Hey all! I hope you have enjoyed the story so far! One or two more chapters to go, I think! If you want to have a choice in what I write next, please participate in my poll so I know what people want! So far, it seems Daddy!Sam is winning, and I have one for cursed at Stanford!Sam, one for a continuation of the Visions series, and one for Mary lives and Sam is the neglected middle child. If you want to have a say, VOTE! (hee hee, I sound like one of those people that stand in front of walmart around election time...that's kinda sad...) :)
Thanks for all the reviews!
Sam wasn't sure where they were going.
He didn't think they were heading back to the torture chamber, but he couldn't be sure.
His captors had surprised him by carrying for his wounds, though not gently or kindly. He supposed they didn't want their property damaged, and didn't that just rub his fur the wrong way?
Sam was curled up in the back of the van, whimpering softly with every pothole they hit, trying desperately to get some more sleep. He was exhausted, both from lack of sleep and from the rough exertion of the hunt, but pain kept him awake.
Dimly, he tuned into the hunters conversation up front.
"Chris, we headed to Jackson?"
"Yeah. We'll be there in about an hour."
"You think the freak back there is going to be up to this?"
"He better be."
"You meeting up with Tony soon?"
"Yeah, it's been awhile, we're gonna meet for a beer in a few days."
"That's why he called."
Chris gave an affirming grunt.
"I'm gonna take a nap. Wake me when we get there."
Chris grunted again.
Up to what? They aren't going to send me on another hunt already, are they?
Sam felt dread fill him and he buried his snout in his forearms, closing his eyes, whimpering.
I don't think I'm going to survive long enough for Dean to find me.
A nasty voice, frighteningly similar to Chris', whispered in his mind.
The hunters won't let you die. You're too valuable to them. Why do you think they took the time to train you? No, you'll survive, but there won't be any of you left. You'll just be their pet.
Dean won't find you.
No, Dean has to find me.
He can't find you. And even if he does, the hunters will just kill him anyway.
No!
You might as well just give up, Sam. Oh wait. You already have.
Sam didn't have an argument to that.
I'm sorry, Dean.
...
Sam followed the hunters into the woods, unsure of where they were going or what they were doing here.
He felt like crap, each step painful, each breath agonizing, but he pushed forward anyway, afraid of what would happen if he didn't.
Finally, the hunters stopped in a wide clearing, declared it suitable and dropped their backpacks there. One immediately began to dig a pit, for fire if Sam was going to guess.
Chris turned to him and Sam couldn't help the flinch.
The hunter grinned. "Alright. In these woods somewhere is a Wendigo. We want you to lure it here. I don't care how, just do it. We're building a fire now and we're going to kill it. You get it here, you understand?" He aimed a kick at the wolf, that Sam stumbled back to avoid.
"Get going. We'll have the fire built and ready by the time you get it here."
Sam hurried off, not quite running.
He knew he would have to conserve his energy.
He hurt so bad.
As guilty as it made him feel, some part of Sam hoped he wouldn't survive this hunt.
Some things were worse than death and Sam considered slavery one of them.
But his fear was powerful and he couldn't escape.
Sam despised himself for his own weakness, hated to consider what Dean would think of him if, when, he found out that Sam had given up.
Focus, Sam.
Sam forced himself back to the present and began to try to sniff out the Wendigo.
...
Dean reached Jackson in record time. He was sure he had never gone so fast in his life and he hoped he hadn't destroyed the engine, but he knew that if he did, he would get over it.
He would have scrapped the car completely if it meant saving Sam.
No matter what some may say, Dean had his priorities straight.
Just hold on, Sammy.
Dean quickly made a mental list of areas to check in the town for the hunters who had taken Sam, starting with motels, then gas stations.
He was on his last motel, it was a fairly small town after all, when Bobby called.
"Dean, I researched the area and I think they're hunting."
"Hunting what?" Dean growled.
"A wendigo, if I was going to guess."
Dean swore.
"You think they want to use Sam to kill it or something?"
"Well, you need fire to kill a Wendigo, but they could use Sam as bait, especially if he's injured. That blood is going to attract the Wendigo quickly, wolf or human."
Dean scowled, fury building in his chest.
"Alright. Thanks Bobby. I'll get back to you when I have him."
Dean hung up, not waiting for Bobby's reply.
I'm coming, Sam.
Dean turned the Impala around and slammed down on the gas, speeding towards the woods.
If there's a hair on his furry head out of place, I'm going to kill them all, I swear.
...
Much to Sam's dismay, the wendigo found him first.
He heard the slight wooshing sound and froze, listening closely, ears perked up. It took him only a second to realize he was in trouble, because the wendigo knew he was there.
That's when Sam realized. Blood. Oh crap.
He wondered if his blood smelled animal like or human like to the wendigo.
He could feel that the wrapping around his middle was soaked with blood, all the moving and even the trip in the van causing the bleeding to start again. The hunters hadn't stitched him up, they had just slowed the bleeding and bandaged him.
Heaven knows he was covered in enough blood now to attract the wendigo's attention.
A rush of adrenaline flooded Sam's system as he realized he was being hunted.
Spinning around, Sam took off running back towards the hunters, the fire. He could hear the wendigo behind him, keeping up easily.
Sam pushed himself harder, the image of blood, of screams, of long claws that would slice him to pieces flashing across his mind and urging him on, giving him bursts of speed.
Go. Go, go go!
Finally, Sam reached the clearing, skidding to a halt and turning to face the wendigo that stood there, immensely tall, uncaring of the hunters standing at the back of the clearing. Only interested in the scent of blood that permeated around Sam.
Oh gosh. Oh gosh.
Sam couldn't move. His sides were heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, even adrenaline unable to keep him going for long.
