Escape Chapter 15, a supernatural fanfic

Hey, everyone! Man, I'm finally back. I got back from vacation a little more than a week ago. Believe me, there is a very good reason why it took me a week to update. I actually had written this chapter a few days ago. I was indeed planning on posting it a few days ago. But a series of things started to happen to me. Okay. The first night I had a HORRIBLE horrible headache, so I didn't rewrite my chapter like I wanted. I thought to myself, "I wonder if it's like a Sammy-gonna-have-a-vision-headache" And if that were true, then me and my best friend are going to go on the world's biggest moonbounce. (that's the dream I had that night)

then the next day, I had left my computer on for a little while and went away for like, an hour. And then, when I came back, SOMEONE had been on it. So I opened up the recent documents. And it said that SOMEONE opened a LOT of my stories. Someone in my family, though no one has confessed. I kinda went crazy. Because seriously, I don't know about you, but I don't want people reading my stories without my permission. My mom got mad at me because I was so upset over it. But I was so upset that I couldn't even look at anything I was writing.

Then the next day, I was at a concert all day long. And THEN, finally, the day after that, I rewrote this chapter. And now, today, I come with a chapter for you all! I'm sorry for rambling!

I don't own Supernatural! And by the way, I don't own Lunesta! (from last chapter!) And I don't own Wheat Thins! But I wish I did because I really want to have some! I don't own ANYTHING!

BTW, very important news about this story is going to be at the end of this chapter...

please enjoy...mwhaha... ??

Dean had thought that it would make it better when he had told Sam what was going on with him. He thought that it might bring a little peace. But it only made it worse.

Every single time they sat down to eat, it was the same thing. Sam would ask if he felt like eating. Sometimes he replied yes, sometimes he said that he'd rather not. When the latter occurred, Sam would get this look on his face. Dean wasn't sure how to describe it. It wasn't disgust or hurt. Maybe it was something close to disappointed. He wasn't really sure.

Then Sam would push Dean's plate closer. "I need you," he'd say, "so please eat." And then he'd give Dean a puppy-eyed look until Dean gave up. So Dean ate. He even managed to keep it down most of the time. Sometimes he would say he was hungry just so Sam would treat him a little more normally.

Because he hated the "I need you" line. It almost felt like Sam was throwing those words around just to make Dean eat—not truly meaning them.

That had been going on for nearly a week now. Sam was happy that Dean was actually eating more, and didn't look as skinny as he had before. Dean had even been able to get to sleep a little easier.

When Dean woke up that morning, he stretched tiredly and glanced around, wondering where Sam was. Surprisingly, Sam was still in bed. Dean looked at the clock. It was a little past noon.

Dean frowned. "Sammy?"

Sam turned over in bed to face his brother. "Hmm?" he grunted.

"You okay? It's past noon, man."

"I've got…a wicked bad headache." As he was saying these words, Sam winced in pain. He really didn't look very good.

"Like, you're gonna have a vision kind of headache?" Dean asked, softer this time.

Sam's voice grew softer too. "I don't know… It's been an hour or two, so I don't think so."

Dean glared at him. "If it's been an hour or two, you should've just woken me up! I'd at least get you some ibuprofen or something!"

"You were sleeping, Dean… I didn't want to wake you up because you need all the rest you can get…"

Dean hopped out of bed and began to pull on a pair of jeans. "Screw needing rest, Sammy," he said in exasperation. After pulling on his boots, he returned to his brother's side. "Is there anything else other than the headache? Do you think you're coming down with something?"

Sam licked his lips and shook his head. "I don't think so."

Dean rolled his eyes. He didn't think so. That meant that there probably was something else, but Sam wasn't telling him. "I swear to God, Sam…," he muttered under his breath, before touching the back of his hand to Sam's forehead. "You're kinda warm," Dean informed him. "You could be getting a fever."

Sam swallowed. "Nah, I'm fine."

