Disclaimer: Nothing new, just the usual I love to hurt, torture, kiss and caress the guys before I send em back.

An Adaptation: from Sade Lyrate's Broken, Chapter 53 of Shards, Shreds, Scraps.

Author's Note: When I received this new chapter in my alerts this morning, it matched a dream I had last night scaringly so I had to do something with it. I hope that I have done it justice as Sade Lyrate is one of my all time favourite writers in the Fan Fiction world and I am in awe of her little snippets.


Chapter One

He tried to ignore the burn in his back, and-


His legs wouldn't cooperate, his whole body ached, his cell could have been on the Moon instead of mere feet away.

The afterimage of a supernova flared within his skull as he crawled, the gravel biting into the palm of his left hand. A move, another, the pain aggravated by each pull. Short bursts of breath, his head swimming, the siren song of sleep ever stronger.

The familiar form under his fingers sent a quick praise tumbling through his sluggish mind, past bruised lips.

He flopped against the wall on his side, teeth clenching at the spikes the tiles' roughness drove into his nerves, hand clutching the little device like the straw it was. A deep breath, sea urchins within his lungs, and he flipped open the cell, slick fingers slipping over the speed dial.

"This is Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency-"


He sucked in a breath that felt too much like a sob, waited for the recorded message to play out. Prayed Dean'd pick up the damn phone!
Unmistakable beep, mocking him just like his body, lips unfamiliar as he sought to form words, eyes closing as he concentrated on what he knew, what he needed, what he had to do.

Somewhere along the line, he forgot to open them again.

Moments or hours ago –

Sam stared at his phone and tried to clear his mind but he couldn't stop thinking about the message. Garbled and indistinct, but it definitely sounded like Dean. His older brother went to get their dinner while Sam finished his research on the laptop. A simple hunt that was glaringly obvious.

An abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of another nondescript town in the middle of nowhere. A group of teenagers supposedly used it for the place of a séance calling the spirits of some very nasty men. Unknowing and too trusting they used the ouija board on the misguided advice of a friend of a friend. No one knew of the protection prayer to close the circle and keep out the nasties, no one knew that they should have their candles on the four points, no one knew that they should close the séance with a prayer thanking the good spirits for their protection and closing the board before the nasties leeched in.

No one told them what would happen if they called the spirit of a murderer, a rapist or even a bully would result in mayhem and death. They did it for fun.

Sighing heavily Sam armed himself with the rifle filled with rock salt, a handgun loaded with live ammunition, a flask of holy water and their Dad's journal. Satisfied that he had everything Sam stepped out of the motel room and looked down the long road a miserable expression marring his handsome face. A frown deepened the creases on his forehead, Dean had the car, another deep sigh wound its way through his chest cavity, and escaped passed his lips, as he pulled the collar of his jacket up Sam started to jog towards the warehouse. Silently berating Dean along the way, his older brother so stubborn and so protective, deciding to do the hunt his way. Leaving Sam behind with his slight head cold, not wanting him to have exposure to any supernatural activity until the cold bugs moved on.

As he neared the warehouse Sam breathed heavily, almost gasping for breath as his congested lungs wanted to expel the phlegm there and then. Glancing around he did a visual recon of the area, no signs of any activity and the impala was no where to be seen.

A twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach made Sam stop and consider his position; carefully he crept along the wall, feeling the broken tiles at his back and the gravel rolled under his feet. Carefully he moved further, into the building Sam's senses moved into high alert, something felt so wrong, there was no sign of Dean.

'Nice of you to join the party,' a harsh voice came from the shadows startling Sam; he pushed himself back against the wall and peered out through squinting eyes.

'Oh whatsa matta Sammy don't you want to play?' another voice taunted him from behind.

Moving with blind instinct Sam extricated the flask of holy water and flung it at the voice from behind him. A harsh cry filled the air and gave Sam a small sense of satisfaction. But then, then he saw the figure moving into the dull light giving Sam a better view of his tormentor. The voice sounded so much like Dean's but the body held no resemblance whatsoever. 'Now that wasn't very nice Sammy, you have to learn to play nicely.'

'Yeah right as if you know what playing nicely is all about.' Sam yelled out trying to buy some time to gauge just how many spirits were in the immediate area. Internally he continually scolded himself for being such a fool. Dean was probably back at the motel with something interesting and hot to eat. Instead, Sam let himself lured into a situation that Dean never would ... scratch that yes he would. Especially if they threatened him with harm to Sam.

A harsh laugh gurgled in his throat, yes the Winchester boys were starting to become predictable when it comes to each other.

Blinding light flared burning Sam's retinas, screaming he dropped his gun, his hands flying to his burning eyes, tears streamed down his face as he tried to force his burning eyes to focus on the danger surrounding him. 'Now would be a good time Dean, you can come crashing in anytime now.' The thought flew from Sam's mind as he reached around with flailing hands. A mocking laugh filled his ears prickling at his hurt pride and fuelled his growing anger.

'Come out, come out wherever you are.' The voice mocked Sam again, the blow from behind made him stumble forward exposing his position completely.

'Who are you?' Sam rasped trying to buy time for his eyes, weeping cleansing tears washing away the stinging burn. 'What do you want?'

'Such a clichéd question Sammy, by now surely you should know what is wanted and who I am.'

'Surprise me.' Sam shot out as he lurched towards the protection of the wall, where was Dean? Why hadn't he come yet?

'Oh Dean won't be coming anytime soon Sammy, you're all mine.'

'What have you done to Dean?'

'Nothing yet, why do you want me to do something?'

'Leave my brother alone.' Sam cried out, with shaking fingers he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket ready to hit the speed dial to alert Dean to his predicament.

The blast deafened Sam momentarily, stunned he stood there unsure of exactly what happened. The small mobile phone no longer sat in his numb fingers, vaguely Sam registered landing on the ground away from him.

Laughter filled the suddenly silent arena and then applause rippled through the building. 'Ah you are such fun to play with Sammy, but unfortunately we have another rather pressing engagement.'

Sam tried to move but his body seemed frozen, when suddenly, the pain flared igniting a fire in his back. Placing a hand to hold his aching spine Sam frowned and pulled it away, slick and wet from something dripping down his back. The acrid stench of burnt skin mixed with gunpowder permeated the air making Sam gag. Someone had been shot, then he realised it was him, as his knees buckled and he felt himself falling towards the unforgiving gravel and concrete beneath him.

'Dean,' he whispered, his voice bubbling with blood as his face connected with the floor, his teeth sinking through the soft flesh of his tongue.