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The Convention: Chapter 2- The Curse

"I got you, boy."

Sam grimaced, reaching for his injured calf as a scruffy-looking man in his fifties lifted him up by his collar.

"You little shits think you can run all over my fields? You got no idea what kind of herbs I'm tryin' to grow out here. You got no consideration. Well I promise you boy, you're gonna be in for a rough night and every second of it you'll spend wishin' you never set foot on my land."

Shaking his head, Sam tried to apologize. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was your land. I'm not from here-"

The man shook him, cutting off his explanation. "Do I look stupid to you?"

Sam looked up, taking a hard look into the weathered face, the dirty beard, the gapped teeth, and the piercing blue eyes. "I'm telling the truth."

Bristol grinned and then snarled. "You're dead, boy. You're gonna die tonight."

Before Sam could respond, the man dropped him on the ground and grabbed his injured leg. Immediately, Sam tried to kick the man with his other foot, but before he could, Bristol had pulled out a gun and aimed it at Sam's head. "Don't."

Sam swallowed and remained still. Bristol pointed at the steel arrow in his leg. "Arrow went clean through. You're lucky, less pain for you."

Sam glared at the man, not understanding how the arrow going through his leg made it less painful. He hoped that one of the boys who got away had called the police…and that the police could get here before Neil Bristol killed him.

Bristol held out a tool resembling hedge clippers and Sam looked back confused. The man brought the gun forward. "Take them."

Sam did as he was told and it suddenly dawned on him what the old man expected him to do. Without waiting for the directions, Sam leaned over and used the tool to clip the arrow head off of the shaft. Somehow, he managed to do so without jostling the arrow in his leg too much. That was what the man had meant when he said it would be less painful. If the arrow head was in his leg, it would have been much more painful to get the arrow out.

"Very good, boy. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd done that before."

Sam ignored the comment, choosing to stare Bristol down before moving back to the arrow. "You have anything I can use to tie on my leg?"

A slight smirk appeared on the man's face. "Looks to me like you ain't naked."

With a pained exhale, Sam used the clippers to assist in cutting off the bottom of his pants. He needed to free the arrow and the wound from the material anyway, and it could also be used as a bandage. As Sam ripped the material into long strips, he noticed Bristol surveying him suspiciously.

All of his father's training had taught him well. When he thought about it, he wasn't even all that frightened…more just pissed. He was prepared for this and knew exactly how to treat an arrow wound. It pissed Sam off even more that his father's training and all the hunting was actually coming in handy. It was annoying that his father would now be proven right; that scary shit lurks around every corner and you need to be prepared to deal with it because if you're not it'll get the drop on you. His father had trained them not only so that they could catch mom's killer, but so that they could survive. Sam knew that, dad had said that, but now? Now his father was right and that was really aggravating. And in the same instance, Sam found himself grateful for the training, and his dad, because if he didn't survive this, well, neither would old man Bristol. Winchesters took death of a family member very seriously.

Taking a deep breath, Sam gripped the uncut end of the shaft and pulled with one quick motion. He bit his lip as a scream threatened to tear from his throat. The pain shot through his body and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, forgetting to breathe. A moment later, the pain subsided, leaving a throbbing ache in his calf.

Opening his eyes, and ignoring the tears that had wet the lashes, Sam pressed some of the cleaner strips of material against the wound. Then, holding it with as much pressure as he could manage,

He began to tie another strip around his leg to keep the material in place. Once the makeshift bandage was in position, Sam returned his gaze to his captor.

The man was eying him with a great deal of wariness. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

Sam met his stare. "Boyscouts."

Bristol nodded, but a new guardedness was revealed on his face. "Get up."

Never breaking the eye contact, Sam stood. Seeing that he had an advantage in the man's distrust, Sam tried to, once again, explain his way out of the situation. "I didn't mean to trample your herbs. I'm really not from around here; I didn't know-"

"Shut the hell up!"

Startled by the volume, Sam fell silent.

Bristol shook his gun at him. "You knew. And one day, after enough of you little shits has died, the rest of you will finally get that it ain't worth it. After enough of you, they'll finally learn to stay the hell off my property."

John Winchester's voice echoed through Sam's head, "If you can reason with someone, that's great, Sammy, but some people only understand a fist aiming for their head. For some people, the only language they understand is violence." Maybe Neil Bristol was one of those people.

"You shoot me and my dad will track you down and shoot you."

Bristol smiled. "I ain't gonna shoot you, boy. In fact, I ain't gonna have anything to do with your death. It ain't on my head."

At that Sam grew confused…and it obviously showed.

The man's sneer grew bigger. "There are things, things you don't know about, things that only live in your worst nightmares. You know all those stories about monsters in your closet? There are real reasons you should be afraid of the dark, boy."

