I thought of this story the other night when I was reading up on old stories in my home town, and thought you guys might like to read it...
Standard disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot... The characters and anything else pertaining to the show belong to Eric Kripke... mumbles under her breath, 'they will be mine...' I must thank the brilliant mind who introduced me to Sam...
Wow that disclaimer got really off track didn't it? Anyway, on with the story...
Hey guys if you're interested, I could use a beta for this piece… Let me know…
Sam walked down the hall towards his locker, cursing his Math teacher the whole way. 'Where the hell will you use imaginary numbers in the real world anyway? That little 'i' can go to hell!' He thought, and switched his backpack to his other shoulder, as his side started to throb.
Opening his locker he pulled out his backpack and the books he needed for his weekend assignments. He closed and locked the door, before walking back the way he came, toward the entrance of school, where no doubt his father and brother would be waiting for him. There was a hunt in Chaffee, a small town three hours ride away, his father wanted them to do that weekend, and he wanted to leave just as soon as Sam got out of school.
Sam walked out the door, and as he suspected, his father was waiting there in his black truck, and Dean was behind him in the Impala. Still not too happy with his brother over the argument they had that morning before Sam had left for school, Sam walked towards his father's truck, ignoring the surprised look the man gave him, and the spike of pain in his side, as he jumped in the cab with him.
Since turning seventeen, Sam and his father had rarely if ever gotten along, the similarities between the two, repelling each other; but the times when Dean and Sam were on the verge of ripping each other to pieces, those were the times Sam and John got along the best.
"So Sammy, how was school?" John asked casually, choosing to remain ignorant of the look of confusion on Sam's face. School was a topic that the Winchesters never discussed, because it usually became a top point in the many arguments that went on in the house.
John watched as his youngest son jumped in the truck, clearly displaying his surprise that Sam would actually choose to ride with him. He had to hide the concern he felt, as he saw Sam suppress a wince as he pulled his side. The wound from the last hunt, must still have been bothering Sam, John just hoped it wasn't infected.
"So Sammy, how was school?" John asked, trying to get his son talking, and ignoring the confused look Sam sent him.
"Uh, it was okay. The math teacher needs to get his head out of his ass, but other than that, it was fine." Sam answered slowly, looked at his father as if the man had two heads.
"I know what you mean, I never was any good at math, Mary had to help me with that a lot." Sam looked at his father, surprise entering his expression. His father had never told him that before. The rest of the ride was spent with easy conversation between the two, a rare occurrence for the two Winchesters.
Three hours later John pulled the truck in to a motel, right smack in the middle of Chaffee, with Dean following him into the parking lot. After parking, John reached over and shook Sam awake, the youngest Winchester blinking at him owlishly in his dazed state. John could see the glazed look in Sam's eyes, and he had felt the heat on his skin as he had shook him awake, and the oldest Winchester was immediately concerned for his youngest son.
"You okay?" He asked Sam, and when Sam nodded, he sighed; trusting that Sam would tell him if it was anything serious. John got out of the truck, and with the door still open, he said, "I'm going to get us a room, why don't you get out and stretch for a few minutes, maybe gather up the gear?" Sam nodded and opened his own door, then jumped out of the truck.
John turned and walked towards the motel office, trying his hardest to suppress the concern for his youngest that kept cropping up. He grabbed the door handle of the office, and taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he pulled open the door and walked inside.
Sam jumped down out of the truck, and winced as streaks of pain shot through his side. Looking around he made sure no one was looking and he gingerly lifted his shirt, to look down at the gash he had gotten on the last hunt.
Sam looked around him, trying to determine where the Wendigo had gone. They were sneaky little (big) bastards, and Sam had been split away from Dean and his father when they had gone to follow the beast.
Sam only had a second to react when he heard the crack of a branch to the left of him, before the creature lunged at him. Sam threw himself out of the way, but not before the Wendigo sunk one of his long claws into Sam's side, and the young hunter cried out. Steadying the gun in his hands, Sam aimed at the creature, who had gotten back up and was running at him again. He fired the gun, letting the flare loose. Sam watched in fascination as the flare embedded itself into the Wendigo's chest and turned his head as the creature was lit on fire.
Sam had down played the wound, and thankfully his father had left him alone, and had let Sam take care of his own wound, and though Dean had been suspicious, he had let Sam take care of himself. That had been a week ago, and Sam had been taking good care of the wound, but the afternoon before they had been playing football in gym, and Sam had been tackled to the ground outside. The gash had gotten filthy, and Sam hadn't been able to clean it right away, only taking care of his wound after the class had ended, when he had gotten a shower in the locker room.
The dirt had had enough time to set in and do a good amount of damage by then, but Sam had thought that maybe he would get lucky and nothing would happen. Feeling the raw soreness of the wound now, Sam wasn't so sure he was going to get his wish.
The edges of the gash were raw and red, and Sam grimaced. He prodded the wound, and suppressed a gasp aspain lanced through him. The raised skin around the edge was hot to the touch, and Sam knew that even if the gash hadn't been infected before, it sure was now. There was no denying the signs, and though Sam may have been able to hide the severity of the injury until then, he knew that it was only a matter of time before his father or brother found out about the infection.
Sighing he pulled his shirt back down and turned to grab his bag from the back of the truck. As he pulled the heavy duffle out, his side screamed at him, and he let out an involuntary whimper of pain. He dropped the duffle to the pavement and wrapped his arm around himself, doubling over.
Sam felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and he could hear his father's concerned voice, but he couldn't make out what the older man was saying. Everything was fading in and out, dulling around him. Another hand wrapped itself around his waist, and Sam moaned as the familiar weight of his brother's arm settled onto his side.
"Sam?" The voice was far away and muffled. Sam turned toward it, his eyes clenched in pain. He made himself straighten and regretted the action as dizziness settled in. Sam opened his eyes, to find Dean looking worriedly at him.
"Dean?" He asked, the word sticking in his throat as his vision tilted and tipped.
"I'm here Sammy," Dean answered, the concern for him clear on his normally closed of expression.
"Hurts," he whimpered, and lost his fight against the swirling in his head. His knees let out, and he collapsed, the only things keeping him off the ground, his father and brother's hands.
He groaned as his brother's hand bit into his side harder. Spikes of pain seared through him, and the tilting of his vision worsened. He closed his eyes, only to feel a slight slap to his face, and hear his brother tell him to keep his eyes open.
"M'sorry," he whispered and gave into the darkness that was calling him.
A/N: So I hope you enjoyed. Review and tell me if you did, or tell me if you didn't.