Left Behind by a Winchester

3

Sam? I shielded my eyes from the sunlight I hadn't seen in forever. Dark red burned through my eyelids and I whimpered from the pain of the last feeding session. Sam seemed to be whispering reassurances in my ear, but I only heard mutters and couldn't understand a word.

"Mom..." I tried to tell him. He was still walking. Maybe he didn't hear me, but I didn't have enough strength to repeat myself.

My mom had been in there with me, but they had taken her away after she tried to escape. I remembered the fear and anger spreading across her face as she was pulled away from everything she had left. I shuddered at the thought of losing her.

There's nothing I can do. I'm too weak to go back and search for her. I threw my life into the hands of the man carrying me.

Sam Winchester.

Did that seem familiar? I couldn't think of anyone by that name. I attempted to force my eyes open to catch a glimpse of my saviour, but I collapsed in his clutches. All the energy inside me dissipated.

Was he too late?

Was this death?

"No," he grunted as I slipped away. My vision turned to static, little bubbles of fuzz clouding my eyes. I felt him lay me down on something, upholstery I think, before I fainted again.

I thought I was dead. I expected a light, a path to somewhere, anything, but it was just black. Empty and alone. I couldn't move. I couldn't see anything. It was every sensation, fear, hatred, pure happiness, all at once drained from my body and leaving me with emptiness.

Sam. Mom. Sam. Save me. Vampires. Mom. Blood. Sam?

My mind raced at the idea of eternal nothingness. Words screamed at my ears, meaningless. Is this it for me?

Suddenly I was pulled out of my imaginative state. Someone was calling me.

"Hello?" The same hello that called out for me before. I felt saliva dripping down the side of my chin, hair knotted and drowned in sweat, blood and tears wet against my neck. A firm hand held my head up slightly.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" The voice was panicky and quick. It was the only thing I could hear.

Everything hurt. I had no energy. "Sam," I whispered. It was all I could manage.

"Oh, thank god," he said with a long exhale. Although the fuzz still blurred out most of my surrounding, his emerald eyes were clear and staring back at me.

I think I even smiled, even if it lasted barely any time at all.

"Sam," I repeated. His name was so easy to say and I doubted my mind would let me say anything else.

"It's okay. Just hang on."

I noticed we were driving. Sam was in the backseat with me, someone else was behind the wheel and going fast. Shadow grey skies whizzed past us in the half frosted windows. My fingers scratched the seat for someone to hold on to.

Sam reached his hand out. I held it with a weak grip and he squeezed it back. A small smile fell on his lips.

"Stay with me," he kept saying quietly, over and over. I struggled to fight another black out, holding on to reality, holding on to Sam.

"How did you-?" I asked, almost choking on the words. The more I squeezed his hand the more with it I appeared to be.

"Find you?" I nodded in response.

"We're hunters." We? I assumed he was referring to the person driving. He seem too focused on the road, speeding as fast as he could to God knew where, to pay much attention to me. He sometimes glanced back to see if I was still conscious. "It's our job."

"What job?"

"Saving people. Hunting things."

"Things?"

"Monsters."

"Monsters aren't real."

He sighed. I don't think he liked me wasting energy on asking questions. I looked down at his bloody hands, my blood, dripping from his fingertips. I didn't spot my wound. I couldn't feel anything. Was that a good sign?

"Everything you were told to not be afraid of is real. Basically, anyway."

"I'm dreaming," I declared. That made him laugh a little.

"Oh, I wish you were." His silence made me feel like I should stop asking him things.

"Hunters...."

"Yeah," he said. I think he was surprised at well I was taking the whole monster thing, but I couldn't really argue in my current state.

"Sam," the person in front boomed to the back of the car. Sam jerked his head around to look out the windscreen. A lot full of half ruined cars appeared in the distance, with a garage and a house. It was cramped and disorganised, scrap everywhere. I tried to sit up to get a better view, but groaned when a slash of pain hit me and I was forced to lay back down.

The car skidded to a stop. I smelt the brakes burning. Sam opened the door, climbed out and slid me off the seat, carrying me towards the house. All the windows were dark, some were boarded up. The air was full of dust and wind blew specks of dirt and sticks into my eyes. I closed them and turned my face into Sam's chest. The driver followed behind us, a duffel bag over his shoulder.

"Bobby," he called out. A scruffy looking man with a well worn cap and a redneck outfit came stumbling out, grey in his beard and wrinkles taking over his face. He gave me a quick check over and then pointed to a room behind him.

Sam carried me to a bed, sheets already pulled back. The driver started to wrap bandages around my injuries, one around my head and another around my waist. I winced whenever he made contact with my open wounds. Sam left while he was finishing up, then returned with a glass of water and a pack of ice. The driver held it to my head.

"Your name..."

"Dean," he answered. He had the same eyes as Sam. I wondered if they were related. His breath was hot on my neck, one hand holding the ice on my bruised forehead, the other on my shoulder. His face was close enough to mine that I could feel his every breath.

"Bobby?" I asked.

"A friend of ours. We'll take care of you."

I tried to summarise all my gratitude into a sentence, but all seemed to drag on. I settled on a quick thanks, but I really wanted to say more "T-thank you."

"It's our job," Dean grinned. "Rest."

I had so many questions, but I would save them for later. "Monsters, huh?"

Sam snickered from across the room. "Something like that."