Chapter 3
When he woke up, it was dark. Only the sound of a big-ass engine could be heard. The smell of herbs and gun oil, inhaled. Scratchy felt under his chin. If he didn't know any better he'd have guessed he was locked in the trunk of the impala. His eyes opened with a flinch and suddenly the events of the day returned. Dean. Rufus. Freddy. The innocent victims of a deranged witch. Hephzibah. Her hoarse chuckle echoed for a brief second in the dark, cramped space he was in.
Then it was like a shot of adrenalin. He wanted out. He needed out. DEAN. He wasn't sure it was his own voice or even a real word that escaped him. He began pounding the lid frantically. His breath was coming fast and shallow and he felt like a bunny in a trap. Every heartbeat was pumping the toxin in his system around faster. He needed out. Why the fuck can't they see that! The car slowed down and instantly the panic became almost unbearable. What is taking them so fucking LONG!
They needed to stop and fix him now before the toxin had a chance to work. Open the fucking lid, Dean! He was scratching at everything and probably ripping his fingertips. A nail flayed off, but he didn't notice. Can't breathe, too hot. He was punching and kicking at the sides of the trunk and at the lid. Need to get out. Needtogetoutgottagetoutnonononono. Get out! NOW! A roar billowed out of his mouth and bounced around in the small compartment. A sound he'd never thought himself capable of making.
Someone spoke outside. Shit! Nonononono. No, Dean. He kept punching and writhing in the cramped space until he heard a key scratch the lock. He froze. Like every muscle in him coiled on its own accord. The top opened and it felt like an explosion. Suddenly the denial of fresh air was like someone physically choking him.
He pushed off with his hands and tackled someone perched in front of the trunk with a needle.
Whoever it was, was down. One to his right flinched back and moved in front of another, standing right behind him. "SAM!" The yell sounded like and echo at the bottom of a well. Where the hell was Dean? Who were they? Their faces were blurred and morphed. They all looked as ugly as Hephzibah, staring at him and laughing. Rage at all of the fucking bastards made him lunge out. He knocked two men over and heard frightened screams behind them.
A deep pinprick in his neck was quickly brushed off. He ripped out the needle and snapped it before lunging at the slumped figure beneath him. Another scream from one of the many, blurred figures a few feet back. They moved like a flock of sparrows. Like one solid mass. Ghouls! He wasn't sure what his reasons for attacking them without a weapon were. The filthy bastards. Wasn't even really sure if all his thoughts were his own. Gonna bite their pretty faces and make 'em regret ever being born. Something in him pushed for release.
He lunged and tackled one. Man. Nearly as broad-shouldered as himself. Human. Something flickered in his mind. All humans. Something was wrong. Dean. Very wrong. He stumbled off the man. Someone gripped him roughly by the shoulders and yanked him back. Punches rained down over him, and he curled together in a ball until the pain suddenly ceased.
"Sam?" Someone towered over him.
"Jesus… look at his eyes!" a shadow called out.
Sam rolled away from the frightened voices and fists, and towards the warm darkness sitting on his right. Dean! A child's voice gibbered in pathetic relief. He wasn't sure if he whimpered or screamed. Ga-ahh. Someone sobbed, most like him. Make it s-stop, Dean. Please, makeitstopmakeitstop, please.
"I'm right here, Sammy," A hand on his face. Disjointed voices, warning the hand to keep its distance. "You! Shut the fuck up!" But the hand didn't listen. It kept running soothingly through his hair.
"Sammy?" Felt nice.
Slowly, but surely, his sanity returned. He felt so tired. Feverish. So disoriented. He needed to sleep so bad, but the insistent hand on his head wouldn't let him. It kept reminding him of its presence. Thing. He giggled.
"You sure he's still there, Dean?"
The hand flexed. "I'm not gonna let some bitch-hag take him out after all the shit we've been through!" The hand stilled and resumed its calming circles.
Dean…
"Sam?"
The voice wanted a sign of life. A reason for asking. For caring. A point. Sam wasn't sure he had a point. He barely managed to open his eyes to mere cracks and was almost blinded by the sun.
"Hey, kid," The hand twitched, but didn't leave.
It frightened him how much that surprised him. He'd expected a bullet the second he realized what was happening. It was why he'd agreed to Freddy. Strange hunters made Dean nervous, but they made Sam feel a little less insane. There'd always be someone objective enough to put a bullet in his skull if he lost his shit.
But here he was, losing his shit, and still no bullet. Instead his eyes dropped closed on their own accord, and he was yanked out of his own, personal hell, back into oblivion.
TBC