Bobby's Daughter
I do not own anything you recognize…
Chapter Ten
I woke up and I was tied to a table. My shirt was off and there was already a gash on my stomach. Not too deep, but I could tell it was from a knife. And it hurt.
I looked around. There he was. Ryan was watching me from the corner. He stepped into the light that illuminated the small basement-looking room.
The only thing I saw was his knife as it gleamed. Blood hung from it. My blood.
Crap. Now what do I do?
He smiled a menacing smile and slashed my stomach. I screamed in agony, "DEAN!"
Ryan cut me at least twice more before deciding to cut me else where. So he started to undo my pants. I protested but it was useless. I was tied up by my arms and legs.
"SYD! Syd, where the hell are you," I heard Dean yell. "Sydney!"
"Dean," I screamed, but Ryan put his hand over my mouth.
He shushed me before cutting my cheek slightly. "Be good," he warned and went to find Dean.
"Dean," I screamed. "He's coming!"
The next thing I knew, the door was kicked in, knocking Gallagher down. Dean ran in and untied me quickly. I had just gotten off the table when Gallagher was getting back up. He threw the knife at us, hitting Dean in the shoulder.
"Fuck," Dean swore.
"Don't remove it," I warned. "I'll take care of it later."
Dean nodded. "Get out of the house. Burn it if I come out or not."
"Dean," I started.
But he had already turned back to Gallagher, shooting rock salt at the spirit. "Go, now," he yelled at me.
So I ran. I ran up the stairs and into the living room where Sam was only a short period before. He wasn't there. I ran outside and saw Sammy leaning against the tree a safe distance away. Thank God.
I turned back to the house and saw that Dean had already doused it in gasoline. I grabbed the matches, said a prayer to forgive me and help get Dean out safely, and dropped it.
Flames engulfed the house in seconds.
I ran back to Sam. "Sam, Sam," I shook him. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"
"Dean," he moaned, before going back into unconsciousness.
I looked up to the house. That's when I saw him.
Dean.
He ran out of the house, one arm over his mouth, the other holding his gun.
He slid into place next to Sam. "Sammy," he asked. "Sam? Wake up." He shook his brother slightly.
"He's fine, Dean," I said, placing a hand on his arm. Dean looked up to me and locked eyes before turning back to the house and watching the flames. "We should call the cops."
"We need to make sure it's burnt first."
"Trust me, Dean. It's burnt."
He smirked a little. "Let's get Sammy outta here."