It had been deafening. The earsplitting sound of metal mauling metal, the scream of glass shattering into a million razor sharp shards, the sound of the tires' high pitched wail as they were gnarled by being drug sideways against the pavement. It had been deafening.
Now there wasn't any sound in Sam Winchester's ears. There wasn't the sound of his brother asking him if he was alright. There wasn't the sound of his father shouting orders for their next move. There was just silence.
His head had connected with the window of the Impala. That was before he had been violently tossed to his right by the force of the impact. His head had moved back into the window so fast, that he hadn't had time to think about what had just happened to him. All that he could remember in the moments after he could once again feel his limbs was the symphony of dissonance and then silence.
It was when feeling started to creep back into his body, that he started to hear the sound of his own blood whistling past his ear drums. The pulse of his heart and the sloshing of the blood in his ears let him know that he was alive.
Then there was the pain. It ran up his body like fire from the toes up. Every inch of him was suddenly becoming aware of the state it was in. Bruised. Bloodied. Broken. He longed for the numbness after that. He prayed to pass out, but he was starting into an adrenaline kick. His mind was telling him to get his ass out of the car, to check on his family, to do anything but sit there.
Crying wasn't an option. First of all, it was damn near impossible with his one eye swollen shut and his other filling with blood from the torn flesh above his brow. Second of all, he couldn't break down now. Not when he needed to hold the pieces of everything that was left within him together. Not when his brother was sitting in the back seat bleeding to death.
He tilted his head to the side slowly and felt every muscle in the process. There was blinding light coming from somewhere and the low rumble of an engine. His father's head was resting against the passenger side door. His face littered with broken glass and cuts.
"Dad," Sam was startled that he was even able to croak out that word. "Dad, look at me."
Sam tried to sit up, but that wasn't happening. The small amount of movement caused so much pain that he almost blacked out. The bright light was maddening and he wanted to scream for someone to turn it off.
"Dean?" Sam looked up into the rear view mirror. He could see his brother in the back seat. His silent form was still and unmoving. There was no rising or falling of his chest. "Dean?" Sam tried again. "Dean!"
The squeaking of a door opening took over Sam's focus. He suddenly remembered what was causing the bright lights. They had been hit by a semi- truck. He found some uncanny optimism in that moment and wondered if the driver was alright after the crash and could help them out.
The sound of footsteps on gravel reached Sam's ears and he watched the front of the car as the silhouette of a man came into view. He was carrying something with him and was moving slowly. Too casually for someone who had just hit a car and was going to check on the passengers. He wasn't running up to the car to see if everyone was alright. He was sauntering up to the Impala, like a hunter who had just bagged a ten-point buck.
"Oh shit," Sam said as the light bulb finally went on.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…
Sam tried to move again, but he found himself crying out instead as he realized his body wasn't going to be mobile any time soon.
As the man got closer, the remaining headlight of the Impala illuminated the wooden bat the man had secured in one fist. His black eyes glinted and Sam couldn't do anything but stare back into the soulless and merciless ink pools where irises should be. The man's mouth curled up cruelly in a smile and he moved around to Sam's door.
Sam cursed and screamed in frustration as he tried to sit up and look for a weapon. Anything to defend himself. And then it hit him. It was going to be a shot in the dark, but he had nothing left. His right arm was slightly useable. He strained against the soreness in his limb and dipped his fingers into the blood that was pooling from his wounds. He then started to draw with bloodied finger tips on the window.
When he was done, Sam stared at the red devil's trap on his window and dropped his exhausted hand. He was done. That was all he had left, and he knew it. He'd moved too much. His broken body was starting to override his brain and he knew he was about to pass out. About to give up.
"I'm so sorry Dean…Dad…"
God, help us...
a/n: I couldn't explore this as a multichapter fic like I wanted to. I ran out of time, and we all know what really happened by now anyway. My apologies for giving up. I decided to make this a one shot and leave it at that, since I was most proud with the opening scene.