Dean frowned, but let Sam run with it for now. "I'm gonna run out and get you some medicine… Do you want anything else? Something to eat? A porno mag?"

Sam closed his eyes. "Some of those Wheat Thin things would be nice."

"What kind?"

"What kind?" Sam repeated, his voice weak but incredulous.

"You know there's like, twenty kinds of those things. Don't you remember last time? 'What the hell are these, Dean?! I don't want low sodium! Ugh, these things are gross!'" Dean imitated.

Sam, keeping his eyes closed, glared at his brother. "I never said any of that. And I like the reduced fat ones."

"Oh right, because you really need to lose weight," Dean remarked sarcastically. "Okay, fine, I'll get those." He pulled on his jacket. "You stay right where you are. If I come back and you're not in the exact same position, I'll friggin' kill you."

Sam smiled. "Okay."

Dean hesitated for a minute, glancing at Sam worriedly. But he shook it off and nodded. "Okay. I'll be back." And with that, he left.

Sam lifted his pillow and put it on top of his head, hoping to relieve the pain. Okay, so maybe he hadn't been one hundred percent honest with Dean.

He had told the truth, he didn't think that the headache meant that he'd have a vision. But the main reason that he thought that was because he had already had a vision that morning.

It had come suddenly, stirring him from his sleep and showing him images that he didn't completely understand. He had been inside some…old abandoned building or something. That was the first strange thing. He was himself in his vision, not some onlooker like usual. The only other time that had happened was when he had that vision of Dean all those months ago.

He couldn't see much other than one, graffiti-covered wall. But he heard voices.

"I don't see why we have to do this. There are a million other ways. Easier ways." It was a very deep, male voice.

There was a sigh. "I've told you this a hundred times. You obviously don't know everything about what we're doing here. There's a reason for this, okay? But if it helps, think about it this way: We're old. He's way older than we are. Will it kill you to amuse the poor bastard?" This other voice was a woman's.

The man grunted. "I'm just saying…"

"Well don't. If he finds out that you're an idiot, he might just—"

The woman was interrupted by a loud noise, and Sam could hear footsteps approaching him.

"It won't be very long now," came the satisfied voice of another deep-voiced male.

And before Sam could even begin to wonder who the newcomer was, his vision ended abruptly. And just as he was beginning to recover from the first vision, he had been struck with another one. He saw a different graffiti-covered wall, and a long, dirty window. But this time, he could also see two people on their knees, hunched over something Sam couldn't see. One of the people was a huge, monster of a man, and the other was a slender, raven-haired woman. Sam assumed that these were the people who had been talking in his previous vision. These two people were doing something… But even when Sam squinted, he couldn't tell what. He could only guess that they were hunched over something…or someone. But he couldn't tell. The two people completely obstructed his view.

The woman looked over her shoulder to Sam. Her hands were coated in thick blood that slowly dripped from her fingertips. Her face twisted into a cruel smile. "I think I'll take his heart."

For a brief moment, Sam thought she was talking about his heart, but she turned back to the person Sam couldn't see. Sam could hear sick cracking noises as she ripped open the ribcage of said person.

Sam choked back his breakfast—or whatever he had in his stomach at the time. What the hell was going on?

The big man moved out of the way, and Sam could finally see who the person was. He watched as the woman wrenched the heart out.

Sam's stomach lurched, and his own heart seemed to stop completely.

Lying there, with his chest ripped open and his face contorted in pain, was Dean.

And then Sam had woken up—screaming. He had instinctively whirled around to make sure Dean was still there—he was. He hadn't even woken up. He only frowned in his sleep, muttered a little, and turned over.

Sam wiped the sweat from his brow, and a horrible headache set in. He felt sick. When Dean woke up two hours later, he couldn't even bring himself to tell him about his vision. He just couldn't get the words out.

Sam pushed himself out of bed, ignoring his pounding headache and sore muscles. He had to do something. He had to do something right now. But Dean wasn't there, so he couldn't tell him personally. So Sam did the very first thing that came to mind. He grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the desk across the room and began to scrawl madly.

