Oh my goodness, thank you all so much for the prompts you've been submitting! I'm so glad you're all so interested in this story! I LOVE the prompts you've submitted and can't wait to do each and every one of them! While I'm on the subject of prompt submissions, I need to say something that I forgot to say in the last post –

One only prompt per person, please! I want to give everyone a chance to submit and have their prompt done, so please only submit one. If you give me a couple of ideas in one review and don't name a preference then I'll pick the one I'd prefer to do, and if you do submit a second prompt I'm only going to do the first.

Other than that, thank you all for the wonderful feedback, and here's the first prompt! Given by a guest (Aussie), the prompt was: Sam is injured by an intruder who broke into the hotel. I decided to do this where Sam is 13, hope you enjoy!

Throw my in the landfill,

don't think about the consequences.

Throw my in the dark pit,

don't think about the choices that you've made.

- Daughter, Landfill

Sam sighed as he tossed to TV remote up onto the bed from his place sitting on the floor, leaning against the foot of it. He had been abandoned yet again in another motel in another small town in another state while his father and Dean were off hunting another creature on a hunt he hadn't been allowed to go on because he was "too young", in his dad's words.

"Dean was thirteen when he went on his first hunt," Sam muttered to himself under his breath, standing up and walking over to the bathroom to get a glass of water. "It's not fair. He always gets to do stuff I can't."

Filling one of the cheap glasses that had been provided, Sam shut the water off and turned around, leaning back against the counter as he sulked. Taking a few sips of the water, he eventually sighed and released there was no point acting like this all night when there was nothing he could do about it.

Walking back out into the main room, Sam went over to the window and examined the salt lines across the ledge, noting they were still in tact. He wouldn't admit to anyone but from the moment Dean and his dad left to the moment they walked back through the door Sam was scared. He was scared of something getting them, or something finding their way in to get him, and while John thought Sam was being difficult by asking him to do all of the usual protective measures it was only because the young boy trusted his dad to do it right and keep him safe whereas he thought he might forget something or do something wrong.

Click.

Sam jumped where he was standing, turning around to face the front door. The glass of water shook in his hand, the liquid spilling over the rim and dripping onto the grey shag carpeting that looked like it had been put down in the 60's. The metallic sound that Sam recognised as a lock-pick at work continued to come from the door, and Sam could feel his heart pounding faster and faster in his chest as his panicking mind tried to come up with a plan.

Monsters don't pick locks, he thought to himself as he frantically turned around the room, looking for something to protect himself with, the glass finally slipping to the ground, thankfully not smashing and alerting the intruder to his presence, although he suspected there was a good chance they knew he was in there anyway. Monsters don't pick locks – humans do.

Unsure whether this was something to be glad about or if it was even worse, Sam finally remembered the shotgun his dad had left for him under one of the beds and threw himself onto his knees beside it, fingers reaching for the handle. Just as he had it in his grasp and was pulling it out from the dusty space, however, the door opened.

Sam turned from his knees to sit back, using his hands as a means of pushing himself further and further away from the man who had broken in. Tall and muscular, he was wearing a black shirt and jeans and Sam could see the hilt of a knife pocking out from the waistband. Before Sam realised it, he had pinned himself into the corner between the back wall and one of the beds, and the man approaching him with a cold look on his face pulled out the knife.

"Where is it?" he growled, the silver blade flashing in the light from the moon coming in through the door he hadn't closed. Normally this would bode well for someone in Sam's situation, but he knew for a fact that there was no one else staying in the motel that night as the owner had told them so when they had checked in. No one would be coming to his rescue, and the people who normally did were in the middle of the forest.

"W-where is w-what?" Sam choked out, his throat seeming to tighten with every forward step the man made.

"YOU KNOW WHAT!" he roared in response, reaching Sam and lifting him to his feet as he pushed him against the wall, holding the knife to his throat just enough that the boy could feel the sharp edge. Screwing his eyes shut, Sam tried to rapidly go through everything his father had ever told him about getting out of threatening situations, but it was as though the fear radiating through him had wiped his mind of anything that might help.

Lifting up his arms Sam tried to push the knife wielding one of the man away from his body, but the amount in which the other man's strength outmatched the thirteen year-old was almost comical. Sam sound found himself being thrown over one bed to the space between it and the other one, where he once again was trapped to the man's advantage.

"I'm going to ask you nicely one more time," the man hissed, bringing the knife up to a position where he could plunge it down. "Where. Is. My. Money."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Sam gasped out, struggling against the hold on him. "Please, just let me go!"

With the 20/20 vision of hindsight Sam could see that struggling against the man with a knife was a bad idea, but it wasn't until said knife was being plunged into his side that he realised this. He faintly heard a yell, which he guessed was himself, as the man withdrew his weapon and began clawing at pieces of furniture and tearing the room apart in his search.

"He said it would be hear," he growled in a low voice, "he said it would be in room 214 at this mot-"

Suddenly the man cut off midsentence and darted just outside of the door to look at the sign hanging from the main entrance. Reading it, his face paled.

