WinchesterHaunt: Ah, tis another one-shot attempt to ease the pain and suffering that the season one Supernatural cliffhanger gave us. Love or hate Kripke for it… as for me, I'm still conflicted on the subject. So here I am; a conflicted author… that's never a good sign. But regardless! Here it is!

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Kripke's creation, not mine. Pity…

Summery: Devil's Trap Tag: It's amazing; the things a person can push through when they know someone's counting on him or her. But will the final cost of Sam's efforts be more than he can pay?

Adrenaline Rush

One Shot

Falling asleep in the Impala was a normal thing for Sam. It was the best way to pass the time, and his greatest alliance in tuning out Dean's version of the classics. It was normal to find himself slumped down in the passenger's seat with his head tilted back to the breaking point; therefore, it was certainly normal to wake up with a sore neck and a lingering crick.

But this time, when Sam Winchester awoke with his body slumped in his seat and his head leaned back, he knew there was something wrong.

There was too much pain and not enough music. The aches in his body seemed endless. To try and pin point a specific ailment would be useless and too much of an effort for his mind to handle. His mind was too busy with its' own pain to worry about discomfort in another area.

Sam groaned and forced open his heavy eyelids, but he immediately regretted the action. The blinding headlights of the semi crashed into the side of the Impala felt like fire to his optic nerves and his eyes watered behind their lids. The next time Sam attempted to open his eyes, he was more care to let them adjust to the abnormal brightness staring in on him.

The warped roof of the car was the first thing to greet him into his new world of pain. In an odd way, he felt sorry for her. The old gal was beaten and broken, and would probably be in the most pain if she was human enough for that sense. But pain was the price to pay for anyone who stuck around with the Winchester's too long. It had only been a matter of time before she had to pay up too.

"Dean's gonna be pissed when he sees you," Sam grimaced at the grating sound of his voice and the unpleasantly way it vibrated across his neck.

'Dean!'

Completely forgetting his own pain, Sam jerked his head up. The white hot ache that surged down his back was unbelievable, and he could feel the blood drain from his face as his body collapsed onto the steering wheel. The short but blaring sound of the Impala's horn was the only sound from the car for the next few minutes.

Sam took slow and steady breaths to try and rid himself of the sick feeling his jerky movement had afforded him. He figured slow, gradual movements were going to be the best approach for testing the pains and limits of his battered body. It was the most logical approach to the problem, and it was the way Sam always approached things; slow, steady, and with a plan.

But that was different now. Because this wasn't some everyday problem he was trying to solve. This was his family, and his family wasn't just some thing. His family was his everything.

Sam gathered up what little energy he regained from his short break on the steering wheel and pushed himself back upright without a second thought of the pain that might ensue. He groaned at the familiar uncomforting feeling in his neck and back, but did his best to ignore it as he rolled himself over so he could face the back seat.

'Oh God…'

Sam swallowed back the bile in his throat and tried to concentrate on his older brother's face and not the streams of red rivers streaking down his face and side window.

"Dean," Sam didn't pay any attention to the pathetic, childish sound his voice had taken on. His only concern was to find the steady thump of the older boy's pulse beneath his fingers, "come on Dean. You gotta still be with me."

'Please still be with me.'

Sam searched for the right spot and then lightly pressed his fingers onto the bloody area, and then he waited.

A hitched sigh passed between Sam's lips and his head dropped on top of the seat. The little convulsing vein under his blood slick fingers was a draining but much needed emotional relief. He didn't know what he would've done if he'd found Dean dead. In fact, he didn't even want to think about it.

"Sam—my."

Another jerky movement was inflicted on the younger boy's neck, but this time the pain didn't register with him. Hell, his entire head could've rolled off his shoulders and Sam won't have even noticed. His sole attention was focused on his semiconscious brother.

"Dean. Hey," Sam pulled himself farther over the back of the driver's seat and frown as Dean tried to focus on him, "Oh God. Don't try to move."

