Hey, again, descriptions of gore/torture, so i'ma point again to that Content Warning.
Sam wasn't an idiot. His gun was loaded with silver bullets. Silver took down the majority of the riff-raff, and the more human variety weren't particularly picky with what they got shot with. He knew there were a good number of things that silver wouldn't touch, but he was still a little surprised (and more than a little disappointed) that the wounds had no effect on the two approaching him.
He felt himself hauled up by the hem of his shirt, the gun falling from his hand as he screamed, feeling the two pieces of his clavicle grind up and over each other. He was lifted completely off his feet, the neckline of his top digging into his fresh neck wound and making him feel like he was suffocating. The next instant he was airborne, hitting into the post he had escaped from, back first. His vision completely blacked out, but only for a second and then he was tragically awake again.
Sam tried to shift his weight to free his 'good' arm that was pinned beneath him, but the strength to do so eluded him. Instead he warily lifted his eyes, finally focusing on the two creatures that were watching him with amused smiles plastered across their faces. He couldn't see the glint of teeth he had seen earlier, but he knew he had seen it. Though they hadn't looked like anything he had seen before.
Almost a decade from now, Sam would encounter his first vampire nest with his father, and he'd suddenly know what he ran into all those years ago.
Right now, he just knew they weren't fucking around, and they most certainly had the upper hand.
"I think we should turn him and send the kid back as a gift for his daddy." She purred, squatting down beside Sam and running her fingers through his mop of hair. Sam wrenched his head away to get her off but hissed, the stars returning to his vision as his neck moved. "He's feisty enough… probably manage to tear through both of them."
"We don't take that risk." The man grunted, looking far less amused by the minute. "He's bait and he's food. Nothing fancy."
Sam winced at the mention of food. He was starting to figure that his neck injury was a bite wound. Lots of things liked sucking blood, and he just hoped that this wasn't a nasty that turned with a bite. Though, Sam reasoned, his brain finally catching up through the fog, it didn't seem like it with the way they were talking.
"Kinda scrawny. I got maybe half a meal outta him and his heart slowed so much I didn't think he'd rally. It's been three days and I still don't think I could get a snack off him." She complained, standing. She grabbed the young hunter's ankle, lifting it with her and dragging him back towards the guy.
Sam groaned, tears pricking his eyes and flowing down over his cheeks against his will. The pain was so blinding he couldn't even pinpoint the individual injuries any more. It just hurt. Everything just hurt.
"Papa hunter will notice he's gone eventually and if he's got half a brain he'll be able to follow the trail back here." He reasoned, level. "Then we can get him off our feeding grounds."
She dropped Sam's ankle, but he wasn't about to go anywhere. He heard the rattle of metal, and felt the cool metal of a handcuff passed over his good arm's wrist before being wrenched over to attach to what looked like a metal fence post. He strained to listen to the rest of the conversation, but his heart was beating too loud in his ears, and they were walking away.
The door was pulled shut most of the way, the barest sliver of light managing to make its way through this time. Sam laid, face down on the dirty barn floor. He rested his forehead against the rotting wood, doing his best to ignore the itch the hay caused his face. He let the tears dry and let his heart rate settle to a more reasonable rate before he allowed himself to even start to think.
This wasn't good. This was very very not good. Silver did nothing, not that it would help since he dropped his gun who knows where. He had lost a decent amount of blood, and he could feel the neck wound had reopened and he was losing more. His collar bone was no longer set, and probably was going to need surgery at the very least. He smiled slightly in spite of himself. Surgery is the least of your problems if you don't get out of here, dumb-ass. He was briefly amused by how much his inner monologue sounded like Dean.
Sam snapped his head back down from the clouds. He was inventorying the damage done so he could plan his next move. Right. Neck wound. Collar bone. Check. Two to three broken ribs. Check. Given the newfound pain in his back, he wouldn't rule out any number of things that could have fucked up. Still, his legs were relatively unhurt, so, at least he had that going for him.
Now came the hard part. The plan. He needed to escape his new restraints, find the two monsters, figure out how to kill them or at least subdue them, and then make it back to the motel and his father and brother. It'd only been three days he thought he heard them say. They would still be there. They would be waiting. They would help… Or at least Dean would.
