Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! No buts!
I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS A LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!
P.S- I do not have a fish =O
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]
----------------------
Sam walked on unheeded as he continued down the path. He felt shivers roll down his spine as the cold air brushed past him. He was fully aware this path to the motel was potentially dangerous, but it was also a shortcut.
He kept going, rubbing his hands together, creating friction to warm his hands. Sam's extreme sadness had lessened just enough for him to be more aware of his surroundings. It was dark outside and the alleyway was fairly narrow for his liking. It irked him as he realized what a bad decision he made.
Sam stopped in his tracks, mentally prepared himself for the worst. He heard a shuffling of feet behind him and he didn't dare turn around. He started walked again, slower this time, listening in detail to every noise. The scuffling behind him were forcibly quieter, whoever was following him sensed his awareness.
Sam picked up his pace, wanting nothing more than to run all the way to the motel. He kept himself calm and collective, not daring to run blindly away from the predators.
As he continued down the alley, entirely aware of their presence, he managed to here them shuffle closer to him. The padding of feet grew louder as they advanced.
Sam spun around, eyeing three tall, bulky men in front of him. If he played his cards right, he could end up winning this fight. Or, what he considered was a fight.
One of the taller, well-built men stuck his hand in his back pocket and pulled out something menacing, pitch as black. The gun never wavered from his target as he continued to advance forward.
With him in possession of a gun, while Sam only had two fists, this definitely brought him to the conclusion that this could end ugly.
Sam grunted, his eyes never straying from his real target. Sam didn't plan on backing down. He was a Winchester.
"Give us all your money and we're out of here. You make this hard, and you're gonna be runnin' to your mommy, begging for death." There was more than one thing wrong with that statement.
Sam watched the gun keenly, preparing what to say and do when the time comes.
As was failed to mention earlier, Sam is a very skilled strategist. In his ever-flowing mind, life is a game of chess. You play your pieces right, you win the game. You make just one mistake, and you have the chance to lose it all.
"I have no money with me at the moment. However, I have some where I'm staying, as long as you don't shoot."
Sam was willing to act the prey. Sam learned at an early age that lying was one of the key elements of survival. Though he told the truth of having no money, he did not plan any getting them anything. This could play out neatly. He would lead them into the motel room, where Dean and John will be; probably cleaning guns till you could see yourself through it. Dean, or John, whichever got to it first, would shoot them all down before the guy even had a chance to pull the trigger.
The man with the gun watched Sam suspiciously, hesitating a moment. Sam saw it as an opening.
"I want try anything funny. Just as long as you let me go, I will give you the money." Sam allowed himself to beg, only because he knew all it was was a lie. Sam watched as the man slowly lowered his gun.
"Fine, just hurry."
Sam began to lead the three men down the alley, the gun pushing into the small of his back, prepared for any sudden act of defiance. Sam noted this as they walked at a rather fast pace down the alley. They clearly felt uncomfortable about the whole situation and would not allow any delays.
The more they traveled across the freakishly long and narrow passageway, the more Sam began to feel his heart ache pitifully. What if Dean and his dad weren't there? What if they picked up on a lead and left his sorry ass behind as they went off on another hunt. What would happen when he arrived? Obviously he couldn't take them on by himself. There had to be some other way; a way he could evade the enemies while keeping all his ligaments intact.
The motel came into sight as they came out of the alley and onto the main street. Sam silently gulped. Though it wasn't really anything to go by, the beloved Impala was not parked in front of their motel room. Dean or John could have taken the car while the other stayed home, researching for a hunt. They could have even parked in a less conspicuous spot, for fear they were being followed.
Sam allowed his mind to think up all the reasons why the Impala would not be in the parking lot, but, in the back of his mind, he could tell it would not be what he was hoping.
His mind searching frantically for a way out, searching through and through at everything they slipped by. The man had removed his gun, hiding it in his jacket, as they walked up the stairs.
They were only a few doors away when Sam could allow his denial to go on any longer. He was alone, and he was too dumb to believe it. He had a frightening revelation as he thought of all the scenarios go through his mind. He wouldn't let them leave without a fight, but for what purpose? They would steal at most $50. That's all the Winchesters kept in the rooms they would occupy. He could let them go in peace.
No, the three would continue to steal and con, going about their business, alive, because of him. He wouldn't back down.
Not without a fight.
Sam got his key out of his pocket and moved slowly, his sluggish form allowing him more time to think of a plan. He began to force tremors through his body, appearing scared. His hand trembled viciously, slowing everything down for a few seconds until he finally allowed the key to go into the keyhole. Sam unlocked it, swinging open the door.
As he had predicted, the room was empty, no trace of Dean or his dad. He still had no plan.
Unless you considered being used target practice a plan.
Sam led the group toward a small vault. The leader had gotten his gun back out, it's gaze never straying off Sam. Sam entered the combination slowly, pretending to mess up a few times and starting over.
You mess up one more time and a bullet goes through your brain." Sam froze. It was obviously getting old. Without pause, Sam entered the correct sequence.
He began opening it, then stopped momentarily. This was the only chance he had to make a stand.
He lashed out at the nearest enemy.
-----------------------------------
REALLY hope you liked it!!! I shall update soon. I really hate it when it takes the author a month for each update so, don't worry, I won't do that!! However, it may be hard updating for the next few days because I have exams next week.
------------I also would like to add that dribbling a soccer ball does not involve using your hands. It's like dribbling with your hands…except with your feet. --just wanted 2 point that out =)
Before I go I would also like to say thank to all those who have read or reviewed this story. I realize I have few reviews, but just reading you all's comments makes me swell up with happiness…you have no idea. I was jumping up and down when I saw that I had 5 reviews. So, to everyone, thank you.
REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!