Title: Jigsaw

Author: Devil917

Disclaimer: I own nothing, trust me.

Summary: After a fight with his dad, Sam takes off, making him a easy and desirable target for the crazy man with a twisted game in mind.

Warning: This story will get kinda dark.

Beta: Don't have one, sorry. I feel I work quicker without one.

Author's note: Is it weird to say that this idea came to me in a dream? Because it did. Also, try not to throw something at me. I understand I have a 'post new story' disorder and I'm getting treatment for it. But in the meantime,check this out, okay?

Also, in this story, Sam's about 16 and Dean's about 20. Cool? Cool? Cool. Read on (:


Chapter One.

Sam's eyes opened slowly, blurry and unclear. Everything around him was completely distorted. He didn't know where he was, and he doesn't remember how he got there. He was on a bed. A dirty mattress and even dirtier sheets covering it. Trying to sit up was impossible, his hands were tied behind his back, keeping him immobile. Sam shivered. It was cold here. Like, air conditioning on full blast for days, type of cold.

He wasn't even sure if he was completely awake. Something just wasn't making sense to him. He didn't feel scared, he didn't feel worried, he didn't fear for his life; even though deep down he knew he should. Somehow, all his emotion had drained away, leaving him in somewhat of a robotic state. But one thing he knew for sure? He knew he had to get out of here and he had to do it quick. There was no telling what's in store for him.

Looking around the room, he tried to take as much of it as he could in. It was dark, one overhead light barely making a dent in the room. The walls were plain and made of brick. Across the room were wooden stairs that led to somewhere Sam wasn't sure of. Maybe he was in a basement? Or a warehouse? On the floor was a single red and white rug. He looked around more carefully, trying to find a window, but there wasn't any. To the right of him, though, was a video camera positioned right at him. He squinted at it. There wasn't a red light blinking. It wasn't turned on.

In that moment, Sam began to realize just what type of trouble he was in. He pulse began to speed up a little, his breathing thinned out and weak. Something was wrong. How come he can't remember how he got here? How come he can't remember anything?

-Jigsaw-

Dean pulled up to motel, and opened the door. John, was sitting at the table with his head in his hands and a disappointed look on his face. Closing the door slowly, Dean says , "Dad, what's wrong?"

John lifts his head, but doesn't answer.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asks, walking closer and taking a seat at the table.

John shook his head and raised his hands. "Don't know. He's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean. gone?"

"We got in a fight. Words were said - things that shouldn't have been said… and he left."

Dean felt his jaw drop just a little. "And you just let him go? You didn't try to stop him? You didn't go look for him?"

"Dean-"

"How long has he been gone?" Dean pushes his chair back quickly, almost tipping it over. He heads for the door grabbing his jacket. Almost instantly, John his behind him, taking hold of his arm.

John pushes the door closed. "Just wait a minute, son."

Dean could feel his eyes expand. "Wait a minute?"

Shrugging, John turns around and heads for the table again. "You know how your brother is. He's so ready to grow up. So if he wants to act like an adult, let him act like an adult. He'll come back."

Speechless, Dean walks back to the table, shaking his head. "You gonna tell me what happened with you two?"

John shrugged.

"I came home, he had an attitude. I don't know. Something was wrong with him. Before I knew it, we were yelling. Honestly, I can't even tell you what we were yelling about. Somehow, he ended up in the kitchen. We were yelling so loud, I'm surprised the cops weren't called. By then, things were really heated, and - I don't know, I-"

Dean leaned in closer, curious. "You did what?"

Running his hand across his forehead, John sighed. "I don't know what came over me, but- I hit him."

"You hit him, Dad? Really -"

John's face hardened. "I'm not proud of myself, Dean. I didn't mean to. It just- happened, okay? Then, he just left. I couldn't bring myself to stop him. Not after what I did."

Dean sat back, scratching the side of his head. He looked away, debating with himself. "I just wish you guys would stop fighting…"

John stood, walking in somewhat of a circle. "Yeah, well, you're not the only one."

-Jigsaw-

Sam wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep, but when he woke back up, he felt even worse than he did before. He felt sick. Literally sick to his stomach. His head hurt. This time, he was more alert. Just a little more aware. His heart rate was up, so was his blood pressure. The room had a slight spin on it, making his head sure even more.

There were footsteps. Heavy footsteps that crept toward him. He saw a man. He was thick, but not fat. His hair was long, down to the center of his back. The man looked crazy, like ' I've been though hell and back and now I don't care how I act' kind of crazy. That scared Sam. He tried to move back, but he couldn't.

"Finally, you're awake."

It took Sam a while to actually register the words that the man had said. He gulped, receiving a salty taste that stung his tongue and the back of his throat. He made a face. The man, took a seat next to Sam on the bed freaking him out to the highest degree. The man shushed him.

"Calm down. Just calm down, alright," the man stated very slowly. He reached out for Sam slowly, heading for his jean pocket. He rummages through them, looking for something that Sam was unsure of at the moment. Sam's mind was still too clouded for him to react properly to what's happening to him.

When the man found what he was looking for, he took his hand out of Sam's pocket.

"Bingo," he says softly. He flips Sam's cell phone over and starts going through it. He flips though the numbers and smiles when he comes to the one he's looking for. He hit's a button and presses the phone to Sam's ear.

He smiles sickly. "Say hello to Daddy."

The phone rings once… twice … three times -

"Yeah?" came a familiar voice.

Sam's quiet for a minute, trying to find his voice.

"Dad…" his voice is weak, thin. He barely recognizes it.

On the other end, John's quiet for a minute. "Sam? Sam, where the hell are you? I-"

"Dad, help me…" Sam says softly just as the phone was ripped from his ear.

"… Sam? Where the hell are you? Sam? Sam!"

The man clears his throat. "John." he says heavily.

John gulps, hearing the unfamiliar voice . He grips the phone tighter. "Who the hell are you? Where's my son?"

By now, Dean's staring at John wide-eye, hearing his side of the conversation.

"Dad?"

"I know you hear me, you bastard," John scolds. "Where's my son?"

On the other end, the man laughs.

"What the hell is so funny?"

"You," the man answers. "You've got a lot of talk for someone who's missing a child."

John swallows hard. "What do you want?"

The man smiles, looking back at Sam half-conscious on the mattress. "Do you want to play a game, John Winchester?"


So, what's the verdict? Yay or nay?