"Sammy," Dean squinted and blinked a couple more times before croaking in return, "hey yourself."

Sam couldn't help but eye the older boy sympathetically. He looked horrible, and if the tone of his voice was any indication, weak. He had never seen Dean like this before, and Dean was by far the strongest person he knew.

Looking at the older boy in such a state of disrepair made Sam feel surreal. This kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen to Dean; it was supposed to happen to him. Sam was the one with the death wish; he should be the one sitting in the back seat with all the injuries. But he wasn't, and right then Sam would've given anything to trade places with his brother, if only to bring order back to the way their lives usually ran; but mainly because Sam wanted to take away his brother's pain.

Dean should never have to feel this pain; never.

Reality was soon brought back to the younger sibling, and Sam hissed in pain when he felt a finger lightly brush across his temple.

"You're hurt," Sam frowned at Dean's obvious observation, but the older brother was too busy examining the blood on his finger to notice it, "whose ass am I gonna have to kick?"

"What?" confusion was clear on Sam's face.

"Whose ass—," Dean's words were clipped and he held up his finger coated in Sam's blood for illustration purposes, "—am I going to have to kick?"

Sam snorted softly, but the humor didn't reach his eyes, "this isn't exactly the best time for jokes, Dean."

"Who's joking?"

Dean sighed when his younger brother just shook his head.

"How's dad?"

"Dad?" the question only took a moment to process through Sam's mind. He whipped his head around to view the passenger seat, and this time the stabbing pain was felt. All these sudden movements were eventually going to give him a serious injury, if he didn't have one already, "Oh God, Dad."

Sam pushed his upper body back into the front seat and shuffled closer to the older man. Most of the light from the semi was pouring over him and his now pale appearance. It made the black hair and blood on the man's face stand out.

The youngest Winchester positioned his hand over his father's neck. The large lump in the back of his throat was steadily becoming harder to swallow passed.

He timidly placed his fingers over the pulse point in John's neck and waited.

One Mississippi

Two Mississippi

Three—

And there it was; the same, soft, rhythmic thump which had given Sam so much joy when he first discovered it in Dean.

"Sam."

"He's alive," the younger relieved to his impatience older brother, "but we need to get some help."

There was a short pause before Dean made an offer.

"Cellphone?"

"In the trunk. Yours?"

"Same."

Sam frowned and hurriedly checked his pockets to make sure he wasn't mistaken, and just as he thought, he came up empty handed. He pressed his lips together in thought before hesitantly leaning over and checking John's pockets.

"Don't bother," Dean licked at the split in his lip as Sam shot him an inquisitive look, "Meg, remember?"

Sam cursed under his breath and halted his search. He didn't have time for these kind of set backs. His family couldn't take these kind of set backs. John was already unresponsive, and Sam could tell Dean was slowly headed back in that same direction. The older boy was becoming to quiet, and Sam always knew something was wrong when his older brother went quiet.

The though of being left alone in the middle of nowhere was a scary one. It was almost as scary as losing the two strongest people in his life. But it was both of those thoughts that propelled the adrenaline through his veins and set his mind in determination mode. He wouldn't lose his family; not now, and certainly not like this.

Sam grabbed onto the handle of the driver's side door and pulled back on it as he pushed his shoulder into the door. He grunted in both pain and surprise when nothing but a stubborn metal groan met his ears.

"What're you—doing?"

Sam only paused long enough to glance back at his droopy lidded brother.

"You and Dad need help," another grunt and groan of metal, "and the cellphones are in the trunk," another unless pull of the door handle, "I'm going to get one."

"Don't."

"Don't?" the younger brother repeated incredulously, "Dean what are talking about? You need a doctor, and if you think I'm going to sit here and watch you and Dad die—."

"I can't—come with you."

Sam halted his struggle against the stubborn door and turned back to Dean. The helpless half lidded look matched the tone of the older boy's voice. Sam only thought his heart couldn't break any farther, but he was wrong.

