Disclaimer: It's gonna start taking me longer to think of ways to say no than it will to write a one shot soon...

A/N: Wow-- reviews from you guys is like fricken drugs! Haha, I forgot how much I missed coming onto this site and reading what you all have to say about my stories-- it always makes me smile! Tonight's story is one that I just finished about two hours ago, and is a wee-chester one... I hadn't written one of those in a long while. So I hope you all enjoy it! Thanks!

Title: Somewhere Dark
Genre: Suspense
Summary: Eleven year old Sam is trapped in a dark, soundless basement with two spirits intent on making him their next victim.

Somewhere Dark

Eleven year old Sam squeezed him self into a ball against the corner and shut his eyes tight. White dots began to dance in front of the closed eyes, but Sam still knew where he was, and what was happening. Daring to move, Sam brought his hands up to his ears and cupped them tightly in an attempt to keep all sound out.

It was all stupid anyways.

Even if Sam had his eyes wide open, he wouldn't be able to see anything in the pitch black room, and if his hands were away from his ears all he would have heard was silence. The thing inside the room with him was bidding it's time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and the pre-teen knew that. He'd only been hunting and training for three years now, but already he knew how evil worked. Though this was the first time he ever remembered being this scared of it.

'Sammy, stay with your brother, and be careful,' John had given the usually command when they went anywhere new to scope out a job.

Dean had many more years experience, and so would be the one to look out for Sam while hunting. John would take care of the actual piece of evil, but the brother's would help back him up and do the research. Sam liked the research part-- he got to stay at the library for hours at a time looking up history on interesting things and people. Because of this, and the fact that both Dean and John were immensely protective of the youngest, Sam ended up doing more research than any hands on.

This time was different.

John had found what appeared to be a simple restless spirit attached to a house, and gathered his sons and some supplies and headed towards the large house. He gave the instruction to Dean to search the main floor and basement, and for Sam to stay with him while he went to the second and third floor. Sam did stay with Dean as they wandered the main floor. The brother's were just headed down into the basement when everything happened so quickly.

Sam felt someone shove him down the stairs, while at the same time Dean was flung back into the main floor while the door separating the two was slammed and locked shut. The lights in all of the house flickered off, and a bruised and hurting Sam then crawled aimlessly until he hit the wall. As he continued to now clutch his hands desperately over his ears he realized it was the silence and darkness that scared him the most. The absence of the sound or sight of his brother or Dad coming to save him caused tears to warmly prickle at his eyes.

A cold breeze blew against Sam's face, brushing back his wavy brown hair. His heart hammering against the inside of his chest, Sam pushed back the fear and slowly pulled away his hands and opened his eyes to the darkness. With a shaking hand, he reached for the silver pocket knife that his Dad had given him for his tenth birthday.

"I know you're here," Sam's voice came out clear and steady, seeming to echo across the room.

A loud laugh shot out in the darkness followed quickly by another brush of cold air. Trembling, Sam stood to his feet, his left hand feeling the cement wall blindly behind him. It was cool and damp to the touch, and Sam wished dearly that he could see something. Instead the windowless basement remained a blind prison as Sam continued to also try and hear any sign of his family up above.

"Show yourself!" Sam cried out, his head thumping with his voice.

At this, Sam moved his hand to the base of his forehead, and felt something warm and sticky. This didn't help his quickly mounting fear as the hunter's eyes darted around for any visual sign of the spirit. Like a denser darkness, a black mist swirled around before the eleven year olds face before shooting down into a body that Sam hadn't even noticed.

Screaming, Sam slammed up against the wall, ignoring the pain at the solid crack of his head against solid concrete. The body which had been laying in the darkness now stood up in front of Sam, and turned on a small flashlight in its hand. This sent a shot of light out that gave Sam a glimpse of his surroundings, and, too his horror, the view of another person walking towards him. Both were female, one dressed casually in jeans and a blood soaked t-shirt, and one dressed in a white skirt and a ripped bloodied tank top. Both had shinning black eyes.

"What do you want?" Sam kept himself flat against the wall, his knife once again out in front of him.

"We're here to play a game," the one in the skirt spoke with an English accent, and turned to the other girl, "Aren't we Laura?"

"Not a game Elizabeth," Laura, too spoke with a soft English accent, "More of a… test."

"Just leave me alone, please," Sam tried not to beg, remembering the training his Dad taught him.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth frowned, "I'm afraid we can't do that. Because you see, you came to us, and now we have to show you something."

Laura pulled out a lighter, "Have you ever been burnt before?"

"No," Sam shook his head slowly, "My-my Dad and my brother are just upstairs! They'll send you back to hell."

"Probably," Elizabeth agreed, "But that just gives us all the more reason to kill you Love."

"Nobody else cared," Laura grinned, "At least not once it was over."

