked behind him again when he heard the sound of a car door open and close.

Am I blocking the road? Sam wondered and glanced out his window, seeing that his Dad had parked as far on the shoulder as he dared without touching the branches of the trees that bordered the road and made up a forest on either side.

Sam listened silently as the crunch of gravel came closer and closer to the Impala. His right and slid into the pocket of his hoodie and he wrapped his fingers around his inhaler.

The stranger approached the Chevy by the driver's side and what Sam saw peering in at him made his heart skip a beat and his throat threaten to close up.

The stranger was wearing a white cloth bag over their head- or maybe it was a pillowcase- with two large black holes cut out for their eyes. The stranger raised a hand and shone a flashlight in at Sam, nearly blinding him.

The boy raised his hand to shield his eyes and squinted at the figure. Was it someone trying to play a practical joke?

"Get out of the car," the stranger demanded in a rasping tone.

Sam stared at the man- or woman- and his heart began to pound, his lungs began to burn and he felt his throat squeeze just a little tighter closed.

"Get out of the car now," the stranger repeated and raised their other hand, tapping the muzzle of a pistol against the glass of the driver's side window.

Sam did as the stranger asked. He got out of the car. But not on the driver's side. He flung open the passenger's side door and bolted into the wooded area along the road as fast as he could.

Heart hammering, lungs aching, gasping for air, Sam tried to call out for his brother and father but all he could manage was a strangled squealing sound.

Terrified, certain he heard the pounding of footsteps behind him, Sam closed his eyes and pushed himself as hard as he could, stumbling and staggering over roots and rocks, wheezing for air as he did so.

Certain he would feel the pain of a bullet in his back any second, Sam dashed across a stream before slipping on a mossy rock on the bank and falling onto his hands and knees.

Gasping, unable to breathe, Sam fumbled with trembling fingers in his pockets but he couldn't find his inhaler. He'd dropped it!

Rapid footsteps approached him from behind but he couldn't see who it was in the darkness, couldn't even speak; all he could do was struggle to breathe around his airway that was rapidly swelling shut.

"SAMMY!" Dean's familiar voice shouted and Sam wanted to respond, needed to call out to his brother but bright lights were already flashing in front of his eyes and he knew it wouldn't be long until he lost consciousness.

"SAM!" John's voice joined Dean's, coming ever closer.

I need to warn them, Sam suddenly thought, through his oxygen-deprived fog; I have to tell them about the… the…

W

"He shouldn't have been exerting himself in that way," a female voice chided somewhere above Sam, "Not when his asthma is that serious."

"We told you," Dean's voice argued, "He was running away from someone."

"Who?" the female voice asked, sounding rather irritated.

"We didn't get a good look at him," John spoke up, "He took off when he saw us coming."

"Sam saw him though," Dean added, "He wouldn't have run like that if he wasn't scared sh- uh, crapless."

"Well, we'll have to see, won't we?" the female voice answered in a challenging sort of way, as though daring the two elder Winchesters to argue anymore.

Sam peeled his eyes open slowly and looked around. He was in a hospital room, with his Dad and Dean sitting on either side of him and a woman doctor standing nearby.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean smiled at his brother, "How're you feeling?"

Sam took a deep breath and although his lungs still burned, he didn't feel as though he was breathing through a straw.

"Better," he croaked, "What happened?"

"You tell us," Dean answered, "We were just coming back to the car when we saw someone by the car and then you took off running. The guy started after you but when he realized we were following he bailed."

"It was you chasing me through the trees?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded, "We called your name but you didn't stop."

Sam lowered his gaze, "M'sorry."

"Don't be sorry," John told him, "You were clearly panicking."

Sam nodded, "Yes, sir."

"So, what did happen? Why did you run out into the woods? Your brother and father both tell me you're always careful because of your asthma," the doctor asked, her arms folded across her chest.

"I saw," Sam began but then paused, "Someone came up to the car. He wanted me to get out. He had a gun and I got scared."

"What did this person look like?" the doctor asked.

"I don't know," Sam admitted, "He was wearing something over his head."

"Was it a mask?" the doctor pressed.

"Sort of," Sam told her, "It was a bag or something like that. It was white with two holes cut out for eyes."

The doctor stared at the nine-year old, the blood draining from her face as he described what the would-be killer was wearing.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes," Sam assured her, "He had a flashlight… and a gun."

Just thinking about it made Sam scared and he began breathing rapidly again. Dean, noticing this, laid a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"It's okay, Sammy," he murmured, "You're safe now."

Sam looked up at Dean, grateful for his words.

"What is it, Doctor?" John asked, "What's so important about this person with a bag over their head."

The doctor shook her head, her surliness evaporating as though with the gesture.

"If what your son says is true," she muttered, "Than that means he's back."

"Who?" Dean asked, keeping a hand on Sam's shoulder comfortingly.

"The Phantom Killer."

Author's Note:

The Phantom Killer in this story is a real person. A masked individual killed five people and injured three more during a spree that lasted ten weeks in 1946 in Texarkana, Texas. The murderer was never caught.

I hope I have dealt with this topic in a respectful manner. Please leave a review if you enjoyed this story.