Author's note: Sorry for any grammar mistakes. I'm not perfect. Please review if you want another chapter

"Will you stop treating me like a kid?" I scream at Dean's face.

Dean didn't look affected as he locked the doors of the impala. He left the car and wandered into the woods alone. He thinks keeping me locked in a car will keep me safe. Psht what does he know?

I'm 12 years old. I'm fully capable of taking care of myself, but try to tell Dean and my dad that.

They always leave me in the car while they go hunt. Might I add that this car is super hot.

Suddenly, all of the doors unlock with a click. I look outside to see nobody there. Maybe Dean unlocked them and went back to the woods.

I hesitantly opened the door and got out of the car. Dean would kill me if he knew that I disobeyed his orders, but what he doesn't know won't kill him.

"Dean?" I yell just to make sure he's not here.

I listen closely to hear anything that might give him away. I stretch my arms and lean against the Impala. The fresh summer breeze caresses my face. This is nice.

A man's voice comes out of nowhere, "Well well well. What do we have here? Sam Winchester is it?"

My head snaps to the left as I see an older man in his 40s. He has gray streaks throughout his hair that makes him look 50. He looks like a normal person.

I gulp and say scarcely," Uh…yeah."

I reach in my back pocket and slip out my knife unnoticed. Please let Dean come.

I look back and forward in the woods to see any signs of Dean or Dad. Oh crap what did I get myself into?

He saunters towards me like a piece of meat while saying confidently," There's something special about you Sam."

"There is?" I play along.

"I know how you feel. Your brother and father treat you like a child. You deserve so much better. Come with me and I'll be a better father than he'd ever be. You can eat whatever, whenever you want. No more moving from hotel to hotel. Nobody will boss you around. You'll live a normal life. I'll treat you like my son." He declares enticingly.

He goes up to me and looks down. I try to muster up confidence as I stare straight into his eyes.

"What do you say Sammy?" He holds out his hand freely.

I'm not going to lie, I wanted to go with him, but it sounded suspicious. Every fiber in my body was drawn to his enticing offer.

I sparingly put my hand in his. He smirks with pride. I quickly grab my knife and stab it in his chest. He takes a step back shockingly and pulls the knife out. I almost cringe. Great he can't die.

"Tsk tsk. That's too bad." He looked hurt.

I step back as far as the impala would let me go. He thrusts the knife into my shoulder. I feel it before I can see it. White hot pain throbs through my body. I instantly double over.

His eyes gleam bright as I cry out in pain.

"Dean! Dean!" my voice dryly calls.

"Yell out again and I'll do much worse than stab you," his calmness dissipates.

"DEAN!" I yell louder.

My courage deceives me as he leant down and put his hand on my head.

I try to pull away, but I'm too weak. Every movement causes me more pain. Blackness curls around my vision. What is he doing to me?

My eyes get heavier and heavier. Before I know it, I'm in my own personal hell.

Dean's P.O.V.

"Dad there's nothing here." I say wanting to get back to the car.

He orders," Okay I'm going to go to the police station, you drive Sammy back to the motel."

I sigh while grabbing my gun. I follow the trail back to the car. Sammy is probably pissed. Great now I have to deal with him pouting the rest of the week. I do feel bad for him, but his safety is more important than anything.

As I see the car coming into view, I also see a broken Sam lying on the ground with blood everywhere.

I almost collapse right there. This image would haunt me forever. Sam's face contorts with pain. A man in a suit stands over him.

I hold up my gun and aim it at the mysterious man while yelling, "Get away from him!"

He looks up curiously at me, but doesn't move.

Sam cries, "Dean! Help me! Please stop!" he's oblivious that I'm here.

I want to hold him and tell him that it was going to be okay. He looks so fragile and weak. Oh god…it's all my fault. I shouldn't have left him in the car. I should've been more careful.

"What are you doing to him? Stop it!"

"Oh I'm giving him what he needs…pain. Just imagine the worst kind of hell that makes you feel like you're in there for days targeting your fears, then times that by 1,000." He ended his sentence with an evil laugh that would make any grown man cry.

I pull the trigger and the bullet lands near his heart. He didn't even flinch.

"You hunters…so typical. I'll be back for him" He rolled his eyes while snapping his fingers. He disappears within a blink of an eye.

Sam stops writhing in pain and his eyes flutter open. He looks around clueless. He has no idea where he is.

"Sammy you okay?"

The second he sees me, he breaks out in tears. Poor Sam. In an instant I'm there giving him a hug.

He breaths in gasps. His whole body is shaking with fear. Overall, you could say he looked like crap.

"Hey, it's going to be okay, I promise. Let's get out of here." I say warily. He doesn't respond to my words so I pick him up and carry him to the car. I gently set him down in shotgun and notice a deep gash in his shoulder. It's bleeding continuously.

I can tell he's sleeping by his soft snores.

What am I supposed to do? He'll never be the same. I just hope he's okay.

The bleeding won't stop in his shoulder and the cut looks pretty deep. I put pressure on it as I drive way over the speed limit. Sam looks paler and paler the more blood that comes out. I don't want to wake him up. He'll feel pain.

I pull up to the motel and pick up Sam gently, but fast. I try not to move too much as I slam the door open. I lay him on the bed and run for the Winchester first aid kit. I pull his shirt off and prepare the needle.

I really don't want to hurt him, but I wake him up anyway, "Sammy? Wake up."

His eyes sluggishly open, ready to drop again. His weaken state makes me want to throw up. Guilt drowns me, but I have to focus on saving Sammy.

"I'm just going to fix you up, "I try to ease his clueless look.

After countless whimpers and protests from Sam, I put him to bed. Dad is usually the one who patches up Sam. I feel sick to my stomach when I start to clean up the blood. I can smell the salty bitterness in the air.

Dad's going to have a cow when he comes home. Speaking of him, I pick up my phone to call him. I am so dead. I was supposed to protect him. There are no words Dad could say to hurt me as much as I'm hurting myself.