Dean, I had a vision. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. If something bad happens, I'm in some kind of old, abandoned building. There's lots of graffiti in it. If something really bad does happen, don't come looking for me alone. Bring help. Lots of help. Don't go in alone. Just

Sam stopped writing. "I'm an idiot," he muttered to himself, crumpling up the paper and throwing it aside. "I'll just call him and tell him like a normal person." He shook his head and snatched his cell phone from the nightstand beside his bed and dialed Dean's number.

It rang once. Then twice.

"Come on, Dean…," Sam said anxiously.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

Sam looked up at the noise and hung up. He carefully walked over to the door. "Who is it?"

A familiar deep voice answered him. "Room service."

Meanwhile, Dean walked into a convenience store just ten minutes away from the motel. He then went to search for the items he needed. He was lucky enough to grab the very last box of reduced fat Wheat Thins. While he was picking up the box, his cell phone began to ring.

He patted the pockets in his jeans, but found nothing. Where had he put that thing again? Oh, right. He dug into his jacket pocket and took the phone out. Just as he was about to answer it, it fell silent. He flipped it open anyway, seeing that he had missed a call from Sam.

"What the hell, Sam," he grumbled. Sam probably wanted to remind him that he wanted reduced fat Wheat Thins, or something of the sort, but realized that Dean already knew that. Sam could get pretty crazy when he was sick, so it sounded exactly like something he would do. In fact, Sam had done that a few times before. Once, when Sam had a fever, Dean went out to get him lunch. Sam said that he had wanted chicken. When Dean was five minutes out the door, Sam called him, telling him that he wanted chicken.

"I know that, Sammy! You just told me that!" he had said, irritably.

"Did I?" There was a long silence on Sam's end. "Oh… Oops, sorry, Dean. Oh, and by the way, I want chicken, okay?"

Dean shook his head at the memory before going to pick out medicine. Hopefully he'd get the stuff that would knock his brother out until he got better. After grabbing some medicine, Dean wondered if Sam would need anything else. He guessed that if Sam needed anything else, he'd just have to run out again. That was fine.

Dean then made his way to the front desk, briefly hesitating to pick up some peanut M&Ms. Maybe if he ate them in front of Sam, his brother wouldn't be on his case about eating.

"How are you doing?" the cashier asked when Dean put his items on the counter.

"Just fine," Dean answered vaguely as he reached for his cash.

The cashier scanned the Wheat Thins before looking up, staring Dean straight in the eyes. "I see you're buying medicine. I'm guessing it's not for you. You taking care of someone?"

Dean wasn't sure if this was normal employee-customer talk, but answered, "Uh, yeah."

"Hm. You're not doing a very good job at it, are you?"

Dean frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It's 'your job' to protect Sammy. I'm just saying that you're not doing a very good job at it. Boy oh boy is John going to tear you apart."

Dean stopped breathing as a shudder blew its way up his spine. "What did you do to Sam?!"

The cashier smiled at him and his eyes turned yellow. "Oh, Sammy is safe, I promise."

Dean sucked in a quick breath, remembering that he needed to breathe. He knew it had to be a demon that that point, but he didn't really expect it to be the demon, right there, in front of him. He went for his gun—he didn't care if it couldn't kill the demon. He just really wanted to shoot a couple of rounds into its skull. But unfortunately, he hadn't brought any weapons with him. He remembered thinking that Sam needed medicine now, and what evil thing could he possibly meet in a convenience store?

Well, apparently he could meet the yellow-eyed demon in a convenience store.

The demon's smile grew. "Well, well, Dean, I haven't seen you in a good long time. You look better than the last time I saw you."

Dean glared at him. "Where. The hell. Is Sam?"