"Dean," despite the wavering tone, Sam tried his best to make his voice steady, "I'm only going to the trunk, and then I promise I'll be right back."

A pregnant pause followed Sam's statement, and the quiet was almost enough to strangle him. He didn't like it when Dean slid his eyes to the side and away from him.

"Dean?"

"To the trunk?"

Sam sighed and nodded his head, "and then right back."

"Mm'kay," Dean mumbled and closed his eyes.

"Dean?"

"I'm gonna, sleep now Sammy."

"No, no," Sam's heart rate shot up as he crawled farther over the back of the seat, "You gotta stay awake, Dean. I need you to stay with me here."

Dean snorted the best he could and peeked his eyes back open.

"That demon was right," Dean swallowed hard to take his direct attention off his little brother's confused express, "you don't—need me. Not like I need you."

Sam shook his head defiantly and opened his mouth to protest, but Dean cut him off before he could get started.

"To the trunk—and back," a small twitch pulled at the side of Dean's mouth as he reached up and flicked a stubborn clump of bangs out of Sam's eye, "'kay, kiddo?"

Dean's hand fell back to his lap, and the quiet Sam knew from before, was back.

"Dean?" Sam's eyes widen at his brother's still, unresponsive body. His hand immediately went back to the side of Dean's neck. He was relieved to find the steady thump was still present, but worried since it wasn't as strong as before.

Another burst of adrenaline pulsed through Sam's veins and he was back shoulder-butting the car door before he could even think to do so.

"Come on you stupid piece of metal," Sam mumbled through suppressed tears. Any earlier sympathy he had felt for the car was now gone.

His shoulder ached from the constant force placed on it, but Sam was completely blind to it. He had become numb to everything around him, but the silence that steady pressed in on him. It clawed at him, taunted him, and he knew the only way to end the suffering was to get the door open, but he wasn't even strong enough to do that. How did he expect to save his family when he couldn't even get a measly little door open?

Sam shook his head to rid his eyes of the tears of fear and frustration before preparing to give the door another bone rattling push.

"Open, you stupid son of a—," and suddenly the door groaned fiercely and slammed up before the weight of Sam's shoulder could completely press in on it.

The sudden and unexpected exit to the car had caught Sam off guard and before he knew it, he was spilled-out unceremoniously onto the debris covered ground. He groaned from the hard impact and knew without looking that some of the broken glass from the window had lodged into his body. But he didn't have time to bother with the injuries. He needed to get to the trunk.

Pushing himself to his knees, he used the door handle to pull himself unsteadily to his feet. His ankle protested uncomfortable under his weight, but like every other pain in his body, he shoved it to the back of his mind. His number one concern was getting to the trunk, retrieving his cellphone, and then calling for help. But as soon as Sam's eyes rested on the trunk's lid, he knew there was no way he could open it. And not because the lid was crunched in at an impossible to open angle, but because of the eerie glow coming from each end of the trunk.

The Devil's Trap had been activated. Which only meant one thing…

"A demon?" Sam kept his voice low and glanced inconspicuously from side to side.

He balled his fist and leaned into the trunk for support. What was he going to do now? Even if he wanted to open the trunk, he couldn't. Neither the angle of the lid nor the devil's trap would allow it. So what was he to do? He couldn't just stand there on pins and needles hoping that help would come and what ever demon was nearby wouldn't.

A sudden gust of wind clipped the side of Sam's hair and the boy glared up in the direction it came from. The towering semi was the only thing that met his eyes, but it was enough to cause another spike of anger through the younger boy's body. The sight of the metallic monstrosity biting into the side of his brother's car made him irate.

Sam swallowed roughly and mentally cursed the beast with everything in him. However, when another gust of wind came flowing passed the semi and into Sam's face, a feeling of hope rushed through him as he heard the muffled sound of someone trying to make contact on the truck's CB.

