Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine and these characters don't belong to me. Now I must find a corner in which to cry.
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The third time Sam wakes up all he knows is he's alive, he has no idea where Dean is, and he's trapped by a wendigo he has no way to kill. He keeps his eyes closed and listens; it comes closer, then moves away. There's a rhythm to it, for all the world like the creature is pacing. Sam tries force his much-abused brain to work better. He has to find his brother. To do that he has to outwit a wendigo. How hard can it be?
Sam thinks it would be doable on most days; he'd like to think he's smarter than his new monster roommate. On any other day, but not this day, not with the constant thrum of pain and worry and Dean ricocheting through his skull, not when it takes all his effort to keep his stomach calm and intact. He swallows against sourness in his mouth and wonders if he actually did end up throwing up on the wendigo. He wonders if that's why it's not eating him yet. Sam hopes so; he wants to see Dean's face when he adds that to Dad's journal. 'To fend off wendigo attack, spew at will.'
Of course, Dean might ask what kind of hunter lets a wendigo get right in his face like that without having a clue it was there. Especially with the way its stink fills his nostrils and his unsettled stomach insists it would be better he just not breathe anymore. Sam's positive the wendigo couldn't have been in the room when he woke up before; the few fractured memories he has tell him that much. It bothers him now that he remembers so little...
/A really good cup of coffee, Dean giving equal love to his breakfast and the curvy young waitress. A tabloid story: people killing loved ones in Virginia then insisting afterwards they were monsters. Dean makes a crass remark about Virginia being for lovers that he half tunes out. Paying for breakfast, returning to the car as Dean grins at him and cranks up the radio. Sam trying to muster up a smile for his brother but all he can feel is more time slipping away./
He can't remember if they even made it to Virginia. For all he knows the hunt he's remembering could have been weeks or months ago, a thought which makes his gut churn even more. It's just a big blank and trying to force the memories just seems to make them slip further away. Sam's nothing if not determined, but when white flashes start to spark beneath his eyelids he knows he has to let it go. Right now he certainly has more pressing concerns.
After a few minutes hearing nothing other than his own breathing, Sam chances opening his eyes. He's lying on his side with his face to the wall. Did he roll over or did the wendigo move him? He decides it doesn't matter; he needs to save his remaining brain cells for escaping, finding his brother and eventually plugging up the annoying holes in his memory.
It's time to take a look around, get his bearings, look for the wendigo's exit as well as any others and find a way to kill the freak that's trapped him here. He uses his bound hands to push off the wall and falls onto his back. While parts of his body, especially his head and shoulder, lodge a vehement protest, the first thing he sees, almost directly above his head, makes the pain and effort more than worthwhile.
There's a torch on the wall. It's anchored in a simple sheath, sputtering flames. Sam smiles as the undercurrent of his thoughts changes to hope and escape and Dean; he tries to keep them from buzzing him straight back into unconsciousness. He's itching to just get up, get to the torch and get away but his training tells him he's got to wait and move when ready, especially injured against an opponent with the strength and speed he knows the wendigo possesses.
Sam's not unused to quickly assessing and triaging injuries. The hunter is certain his busted head really is the worst of it; he's covered with shallow scrapes, bumps and bruises but none of that looks serious. There might be a deeper cut on his shoulder; he can't see it but he feels the sting when he moves his arm and his fingertips come back bloody when he touches the tear in his shirt. It's not an alarming amount of blood, though; it'll keep until later. His hands have gone pretty numb but he can still flex his fingers well enough so he thinks there's no issue getting untied won't fix.
He has no other weapons, which frankly sucks; he isn't as obsessed with such things as Dean, but he knows he'll miss the knife his brother had given him for a long ago birthday. He usually keeps it on him these days but it's gone. He tells himself there's no point in worrying over it; it would have been helpful to remove the bindings but not much else.
The room's long and narrow with only three walls. Sam thinks he might be taller than the room is wide. It's open to some kind of hallway but it's too dark for him to see much, especially with his compromised vision a la concussion.
Slowly and with care, Sam rolls himself back to face the wall. A few contortions later and he's managed to get upright, and from there it's surprisingly easy to remove the torch even with his hands still bound. He almost fumbles and drops it when his head starts swimming from the change of elevation, but he's not a Winchester for nothing and he knows it's his only chance. He contemplates leaving this space; he's cornered here, which is not good in a fight where you know you're out of your weight class, but he doesn't know how far he'll be able to go before he loses consciousness again, even now it's taking everything to stay vertical. His only chance is the element of surprise; the wendigo thinks he's bound and helpless.
That part of the plan, at least, works. The wendigo freezes when it sees Sam. The creature's glowing crimson eyes widen comically, but it recovers before Sam can move, more quickly than he'd hoped. It charges him (he'd forgotten how fast they are) and as he meet its attack Sam already fears the outcome. He just hadn't realized how much his own reflexes had slowed with pain and fatigue. He does get one blow with the torch to its chest, it howls in pain, but it's not enough to disable it or do any real damage and it doesn't retreat. In embarrassingly short order his weapon's been knocked from his hands to sputter harmlessly out on the ground and it's clutching his shoulders. All he can see in the near total darkness is glowing eyes as it shakes him like a rag doll (he'd forgotten how strong they are, too) and Sam's head hits the stone with a crack that sounds so final as the world drops away.
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A/N: Poor Sam, he's really having a bad day. And where's Dean? If you have a theory (and you haven't already gone to the SPN Summergen page to find out) I'd love to hear from you!