Step one. Getting out of these handcuffs. Sam closed his eyes, knowing exactly what this was going to entail, but it didn't make him any more ready to go through with it. He set his teeth, getting ready to breathe through the pain. He couldn't afford to cry out and draw attention to his escape. He braced his good shoulder against the ground and began to slowly draw up his knees to push himself into a sitting position. Tears ran freely down his face again, and he was panting by the time he had his back up against this metal fencing. He took a moment to steady himself before starting part two. In the lining of his boot was a hair pin. Bobby had helped him sew it in one day, with a smile and some story about better being safe than sorry.
Sam made a mental note to thank the old hunter. He flexed his fingers, and then moved before he could convince himself not to. He moved his injured arm, ignoring the audible groan of bone on bone, moving his hand over and snaking his fingers into his boot to feel for the pin. Once he had that he closed his eyes for the hard part.
By the time Sam's broken arm was raised up so he could reach the cuff, Sam's vision had completely blacked out in pain again. Stars danced across his field of view for the third time that night, and he could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat. He used his fingers and sense of touch to guide his hand over the cuff, inserting the pin and twisting it just right until he heard the soft click that signaled a release. He slid his good hand out and let himself slip backwards to lay his entire weight against the fence.
Ten minutes later and he was pushing himself up. He shuffled over to his backpack yet again, surprised they hadn't taken it out with them. Then again, it wasn't exactly as if he had any other weapons. They had taken the knife out of his pocket already, there likely wasn't really anything in there that could hurt them. He ran his hand along the inside of the pack, taking a moment to sip at the bottle of water, trying to keep his head clear enough to get him through this ordeal. Finally his hand grasped what he had been looking for. His lighter.
Shuffling as fast as he could to the opposite side of the barn, he pushed a pile of hay together, dragging a couple small wooden odds and ends to hopefully catch pretty easily. The barn was old, and the wood was dry, so he figured odds were good this would work. He looked around at his surroundings one last time, taking stock and eyeing a particularly heavy duty looking chain hanging off the opposite wall. That would do.
A simple flick of the lighter brought it to light and he tossed it down onto the small pyre. It immediately sparked to light. He jogged back over near where he had been cuffed, adrenaline finally kicking in and helping him move past the pain.
It only took a few moments for the two to come running into the barn. The fire was spreading faster than Sam could have hoped for, and it was nearing the tipping point of being out of control. Both of them were distracted for the moment, and Sam made his move.
Springing out from the shadows, and ignoring the loud protests of his battered body he shoved his weight behind his good shoulder and rammed the man. Sam dropped to the ground but his plan had succeeded. He heard the sickening sizzle as the man fell into the flames, and closed his eyes against the scream of agony that followed. Sam rolled out of the way as the woman screamed for him, rushing over and trying to help him up from the fire, but his screams had already faded, and she wasn't sure how to rescue him.
Sam took her distraction and threw the chain over her, pinning her arms to her side. He forced both his arms to pull as hard as they could, and he grabbed the metal hook at the end, forcing it into a loop that she couldn't escape from. She threw herself away from the fire before he could push her, and he cursed, her sudden movement throwing him off balance for a moment. He dealt her a heavy kick to the head, stepping back and looking around again. He spied it.
His shaking hands ripped the hand saw off the wall, and he ran back to where she was fighting unconsciousness. This ended here and now. He didn't know what she was, but if cutting her head off didn't kill her, then it would at least slow her the fuck down.
Sam himself hunted with his family on more than one occasion. He was good at it, and he had been well trained. But Sam shied away from the hunting lifestyle, and far more often was doing research than being out in the trenches. Even when he killed the thing, it was almost always with a gun or a quick stab, and then Dean handled any of the grizzly clean up that needed to get done. He had certainly never cut off a head. This was far, far, different.
He slid the blade forward, the rusted teeth splitting through the first layer of flesh. Sam immediately felt revulsion. She wasn't fully conscious, but her body arched in involuntary protest, going rigid. He pulled the blade back, watching it sink deeper into the neck, muscle ripping in half too easily. This pain brought her back, and she screamed like a wild animal, thrashing to try to get away. Sam was forced to straddle her, trying to keep her still enough for him to finish what he was doing.