He wasn't even going to have enough energy to keep in the wolf form for much longer. If he had to die, he wanted to die a human.
Besides, human's had fingers, maybe he could grab one of the sticks that was on fire and have some sort of weapon.
The wendigo took a step forward, almost lazily, sensing its preys weakness and uninterested in doing the job quickly. The wendigo didn't just hunt for instinct, for food. A part of its mind enjoyed the fear, the pain it caused.
And, oh, what fear it sensed in the creature before him, not human but not truly animal either.
...
Dean was out of the Impala in seconds when he saw the van.
It was hidden, but not enough to avoid the eyes of another hunter, trained to notice what didn't want to be noticed.
Holding his gun, a flamethrower tucked in a pack on his back, Dean took off running, following the prints of the hunters and one wolf that he found around the van.
I'm coming, Sammy. I'm coming. Hold on.
...
Dean froze as he almost broke through the clearing, horrified at the sight before him.
Sam, as a wolf, was standing at the feet of a wendigo, which was approaching him, clearly ready for a meal.
Sam was covered in blood and swayed slightly, clearly at the end of his rope.
The hunters were standing at the back of the clearing, waiting for the wendigo to come just a little closer. The sight of them sent fire raging through Dean's veins, enraged at them for everything they had put his small family through.
A small whimper from Sam had Dean focusing again quickly, trying to think quickly.
He couldn't take down the wendigo first. It was going for Sam and if he appeared suddenly, he was sure the hunters would just shoot him. Which means the hunters needed to be distracted.
Not pausing to think about what he was doing, Dean took out his gun, aimed and fired. One of the hunters gave a shout of surprised pain, his thigh already bleeding profusely.
The wendigo looked up from its prey, smelling the blood of a human, its natural prey.
It was moving a second later, the yells of the hunters filling the clearing.
Knowing their enemies were both distracted well enough for now, Dean darted forward. Sam had fallen to the ground and, even as Dean watched, the wolf turned into his baby brother, covered in blood, clothes ripped and tattered, chest barely moving as he struggled to breathe.
"Sammy." Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother. "Sam, open your eyes. Keep awake, baby brother. We have to get out of here."
Sam's eyes fluttered open, widening slightly when they landed on his older brother. "D-Dean?" his voice was weak and shaky.
"Yeah, Sammy. Yeah, just hold on. I'm going to get you out of here, okay?"
A spark of fear in Sam's eyes had Dean worried. "Th-the h-hunters?"
Dean felt his heart tug painfully at that, as he began to realize just how scarred his little brother was from this. The fear was horribly clear in his voice and it told Dean more than his words ever could.
"They're distracted, Sam, they can't hurt you. I'm going to get you to safety, okay? On three."
Dean counted to two, then hauled his brother to his feet.
Sam was crumpling almost immediately, his body going limp as the pure agony of movement dropped him into unconsciousness.
Grimacing, Dean half carried, half-dragged his little brother away from the clearing.
He left the screams behind him.
Dean frowned, then sighed, realizing he couldn't just leave the wendigo.
Reluctantly, he propped Sam up against a tree, pulling out his flamethrower, then full blown running back to the clearing.
There wasn't anything left to save.
But there was a wendigo to kill.
It was bent over the remains of one of the hunters, (make that part of several different hunters, Dean noticed with a grimace).
Dean didn't hesitate, raising his flamethrower and letting loose.
The wendigo shrieked, but it was dead before it could move anywhere.
Dean didn't bother to glance at the hunters remains. Bobby could send someone down here to take care of it.
Dean had his own to take care of.
...
The pain of lugging his brother's limp body back to the car wasn't a physical one. His brother whimpered from pain even in his unconsciousness, though he didn't move at all.
Dean wondered if it was because he was too frightened.
I wish I could have shot those hunters myself.
Dean growled inarticulately, fury coursing through his veins once more.
It disappeared when he glanced at his brother, now lying down on the motel bed.
Dean had treated his wounds, stitched him up.
What he found bothered him more than he could ever articulate.
Sam had clearly been tortured.
Burns, electrical if Dean was going to guess, covered his body. Cuts and so many open cuts and gashes covered his body, from a whip Dean was sure. Sam was a mess, not an inch of skin untarnished by those filthy hunters.
Still.
Sam was alive.
He would live on and Dean was sure, hoped, that Sam wasn't scarred beyond what he could fix.
This is so beyond a chick flick moment that I don't even care if he wants to hug or {shiver} talk. Dean paused at that thought. Forget that. I'm going to make the kid talk.
Dean brushed a hand over Sam's forehead, smiling softly when Sam turned into the touch slightly.
It'll be okay, Sammy. You'll see.
...
Sam woke slowly.
Pain grew the more conscious he became and he wasn't even aware he had made a sound until he felt a coarse but gentle hand on his forehead.
"You're okay, Sammy. You're safe. Here, kiddo. Take this."
Sam was vaguely aware of Dean helping him take some pills, swallow some water that had Sam whimpering when it disappeared.
"Careful, kiddo. Don't want to make you sick. I promise I'll give you more soon."
Sam forced his eyes open, needing to see Dean, to check with his own eyes that he was really out of the nightmare.
Dean was watching him, leaning over him, brow creased with concern. "Sammy?"
Sam's eyes filled with tears. "Dean."
Dean instantly was moving forward, pulling Sam into his arms, gently but fiercely. Sam grabbed onto his brother's shirt as best he could, wrapping him in a hug of his own. Dean manuevered them till he was sitting on the bed, supporting Sam.
Sam buried his face in Dean's chest and sobbed.
It was over. It was really over.
"It's okay, Sammy. It's okay. You're safe. You're safe. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you. I promise, you're safe. It's okay."