'Don't.'

Sam's step toward the semi was halted as Dean's voice came back to mind.

'To the trunk—and back.'

Sam shook his head miserably at the bloody images of Dean and his father sitting in the car. They both needed help, and it wasn't magically going to show up. Neither of them knew it, but they had both placed their lives in Sam's hands, and he wasn't about to lose either one of them.

"Sorry, Dean," his apology as he limped closer to the semi was sincere, but it wasn't regretful. He would never feel remorse from an action that helped save his family.

The passenger door of the truck was a lot higher than Sam thought it would be. Right now the climb upward looked like a mountain, especially with his ankle in such disrepair. But with help from the silver step bar and his height advantage, Sam was able to pry the door open and pull himself up into the seat of the high sitting rig.

When Sam was well seated in the machine, he tried to keep his eyes away from the trucker. One look at the poor guy and he could see the snapped-neck angle the man's head was laying in. He blanched at the mere thought that this guy could've easily been his father or brother.

"Come in 'Rig 7'. Over."

Sam scrabbled to unhook the little microphone on the side of the radio and hold down the switch on the side. He didn't know exactly what to say; but despite that, he didn't give himself time to think about it.

"Yeah uh,—this is 'Rig 7,' but I'm not the driver," Sam pulled a face at his lame last remark before looking around for any sign that the truck was indeed 'Rig 7.' But even if it wasn't, he didn't care. Because if this truck being 'Rig 7' got his family help, then this truck was now 'Rig 7,' "We need some help out here. There's been an accident."

Sam released the switch and waited for a reply, but when none followed after a minute, panic started to settle in his chest and make breathing difficult.

"…You there, kid? Over."

A sigh left the younger boy's mouth, "Yeah… oh, Over."

"You gotta 10-33? Anybody hurt? Over."

Sam wasn't exactly sure what a 10-33 was, but he could at least answer the latter question.

"My brother—and my Dad," Sam glanced at the trucker driver and frowned as he knew he'd need to report his condition too, "the trucker driver's… dead—Over."

Another pause made Sam squirm with anticipation.

"Alright. Just sit tight, kid. I've gotta schedule of 'Rig 7's' route, so I'll make a call up to the Bear Cave and they'll have a meat-wagon there ASAP. Over and Out."

Sam stared ignorantly at the little CB radio and wanted nothing more than to shout, 'what the hell does that mean!' But, "Wha…?" was the only intelligent phrase Sam managed to produce.

"Sorry, -id," Sam scrunched up his nose as the radio started to fill with static, "-elps on th- way. –."

The radio then went dead, but it was no concern to Sam. He had gotten what he had come for, and though the message was choppy and fussed, it had been the most beautiful thing Sam had ever heard.

Help was on the way. Dean and Dad would both get a doctor.

Sam dropped the little microphone and let it spring up and down from its' coiled cord. His eyes were closed before his back could even slump into the seat behind him, and for a moment he let his mind go completely blank. It was a moment of rest the young man desperately needed, and it was that same moment of rest that was about to cost him dearly.

His eyes hadn't been closed for more than a few second when he felt a cool, clammy hand clamp down on his shoulder. Sam jumped and cried out in surprise. His head shot up toward the supposedly dead trucker and found the man sitting up in his chair; head righted, and eyes glowing at him in a sickeningly familiar fire flickering yellow.

Sam barely had time to register what was going on before he gasped sharply; but it wasn't from surprise or pain.

He suddenly felt a great push from inside his own mind, and the last thing he saw before falling backwards into nothingness was his jet black covered eyes reflecting in the victorious eyes of The Demon.

END

WinchesterHaunt: Well… that was evil of me. Lol. Sorry, it's just a little something I came up with to try and pass the Writer's Block time with. So I hope you enjoyed it, and if anybody's curious as to what the CB lingo is:

10-33 means Emergence — Meat-wagon means Ambulance — Bear Cave means Police Station