"I could tell you, but I don't want you to find him just yet." The possessed cashier rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Though I'm sure you'll find him soon enough." He paused, sensing all the thoughts that flew past Dean's mind. One thought stuck out from all the rest. "I just told you," the demon said. "Sam is fine. He doesn't need you worrying over him."

Dean set his jaw.

The demon smiled once more. Dean's buttons were easily pushed, if one knew which ones hurt the most. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon." Once the words had been said, the demon vacated the cashier's body in a swirl of black smoke.

Dean could do little more than watch. He only wondered if any of the security cameras had caught that on tape. Probably not, he concluded. The demon was too smart for something like that.

A moment later, the cashier blinked his eyes slowly. "Wh-what happened…?"

Dean strode back into the motel, right up to the front desk. "Have you seen my brother?" he asked the woman standing there.

The woman gave him a look. "I don't know your brother."

"Real tall, crazy mop hair…"

"Oh, him… He passed by here with two others just ten minutes ago or so. He looked really sick. Probably shouldn't be out running around."

Dean ran a hand through his hair and forced himself to take a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Did they say where they were going?"

"No."

"Did you see which way they went?"

The woman shrugged. "I dunno."

Dean stared at her for a long time. She really was not very helpful. So he just turned and left, returning to the motel room where Sam should've been, and slammed the door behind him.

"Damn it!" he swore loudly. How could he have let this happen? The demon was right, his father was going to tear him apart for this.

He slammed a fist into the wall. He should've brought Sam with him. He should've done something to protect him. That's all he had to do, and he failed. If Dad was here right now…

Dean walked over to Sam's bed. Maybe there was some kind of sign… Some kind of something that would help him. Before he could reach the bed, though, he stepped on a wad of something. He looked down, finding a crumbled ball of paper. Just trash, maybe, but Dean felt himself picking it up and straightening it out. There were indeed words written on that piece of paper.

Dean flipped the paper over, but it was blank. What the hell? he thought. Just what? He read the note again. So Sam did have a vision.

Dean rubbed his forehead. Maybe if he had known about that vision… Why hadn't Sam told him about it? He shook his head. That didn't matter right now. Sam's note said something about an old, abandoned building. But Dean was certain that there would be more than one old building with graffiti in town. And what if Sam had been taken out of town? What then?

Then I'll go out of town too. I'll search every goddamn building in the world until I find him. And then, I'm gonna slaughter the sons of bitches who took him away.

ahhh! In my document manager, i entitled this chapter "zOMG, Sammy got Samnapped!"

Oh, and to all those who like the gumball scene last chapter. Thanks alot! When I was on vacation, I went to the laundromat that I semi-based the one Sam and Dean went to, and of course, there was a gumball machine (that's why I wrote the gumball scene, because I remember there being a gumball machine in the laundromat I went to) So I tried to get a blue, purple, or even a white gumball out of the machine. I tried THREE TIMES. and my brother tried TWICE. I got pink, orange, and green. My brother got yellow twice. WHAT?! We got like, every color OTHER than the ones I wanted! I even have a video of me getting the pink one and the green one. It's kinda sad.

Anyway... I think... this is important, everyone... I think Escape is entering its last story arc here. !! I think there's only going to be a few more chapters after this one. Three more chapters at the very least (I think). (It's very possible that there'll be more than three, but I'm not sure how many) So please, if there are any loose ends that you'd like to see tied off that I may have forgotten about, please review and tell me.

So please review. I'm almost done with another chapter. MAYBE if I get enough reviews, you'll see that chapter before this Thursday. But if not, I probably just won't be motivated. I'd love it if everyone who reads this chapter leaves a review. That would really make me very happy.

I think that's about it. Sorry for the long author's notes. If FFN had a blog area for the writers, I'd totally use that instead. Lol. I just tend to ramble a lot. In my blog on myspace, I'm always rambling on about what I'm writing (even though no one reads my blogs...)

Oh. PS - I always picture Fredric Lehne as the demon. I swear, that guy rocks. Lol.