The speech was meant to be intimidating, but the irony of it was hilarious. Dean would've been hysterical; Sam at least managed to retain some self-control by only barely smiling.

Of course, not knowing Sam's history, the old man mistook the smile's meaning. "That's good; you think I'm just some crazy old man, huh? Smile while you can, you won't be in a few hours." And with that, the man broke into a chant of Latin.

Immediately, the smile left Sam's face. Latin was never good. Unfortunately, with Bristol holding a gun on him, there was little he could do. Any move and he'd be shot dead. Quickly remembering an anti-possession incantation, Sam began reciting it under his breath. He didn't know what Bristol's intentions were, but so long as Sam was reciting his own Latin, he wouldn't be possessed.

Then, as suddenly as the Latin began, it stopped. A cold wind blew, the sky darkened and old man Bristol squirted a bottle of blood at his captive. Sam grimaced as the blood hit his arm. Swiftly, he tried to wipe it off.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the wind stopped and the clouds once again drew back. For the first time, Sam felt some real fear. Something had just happened and whatever it was, it hadn't been good. "What did you do to me?"

Bristol grinned. "You ever heard of pukwudgies?"

Sam shook his head. "Why? Am I gonna turn into one?"

The man laughed heartily. "No, no, boy. You're just gonna be a magnet for 'em."

Sam grimaced; that couldn't be good. "What are they?"

Bristol slipped his pistol into the back of his pants. "You'll find out."

The man went to walk away, but stopped when Sam spoke again. "You're a hunter."

Clearly surprised at Sam's deduction, the old man looked the teen over suspiciously. "You say you're in town just this week?"

Sam thought for a moment. Based on the man's reaction, Sam was pretty sure he was right; Bristol was a hunter. Caleb, Pastor Jim, and Bobby were in town, one of his teammates had seen a whole bunch of 'hard-asses' with guns walking around… Sam wasn't sure what was going on, but chances were that if this man was a hunter, he would know John Winchester.

That could go either way. If they were friends…but then John Winchester didn't have many friends, most people he met, he pissed off, and even if Neil Bristol was a friend, Sam wasn't stupid. The man had shot John's son with an arrow. If there was a friendship, chances are it'd be over and chances are Neil Bristol would know that.

"I asked you a question, boy."

Coming to the conclusion that it'd be safer to leave his heritage a secret, Sam answered the man. "And what if I am? What? Are you nervous 'cause your pukwudgies don't leave the area?"

The distraction worked and Sam watched his captor's confidence return. "Don't worry, they'll find you."

And once again, the man turned and walked away.

Sam bit his lip in thought as he watched Bristol leave. So now he was cursed- by a hunter- and pukwudgies, whatever the hell they were, were going to come after him. Taking a deep breath, Sam shook his head. His life was so weird- and he had been doing something normal! It seemed he couldn't even play soccer now-a-days without it turning into a hunt.

First thing was first though, he had to get back to his dad. John Winchester wasn't always the best father, but there was no doubt in Sam's mind his dad could handle this. Coming to his school play, showing up at a soccer match, encouraging him to do homework, answering questions about life- not John Winchester's strong points. Saving someone from something supernatural? His father didn't have a stronger point.

Realizing that he couldn't stay where he was, Sam began to limp forward. Considering that an arrow had gone through his leg, it really didn't hurt that bad. Still, walking was extremely difficult. Slowly, Sam made his way off the meadow and toward the road.

As he reached the road, he debated with himself. It had taken him thirty minutes, running, to get to the meadow from the motel. In his current condition, it would take at least ninety minutes to get back.

There was a forest on the other side of the road, across from the meadow. From what Sam could tell, it was the same forest that faced the motel. If he could head northeast through the forest, he'd be taking the hypotenuse of the triangle and cutting his time in half. The only problem with that was he had no idea what a pukwudgie looked like or where they lived. They could be forest creatures. And if one attacked him in the forest, it would be all the more difficult for his family to find him.

Making up his mind to take the road, Sam began crossing the street. It would be easier to walk along the other side of the road as there was a path there, and no path where he currently stood.

About half-way across the road, he froze. A short, grey-skinned, troll-like man was standing directly in front of him on the other side of the road. It didn't say anything; it was just staring at Sam with its overweight belly hanging over its waist. It was about two feet tall, wore no clothes, and came equipped with a large chin, large nose, yellow eyes, and pointed ears.

Sam stared at the thing with a mixture of disbelief and trepidation. His guess was that this thing was a pukwudgie, after all, they would now be drawn to him and it would be really random for some other unknown creature to be standing in front of him like that. Still, looking at the little man, Sam couldn't conceive how this thing was to bring about his death.