Sam's brain suddenly clicked into the research he'd done on the area, "You… I know who you are! This house was where a whole bunch of kids were found dead about three years ago. They were burnt-- it was you, wasn't it?"

"Smart child," Elizabeth's eyes narrowed as she played with a flashlight in her hands, "Too smart."

Again Sam leaned flat against the wall, the blood dripping down his forehead. John had only begun to seriously train his youngest boy, wanting to start out slow at first. Almost everyday Sam and Dean would train together, and Sam found himself enjoying it more and more. Now those training reflexes came back as in a split second Sam had lunged at Elizabeth, stabbing his knife into her stomach. A loud scream escaped her mouth followed by darkness as she dropped the flashlight.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, "Dad!"

Moving as quickly as possible Sam scrambled for the stairs. Tripping on the bottom stair with a solid thump, Sam heard the demons moving off in the distance as he climbed up the wooden planked stairs.

"Dean!" Sam shouted out again.

This time he got a response to his cry in the form of a bang against the door. Two things happened very suddenly then as the door burst open at the top of the stairs, and Sam looked down to see that the demon had once again caught up with him.

"Sammy, run!" Dean's cry came from the top of the stairs.

Using his hands to help climb up, Sam scampered up the second half of the stairs in seconds, jumping through the doorway just as it slammed shut again. Suddenly it was bright, and Sam was facing the wall, his hands out in front of him to stop his momentum.

"Sammy," Dean gasped.

"Sam…" the second voice belonged to his Dad and was followed by someone placing their hands on his shoulder.

The youngest hunter was turned around to face his family.

"It's ok," Sam immediately said, "I'm ok."

"No you're not," John immediately said to his youngest before turning to Dean, "Take him outside, I'll take care of down there."

"But Dad--" Sam began but was interrupted.

"Sammy go," John paused a moment to place a hand on the side of Sam's face and wipe the blood with his thumb, "Please."

Silently Sam nodded his head, and Dean grabbed his arm to hurry him outside. A few moments after they were out of view, the brother's heard two quick shots from a shotgun, and Sam stopped.

"C'mon Sam, it's ok," Dean reassured, "Dad's got it handled."

Again Dean pulled on Sam's arm and lead him out to the front of the house where the sun was slowly setting off in the horizon. Immediately Sam went to the ground and sat in the grassy yard.

Dean bent down to in front of him, "God… Sam, look at me." Sam did as he was told and Dean saw the blood that ran down his face and caused his hair to stick out in clumps, "I'm sorry Sammy."

"I'm ok," Sam took a deep breath to try and force the words true.

Gently Dean pulled back the hair to look at the small gash, "Does it hurt?"

This got a small laugh out of Sam, "That's a stupid question."

Dean smirked, "You're a stupid question."

Sam rolled his eyes and brought his hand up to his forehead, wincing as he did so. Spotting the sticky blood that came back on his fingers Sam swallowed back the fear that he'd forced away.

"Are you alright?" Dean spoke in a quiet voice.

"Yeah…" Sam bit back the continued tears of fear; ashamed to tell of the utmost horror he felt in the dark and silent basement.

"I'm so sorry," Dean scrunched up his eyebrows in a vain attempt to keep in his emotions, "I should have… done something."

Sam shook his head, "There was nothing you could have done. They separated us."

"Sam!" John's voice pierced the air as he came through the front door.

In a flash John had made it to his son and crouched down to be at eye level with the injured one.

"Sammy, look up at me," John repeated the same instructions that Dean had asked.

Being slightly more rough than his son had been, John pulled back the hair and took a look at he injury. Guilt rushed through him as a million thoughts of what he could have done to prevent this occurred to him.

"How bad does it hurt?" John questioned.

"Not too bad," Sam admitted truthfully, trying to get the sensation of being alone in the dark out of his mind.

"Follow my finger," John remained crouched to the ground and now moved a finger in front of Sam's face.

"Dad, I'm fine," Sam insisted, a sudden urge to act unafraid washing over him.

"C'mon," John stood to his feet and reached a hand down to help Sam up to his feet, "We'll go back home, and I'll clean up that head of yours, ok? If it needs it, I'll put a few stitches in it, but I want you to tell me if you feel like you're going to be sick or anything like that."

"Ok Dad," Sam agreed, "Thanks."

John rubbed Sam's shoulder as the three headed to the car, "You did good Sammy."

Once to the Impala, Dean got into the front seat as John packed the trunk with the guns and ammo. Sam carefully got into the backseat, forcing his heart rate and breathing to normal, a continued guilty feeling at being a wimp washing through him.

"Hey Sammy?" Dean spoke softly from the front seat.

"Yeah?"

"It's ok," Dean smiled slightly, "I was afraid of the dark when I was younger too…"

The End.