"Shit," he whispered, what he had just done suddenly dawning on him. "Shit." Looking back at Sam, whose head could be seen behind the bed closest to the door, the man gave in to his flight instinct instead of doing what he knew would be the right thing to do and to help the barely teenage kid he had just wrongly stabbed. However, soon Sam found himself alone, bleeding, and fighting against the growing pull of unconsciousness.

"Dean," he mumbled, "Dad." He coughed, eyes screwing shut at the burning pain radiating from his side. No one was there to help him, and there was no way he could help himself. His head was spinning from having been pushed around so much, and with the amount of blood coming from the wound he could guess that it had gone through the muscle.

His brain scrambled to think of something that would help him in any way, but finally he resigned himself to his fate with the last bit of clarity he felt in his mind before the fog stemming from the blood loss completely took over.

With his eyes slipping closed, he could have sworn that as the darkness consumed him he heard his name being called and felt hands on him, but instead of trying to stay awake to figure it out he gave in, and all went quiet.

...

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sam frowned at the sound coming from somewhere near his head, hearing it and sounds surrounding it grow louder and louder. There was a soft whoosh-ing sound, the beep, and now that he focused on it he could hear someone breathing, too. Really close to his face. Moving his hands, he felt the softness of what he knew were sheets and blankets, way too soft to be anything in a motel, and finally the curiosity to know where he was won out over the appealing option of going back to sleep.

Prying his eyes open, something strangely difficult in that moment, Sam squinted when he was met with the bright white lighting and surrounding of the room he was in, which he immediately named as a hospital room. The white walls and floors were a give-away, and that was before he saw the IVs he knew he was attached to and by the sounds of it a heart monitor too.

Before he could think of what could have happened to land himself in a hospital, though, turning his head he was met with a pair of red-rimmed green eyes. Dean was sat on a chair beside Sam's bed and Sam knew that it had been his brother's breathing he had heard. As embarrassed as he was to admit it, the sound and rhythm calmed him down as it always had, and he guessed that made it easier for him to pick out.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said in a rough voice, "welcome back kiddo."

Sam frowned, and then was suddenly assaulted with the memory of what had happened.

Dean saw the recognition in his little brother's face and nodded. "We don't know who it was, some junked-up asshole, but we figure we got there a couple of minutes after he left. You-" Dean's voice caught, and he looked at the floor and cleared his throat before returning his gaze to his brother. "You were bleeding pretty bad, Sammy."

Sam's eyes widened at the catch in his brother's throat, understanding in that moment how close it had been. Before either brother could say anything else, though, John walked into the room holding two cups of coffee, putting them down on the table by the door quickly as soon as he saw that Sam's eye were open. A rare smile crinkled the eyes of the older hunter, and he moved around to the side of the bed that Dean was sitting by, leaning down and placing a hand on Sam's head, pushing his floppy hair back.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, barely disguised relief shining through his eyes.

Sam smiled back weakly. "Hey, dad." He looked around his room before turning to his father and offering an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

John frowned, as did Dean who leaned back from his position of resting on his elbows which were on the edge of his brother's bed.

"For what, Sam?" John enquired, looking apprehensive.

Sam raised a hand that wasn't attached to an IV, gesturing at the machines. "For this. I should've been able to fight them off, they weren't…special. They were just a person." He looked down and began pulling at threads in the blanket covering his sheets, feeling shame run through him at his incapability to fight of a simple human being. He heard John sigh, and braced himself for the lecture he knew was coming his way.

"Sam, I don't know if you've realised, but there's not a whole lot of you," John began, making Dean smirk and Sam glare at the observation. John lightly smacked Dean over the head before continuing. "When you've got the advantage of knowing your opponents weakness you have a good chance of coming out on top of a fight, but in hand to hand combat with someone who, from what the police said after watching the security tape from outside the motel, was at least three times to size of you?" He shook his head, as if trying to shake the picture of someone stabbing his son out of his mind. He took another deep breath before going on. "If anyone should be apologising Sammy, it should be me for letting you get into that situation in the first place."

Carding his fingers through his youngest's soft brown hair, he looked into the wide green eyes looking back up at him and made a vow to himself in that moment to never let either of his sons be hurt like this again. Never again would he let himself be sat in the waiting room consoling one of them with the other's life hung in the balance.

Plastering a smile on his face, John pulled out his phone and walked towards the door.

"Dad, what're you going?" Dean asked, looking as his father scrolled through his contacts before selecting one.

John looked at Sam before answering. "Calling Bobby. Seeing if we can't hole up there for a little while. Need to restock, got some things to ask him." John had absolutely no need to restock or ask Bobby Singer for information, but seeing Sam's face light up when he answered would be worth however many days they wasted there.

Casting one last look at his boys, now talking as animatedly as Sam could manage about what they could do at Bobby's, John smiled to himself as he walked out. Before he called Bobby he had one other person to call, but the boys didn't need to know about this one. The phone rang on the other end before someone picked up.

"Caleb? It's John - I need a favour. You still able to get access to footage from security cameras? I need to find someone."