Disclaimer: I don't own them, but that'd be cool if I did!
Hello everyone!
I haven't seen this story done on here, but I haven't looked everywhere yet . . . so I thought I'd give it a try!
Enjoy:
Hold on Sammy!" Dean yelled, holding onto his brother's hand for dear life. He was watching in horror as Sam was being forcefully dragged underneath the old motel room bed.
The night had been like any other; the brother's were driving around looking for trouble. They hoped to find a job soon, Dean kept on bitching about how he was going to get rusty just sitting around and not pulverizing demon's and ghosts. Then he wouldn't be prepared to save Sam's butt if he got into trouble, which would most certainly happen.
And on this journey to no-where's-ville, Dean had kept on shooting looks over to his baby brother. He was getting kinda worried, Sam wasn't usually thisĀ quiet he'd usually be bitching about not wanting to listen to Metallica, or something like that. Today the youngest Winchester just stared off at the road. When the older Winchester actually got the nerve to ask his baby brother what was wrong, he didn't get an answer that he liked.
"I have a . . . weird feeling. Like something is about to happen," the younger Winchester had whispered. Now was not the time for a migraine, he had to be alert, because if he wasn't prepared for the worst, then him and Dean would surely be screwed.
Knowing that when his brother got the heebie-jeebies, and that his feeling was nothing short of a premonition, Dean pulled off the road at the next crappy motel.
Later, Dean had been taking a shower, while Sam tried to get a decent night of no nightmare filled dreams. A loud holler that sounded very much like Dean's distressed little brother had sounded, and he was off.
He'd come dashing into the room to find his baby brother clawing at the cheap carpet trying to stop whatever it was that was grabbing him and trying to pull him under the bed.
The hand that was holding onto Sam's ankle was huge and deeply scarred. "Dean! A little help would be nice!" Sam shouted, trying to cover his feeling of fear.
Just a few minutes ago, Sam was ready to play in dreamland. As he began to nod off, his eyes had locked on this weird glowing coming from under the bed. He had gotten down on his hands and knees to check it out, and the next thing he knew a huge hand clasped onto his leg and began dragging him under the old bed.
Dean had rushed over and began trying to drag Sam out to relative safety. Damn thing was super-human, or better yet, super-dead. It's vice grip held strongly, making Dean scream obscenities.
As the minutes passed, and the two brothers fought hard to get the hand to loosen it clutch on Sam's leg. Dean had been too afraid of severely hurting Sam's leg to try and shoot the hand with his pistol; he just yanked and kept slamming his fist down upon the bigger one.
He'd noticed that Sam wasn't fighting as hard as he was a few minutes ago, and that bothered him. Sam could easily stave off a poltergeist for hours at a time, but now this . . . thing was draining all his energy. He was feeling queasy, making him hope his stomach would keep its contents inside for a few more minutes.
What the hell was this thing? If he'd known in the first place, he would have already taken care of it. But he didn't recognize anything specific about this entity. Lot's of things his in closets . . . and under the bed.
Sam struggled to hold his head up; he didn't understand why he was so lightheaded. It was indeed odd, because Sam hadn't been that tired and he hadn't put up much of a fight against this . . . thing, so that ruled out exhaustion. Maybe this thing had the power to drain life from its victims. If that were the case then . . . crap.
"Sammy? Can you hear me?" Dean's bold voice asked him. Sam crinkled his nose in confusion; his brother actually sounded worried. The younger Winchester's head swam, and he didn't understand the situation.
"I'm still here," he gasped out. His chest was tightening as if someone was crushing his lungs; they were stealing his breath. "Dean, get it off of me . . . I can't breathe!" Sam begged.
Now there was something Sammy never did, Dean thought sadly. Time was running thin. Both brothers were sweating heavily, and they could hear the angry cry's of whatever was under the damned bed.
"Eeeek!" the thing shrilled. Dean had to fight from trying to cover his ears; he had never heard something so freaking loud. If he were to let go and cover his ears, the thing would pull Sam under the bed and do god-know-what to him. He realized then that Sam was holding his hands over his ears and had his eyes clenched shut, and then began sluggishly dipping forward on the carpet.
"Sam, listen to me . . . hold on, I can't drag your dead weight. Come on Sammy, open your eyes!" Dean pleaded. There was no way in hell he could do this alone. Sighing with relief when Sam shook his head vigorously and started pulling forward again, Dean swallowed his panic.
Sam was fighting, that he could say truthfully. Screw panic, he was in the middle of a full-blown hyperventilation attack. And that fight, he was losing. "Dean . . . I can't, I'm gonna be sick," Sam muttered right before he threw up all of his stomach's contents.
He heard his brother curse. Then vividly heard the door swing open, and then the shocked question. "Dad?" Damn, Dean sure sounded surprised. Sam wanted to badly wake up from this nightmare . . . cause that's what this was right? It couldn't be real right? Dean would have gotten him out of this mess by now. Not to mention his father was too much of a coward to show his face around the two again.
More curses, and Sam's leg was jostled. He didn't hear the leg snap, but he sure as hell felt it. He didn't even recognize his voice when he screamed out in both pain and fear. His voice sounded hoarse, and it tickled his throat sending him into a coughing fit.
"I'm here Sammy, just hold on a bit longer okay?" Sam smiled softly; it had to be his dad. Not another man in the entire world could make him relax like that.
When his leg was pulled again, the lightheadedness that he had pushed repeatedly away finally settled in. That was the last straw. Goodbye consciousness, Sam thought sadly. Just a dream, just a dream, you'll wake up, and you'll be safe.
As the room began spinning and he felt oddly warm, he realized that the thing was winning. His knees were now under the bed, encompassed in the bright light.
Sam hated the shouting! Back and forth, voices begging him to stay awake, he just wanted it all to stop. Just let him sleep. Every conscious thought was leaving him, and he let his body slump into someone's arms, then yanked angrily from behind.
The youngest Winchester didn't even know he was being pulled further under the bed. He just let his eyes slip shut, and thanked his consciousness for leaving him to dwell in the darkness.
Ah yes, sleep.