Hearing a car coming, Sam went to return to the meadow's side of the road while he pondered what to do. With a start, however, he realized he couldn't move…anything, not his legs, not his arms, not his fingers, not even his mouth. His heart was still beating, he was still breathing and his eyes were free to look around, but that was it. He was completely stiff.

The car came speeding down at him and Sam's heart-rate sped as he prepared for his death. The creature still stared at him, holding him there with its expressionless face and he found himself wondering if the creature had control over the car as well.

The car was almost upon him and Sam closed his eyes, not wanting to watch it hit. Suddenly, there was a loud squeal of breaks and the smell of burnt rubber filled his nostrils. He felt the wind as the car flew by him. When he opened his eyes, Sam realized that he was still alive and the red sports car had stopped. A set of smoking tire marks illustrated just how close the car had come to hitting him. Unfortunately though, he was still unable to move.

Over to his left, the driver, a well-dressed man in his late twenties, stepped out of the car and slammed the door. "What the hell is your problem, asshole? You got a death wish or are you just some f-ed up thrill seeker? 'Cause if you're lookin' for a thrill, I'll give you a freakin' thrill!"

Silently, Sam stood still, his roaming eyes the only evidence that he wasn't a statue.

The man walked up beside him. "Hey! I'm talking to you, jackass! You trying to kill yourself?"

With a swallow, Sam looked at the driver's eyes, moved his eyes over to the pukwudgie, and then back to the driver. The man followed his gaze and before Sam could blink, the driver had screamed, "Pukwudgie," pulled out a gun, and shot at the short creature.

Before the bullet could hit, the pukwudgie disappeared.

The air surrounding Sam seemed to change and he realized that he could once again move freely. His shoulders sagged in relief. To his left, the sports car's owner was looking around wildly while holding his gun out in front of him. Given the fact that the man was armed and knew what the creature was, it was safe to assume that this guy was also a hunter.

Why the hell were there so many hunters around? Sam wasn't even aware that there were that many hunters period.

Finally, the man stopped circling and turned to Sam. "You're up shit creek now, kid. Once a pukwudgie's decided he's interested in you, he'll never leave- and I can't find him to kill him for you."

Sam got straight down to business. "How do you kill them?"

The hunter shrugged. "Same way you kill anything else." Then the man smiled. "'Course, it's almost impossible to do that since they can disappear and reappear instantly and have the power to control the movements of others…nasty little buggers."

Sam grimaced. "Great…"

The driver gave Sam a look of pity. "Sorry. Good luck."

With an incredulous expression, Sam watched as the driver returned to his car. "Wait a minute! You're just leaving me here?"

The hunter turned back, his indifferent attitude reflected in his body language. "I can't find it. Sorry, kid. Sucks to be you."

Sam held his palms out in confusion. Sucks to be you? Seriously? "Hey! Can you at least give me a ride to my motel? My leg's hurt."

The man turned back once again and shook his head. "No. You should just be grateful I didn't hit you, lesser drivers would've."

Who the hell was this guy? And more importantly, if he was a hunter, why wouldn't he help? That was a hunter's job, to save people who were in trouble…supernaturally speaking. "Aren't you a hunter?"

The driver was halfway in his seat, but stepped back out of the car at Sam's accusation. Slowly, with suspicion, the man turned back to Sam for the third time. "What do you know about hunters?"

Sam limped forward. "I know that they hunt supernatural things and that they help save people's lives…"

The hunter laughed mockingly. "Hunt supernatural things? Yeah, I do that. Save some lives?" The man shrugged. "Maybe…if I kill something I guess it can't go after anybody else, so indirectly I save people's lives. But would I go out of my way to protect somebody? Hell, no. I don't know what you've heard about hunters, kid, but we ain't that chivalrous. If you could pay, you might be able to hire one," The hunter smiled before continuing, "But I can pretty much guarantee that they'll double cross you. Hunters aren't exactly the trustworthy type."

In an automatic defense of his family, Sam scowled at the man. "Maybe you're not that trustworthy, but that doesn't mean most hunters aren't."

The hunter laughed. "Actually, kid? I'm a hell of a lot more trustworthy than most hunters. Most hunters would've just ran your ass over, gone back to see what the hell that bump in the road was, cared way more about the condition of their car than you, seen the pukwudgie, killed the pukwudgie, and been on their way without a second thought about your decaying corpse lying on the side of the road."

Despite his disagreement, Sam opted to leave the issue, knowing that he would get nowhere trying to convince the man in front of him that he was wrong. Instead, Sam chose to get back to the issue at hand. "Look, I really need a ride; it's only three miles down the road."

