TITLE: COLD LIPS, SHARP FANGS
RATING: 13+
FULL SUMMARY: John and Dean Winchester are chasing a hunt, leaving fifteen-year-old Sammy alone in a small, sleepy town a few degrees past forgotten. The young Hunter had begged, pleaded, fought with bitter words on his tongue to stay behind and finish the semester. Eventually John had lost his patience. He stormed out with Dean in tow and just drove away, leaving his youngest behind and very much alone. But it's just for a few days. What's the worst that could happen? It's quite, secluded, and Sam's a smart kid. There's only vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, banshees, dragons, vengeful spirits and wendigos to worry about. Or did I miss something? Oh, yes- the Motel is falling apart at the foundations and one of the guest seems a little. . . unusual.
WARNINGS: Hurt, injury, blood, gore and many feels
DISCLAIMER: I wish I owned the right to Supernatural :')
NOTES: I tried to express that Sam's delusional in this chapter; Blood loss, head trauma, bone fractures, supernatural complications. It will makes sense as the story progresses.
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PROLOGUE
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The rain, if anything, is insistent.
Striking cold beneath Sam's flesh and creeping under his clothes. Spreading across his skin like liquid winter. His teeth chatter and the rain seeps deeper, piercing his bones. Sam giggles, because, because did you know? It rains diamonds on Neptune. Ice feels to fuse and then replace his insides.
His fingers have long bled pale. Soaking wet jacket, jeans, and sneakers do little to keep him warm. Late November wind exhales with mumbled purrs of satisfaction. Callous and unkind in its relentless struggle with the dark, kraken-cruel clouds.
Sinless and pure as an angel's tears, each cold droplet of rain lands painfully on his exposed skin. Further numbing any lingering sensation that he may still retain. The harmonic thumping lulls Sam back to the land of the living. No longer able to hide behind the barricading façade of unconsciousness.
Sam twists blindly in an attempt to push himself upright. The world tilts sickeningly back into focus and slowly, he realises that he's lying on his front. Head pressed heavily against the cool dampness of the earth. Sam blinks sluggishly, once, twice.
A deep throbbing ruptures in his skull, through his veins. Burning. Searing. Pulsing rhythmically with the rain. A beat, a moment, and the agony that follows consumes his every thought as he withers on the ground. The onslaught from the sky continues mockingly.
The forest floor is a fortress of broken twigs and leaves. Sam snaps once again into focus and stretches his arm out, clawing into the loose dirt. With each movement, the young Hunter drags himself forward and ignores splintering feeling in his right arm. He crawls onwards single-handedly because, because there's somewhere he needs to go, something he needs to escape, someone he needs to find. Exhaustion creeps into Sam's trembling limbs like parasites, determined on feeding upon his dwindling reserves of energy.
Each insignificantly small patch of ground covered becomes a ferocious battle. It takes all his strength and Sam barely makes the distance between two closely growing trees. For some reason his right arm won't respond to his commands. It's. . . It's extremely irritating.
Breathing sharply, Sam curls in on himself. With one arm sprawling out across the forest floor at an awkward angle, beads of rain collect in his palm. Shivers wrack his body causing Sam to shake violently. Uncontrollably. It's cold, it's so damn cold. But his inside just seem to keep burning.
'Location!'
John's words bark into his ears.
Sam's eyes snap open. He tries, he truly, wholly, completely tries his hardest to focus. The rain blurs everything in his immediate vicinity as he squints to survey his surroundings.
Dirt... Leaves... Twigs... Trees...
Perhaps it takes a tad too long for Sam to clock where he is, but no one's counting. He allows his brain to mull over the information. Why Dean isn't here? Dean should be here.
Forest. Hunt. Dullahan. Headless.
Sam rests because on Venus it snows metal and rains sulphuric acid. He surrenders as his muscles lock into place. Everything crashes in one wave of memories. The young Hunter groans as he tries to grasp at the useful pieces in his mind.
'Risk!'
The word crosses Sam's jumbled thoughts in John's gruff, no-nonsense voice. He attempts to assemble the disjointed shades of vivid and hazy recollections of the past day, week? Maybe more. But those all seem long gone, washed away again in the tide of beating pain in his head and running through his blood. Swirling just out of reach and comprehension. It's cold. Way to cold to think, and certainty not about stupid hunts. Stupid monsters that shouldn't exist. That he shouldn't have to deal with in his messed-up life.
It's a fight Sam doesn't have the energy for. The wet warmth slides down the side of his face, tickling his icy skin and causing his to turn his head in reflex. A shadow just out in the dark tree line stalks closer. Barging carelessly through high evergreen branches, rippling them down like corals at low tide. Sam's fingers twitch at the sound of breaking undergrowth and heavy booted footsteps.
The dark figure looming over his exhausted, beaten body confirms his fears. The chain gripped in the black-leathered glove may be bloodied, but the double-axe head hanging on the end is sharpened and polished, so much that it shines silver in the rain.
A long, dark trench coat is soaked through. Water dripping off with nowhere else to go, but it's wearer seems less than bothered. Sam weakly makes one last attempt to struggle away. His fingers claw into the ground, trapping loose earth under his nails.
'Tag, you're it.' A male voice teases.
Sam's line of vision is limited to the heavy black army style boots striding forward, kicking up leaves in their wake. The ground breaths, free to take in rain. He watches absently as the figure stands a few feet in front of his head.
'I've got to hand it to ya kid.' He smirks and crouches down. Arms relaxingly resting on his bent legs. 'No one's given me such a run for my money in a very long time.'
The young Hunter flinches as fingers brush away his drenched hair, that had been sticking to his forehead and covering his hazel eyes. The touch is gentle, but it aggravates the gash above his right eyebrow.
'Looks pretty nasty.' He fakes sympathy, marvelling at his own handiwork. The throbbing hollows out Sam's head with pain, chipping away further at his lucidity. 'Definitely concussion.' He concludes. 'Humans are fragile like that. But then, you aren't one of them anymore.'
Poised like a cat, the monster stands up with a grace no earthly creature could manage. His muscles flex ready to deal the final blow.
'Oh well,' he sighs, circling his prey. 'It's a shame, little Winchester. I would play more, you've been most entertaining, but all good things must come to a end.'
Ignoring his hand-held weapon in favour of something more precise, the man twists his wrist. A dark blade flicks out. Once concealed under his sleeve, he now points the smooth metal at Sam's chest.
'So I can't be hanging around when daddy dearest shows up.' He smiles fondly, as if parting with a cherished friend. 'Goodbye, Sammy. It's unfortunate you were on their side.'
Blood mixtures with rain as a blade sinks deeply into flesh.
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