Pushing past the agony in his shoulder, he picked up the pace, pushing and pulling the blade, back and forth, back and forth. Blood spilled out and flew in small spurts from the cut arteries. Her wild thrashing got worse, and then stilled, every muscle in her body tensing at once. And finally Sam was in bone, flexing the saw back and forth, shredding the muscle as he tried to guide it to a space between vertebrae. Finally he found his purchase, yanking the blade again and feeling the teeth get caught on the stretched cable of spinal cord. He felt the revulsion creep up his back with a shudder, forcing himself to continue. The body beneath him finally relaxed, the last scuffs and kicks of booted feet stilling. Sam finished the job, disgusted with the slip at the end, the head rolling out of the way, and his hands sliding down into the slick mess left behind.
Sam rolled off her, scrambling to get back up, but only managing to get to his knees. The acrid smell of burning flesh was threatening to choke him, and the black smoke of a spreading fire warned him his time was running out. He began to crawl desperately for the barn door, each small movement taking an eternity. Each and every time his muscles contracted over his injury the pain was so hot he thought for sure the flames had caught up to him. But still he crawled.
Sam pulled himself safely a few meters from the building, collapsing on the grass and promptly losing his fight against the bile rising in his throat. He couldn't let himself rest though, and managed to finally haul himself to his feet and begin running before the fire department arrived.
By the time his legs collapsed he was at least a mile from the barn he had been held captive in, and finding himself in a concealed wooded area, he let himself sink to the ground. With adrenaline waning fast, the true horror of his injuries was making itself known. Every second of that fight had ripped at his neck and ground at his bones. He had burns on his legs he hadn't noticed before, and figured he must not have been as fast getting out as he thought. He could feel the blood escaping his body, slow and sluggish, but unrelenting. He heaved again, but there was nothing to come up. His vision was darkening again, and quickly and without his permission, he passed out at last.
It was sunset when he woke. Sam groaned, trying to come to terms with that. He had been unconscious for the entire day. He was shivering violently, each shudder pulling on his wounds. The cold had finally seeped through his jacket and jeans, and felt like it had gripped him from the inside out. That's probably just from bleeding out, dude.
Dean. He had to get back to Dean. Sam put his good arm on the tree stump beside him, using it to leverage himself into an upright position. Hunched against his injuries, and sporting a limp, Sam pressed on. It took another hour and a half before the motel finally came into view in the distance. Sam let himself breathe a sigh of relief that his sense of direction hadn't been off. He could have been following the road from the treeline in the opposite direction for all he knew.
Sam finally stepped onto pavement, making his way as fast as his broken body could take him, desperately wanting to avoid the eye of nosy adults. Sam realized that his motel key was in his backpack and had burned away in the barn. He was forced to shuffle up to the door past the impala and knock.
He heard through the door, and his heart cooled, his father's voice ringing clearly through the door. "Dean, go get the door. It's probably your idiot brother."
He could hear Dean's voice call through to him as he approached the door. "Sammy?"
Sam tried to move his mouth to respond, but he couldn't make it obey. He swayed as the door opened in front of him, managed a muted smile at his brother's "Fuck!" but it didn't reach his eyes. Cooled, and despondent, his gaze revealed the true level of horrors he had lived through the last days. He crumpled, falling forward and being caught in Dean's arms.
"What?" He heard his father ask.
"Jesus Sam, what happened!?" Dean sounded scared, no, terrified. He felt warm hands pressing against his bleeding neck, and turning him gently onto his side. He felt his torso pressed into his brother's arms, even if he couldn't make out whatever it was Dean was yelling to him. He thought he heard his father's voice yelling over a phone, and the distant call of sirens. He heard his brother muttering something that sounded like "I'm so sorry Sammy." Then even that sound faded.
Sam Winchester had escaped, and he finally allowed himself to give in to his exhaustion, and allow his family to get him the rest of the way to safety.
Thank you again Bel1408 for the prompt! It was fun to write them as teenagers, something I had never tried before. Hope you liked it!