The driver shook his head and move to get back in his car. "No way in hell. You got a pukwudgie after you. Last thing I need is for it to take over my car and crash it to kill you. Sorry kid."

The door slammed shut and the engine turned. Sam glared at the less-than-helpful sports car as the driver waved goodbye, shouting, "Good luck living through the night…and watch out for the darts."

"Darts? Even better…"

Growling in annoyance, Sam changed his mind and opted to go through the woods. The faster he got home, the better…and at least there were no cars in the woods.

--

Sam cursed as he stumbled over yet another tree root. Taking the short cut through the woods had seemed like a good idea, but that was before he realized that there was no trail. The last thing he needed to do was get lost…or fall on his face. However, using the sun as a guide, he seemed to be making decent headway towards the motel…not counting the multiple stumbles over tree roots. Given his current pace of limping, Sam figured he would make it to the motel within the next half hour, making the trip an hour total.

As he hopped his way around a large bush, Sam noticed a patch of grey on the ground to his right. When looked down, he recognized the small patch of grey as the pukwudgie. He didn't know if all pukwudgies looked the same, but this one certainly looked like the same creature he had seen before.

Sam whined; he had been hoping to get the motel and his family, before the thing returned. Fighting down his panic, he stared at the small creature.

"This is so not good…"

So far nothing was happening, but he figured it was only a matter of time. And worse, nobody would know where to look to find his body. He had to get out of the woods and find his father.

Choosing to ignore the little monster for the time being, Sam continued his way around the bush and resumed limping in what he hoped was the motel's direction. As he hobbled along, the pukwudgie kept up along side him. The creature reserved a distance of about ten feet between them, but continuously stared at Sam as they walked. Sam, on the other hand, divided his time between checking where the pukwudgie was and watching where he was going.

"I can't believe this day…"

It was hot. He was drenched in sweat, which was causing all of the dirt to cake up into the creases of his skin. He was being trailed by a supernatural creature, for once through no fault of his father's. His leg had an arrow wound in it and was probably still bleeding. And to top it all off, he was attracting every mosquito in the area.

Up ahead of him, Sam heard the rumble of cars and a backdrop of white buildings was able to be seen through the trees. He smiled, sagging in relief. He had almost reached the other side. In fact, as he walked, he could make out the parking lot of their current motel.

"Oh thank God."

Sam looked to his right to check on his short shadow, but the pukwudgie seemed to have disappeared. Confused, Sam looked around, stopping abruptly when he realized the creature was standing practically under him. As quickly as he could, Sam backed up, putting some space between them.

For a moment, he looked back and forth between the edge of the forest and the creature. He wondered if he could make it out, but given the fact that pukwudgies could disappear and reappear anywhere, it was a race he'd most likely lose. Then there was the small issue of the busy road between the forest and the motel. He really didn't need to get stuck on the road again.

Turning back to the creature, Sam confronted it. "What do you want?"

The pukwudgie gave no indication that it understood or even heard the question.

Sam tried again, "Are you just toying with me? Or are you waiting for me to step out on that road so you can freeze me again?"

Still, the small monster just stood and stared, its oversized, grey belly reflecting the sun.

Sam sighed and looked beyond the pukwudgie as something grabbed his attention. The tree directly behind the creature was moving. Part of the bark seemed to be unwrapping from the tree and turning into…an old woman?

Sam's brow drew up in confusion. How was an old woman, made out of a tree going to kill him? Sam shook his head; that was probably something he didn't want to know.

Behind his new-found nemesis, the old woman winked her eye at Sam and put a finger to her lips.

The confusion returned to Sam's face. What the hell?

Then, tip-toeing forward, the hunch-back old lady leaned over the pukwudgie, wiggling her fingers in anticipation. Sam watched her take a deep breath before yelling, "Ahh!"

The pukwudgie screeched; jumping two feet into the air before it disappeared.

Despite his life-and-death situation, Sam burst out laughing. That had to be one of the funniest things he had ever seen. The old lady, who Sam now realized was not a manipulation of the pukwudgie, but actually a gwyllion, shook with laughter as well.

Regaining his composure, Sam took a step toward the bent figure. "Thank you."

The gwyllion's head shot up. With eyes bulging and baring a mouthful of sharp, dagger-shaped teeth, she roared and charged at Sam, who immediately turned on his heel and ran as fast as his leg would allow.

As he reached the road, he could hear the old woman's laughter echoing behind him. Breathing hard from exertion and fear, Sam kept moving; vowing not to stop until he was in the mini-cottage his father had rented from the motel.

Not a minute later, Sam finally limped through the cottage door.

So not a lot- or any- familial interaction in this one, but I promise, the next chapter will be nothing but. I hope you all will tune in…