Disclaimer: We also live in a happy world where everything is perfect... (I WISH!)
This takes place while Sam is in college.
This is my Christmas gift for parinumal07, who had requested a Scary!Sam!Limp fic.
I've never really written 'scary' before, so I hope I don't disappoint you too much :P
Enjoy! And Happy Holidays!
As soon as the class had ended, Sam bolted out of the classroom and practically ran back to his room. Besides shopping, school, and his part-time job at the local auto shop, Sam stayed in his little off-campus apartment, alone. He didn't have any friends except for Jess, Becky, and her brother Zack, though he barely hung out with even them. Figures, that after all the normalcy Sam had yearned for, its himself that keeps him from achieving it.
Sam quickly unlocked his apartment door and slipped inside, locking the door behind him. Dumping his bag on the table, he threw himself on the bed and sighed as his body relaxed. He didn't mind being alone really. For the most part. He was so busy with college work and his job, he didn't think he'd even have time to have a social life, even if he wanted one. The only downside to being alone was when things got stressful. He didn't really have anyone to talk to and that could sometimes be hard. Jess and the others were too... as much as he hated to admit it, normal. It was hard for Sam to talk to them, having to always be on guard and make sure he doesn't say anything he'd regret.
All in all, he missed his brother. He missed the stupid fights, the banter they often exchanged, and simply hanging with him. Granted, he didn't miss the training and the hunting, but there was a sort of freedom in being able to speak freely about anything with his brother. And while Sam was more free to do as he wished here in college, his ability to speak was trapped. No matter what he didn, he always seemed to be in one cage or another.
Sam pulled his cell out of his pocket and flipped it open. He scrolled down his contacts until Dean's name was highlighted. He bit his lip as he stared at the screen. This song and dance happened nearly every night. But no matter what, after Sam played out all the possible senarios in his head, it always ended the same. With nothing.
And this night was no different. He snapped his cell shut with a sigh and tossed it onto his nightstand. Sam cursed his pride and fear and how freaking conflicted it made him feel.
"Not a freakin' girl," Sam mumbled to himself. He grabbed his bag off the table and pulled out his homework. "Just suck it up, Winchester."
Dr. Kanwisher drawled on about the Boxer Rebellion as the class took notes.
Jess leaned over toward Sam, sliding a ripped piece of paper over. Without moving his head, Sam read the neat scrawl.
Doing anything tonight?
Sam blinked, knowing what would come next if he said 'no.' So he quickly scribbled 'yes,' sliding it back over to Jess.
Jess looked disappointed as she read the three letter word. She grabbed the paper and quickly scribbled somthing else before sliding it back over.
C'mon! We're gonna go for a drink at Gray Haven. You never leave that stuffy room of yours as it is. It'll be good for you.
Sam sighed, writing 'busy' under Jess' bubbly handwriting. He thought it sounded kind of fun, but he really wasn't in the mood. He believed it would just be way to awkward for him.
When he slid the paper back over, a gray decaying hand took it from him.
Gasping in shock, he jumped up from his seat, his old instincts preparing his body for fight or flight.
Sam looked at Dr. Kanwisher, who was staring at him with an annoyed expression. Breathing heavily, Sam looked back over at Jess, who was alive and healthy, a looking at Sam with a look of fear and shock.
"Is there something you need to express, Mr. Winchester?" Dr. Kanwisher said impatiently.
Sam sat back down, embarrassed and completely bewildered. "N-no, sir."
"Then please refrain from the sporadic spasms, please."
Sam grew bright red as the class laughed. He looked over at Jess, but she was looking pointedly away from him.
Great, Sam thought as he slumped in his seat. Make one of the few friends I have think I'm a freak. Just... perfect.
His next class was in thirty minutes. He was technically supposed to be eating lunch at the moment, but he was feeling a little sick to the stomach.
I must be coming down with something, Sam thought, remembering the decayed hand he saw earlier. He leaned forward over the bathroom sink and cupped his hands under the running water, splashing the cold water into his face. He had to keep himself awake enough to make it through statistics. Looking up in the mirror, he saw that he was slightly pale and his eyes were slightly red-rimmed. Great. Getting sick is the last think I need...
The bathroom stall behind him opened and another college student walked out. Looking at Sam's refection, the other man smirked. "Big test?"
"Sick," Sam said, averting his eyes.
"Bummer," the man said, stopping at the sink next to Sam's.
Sam looked back up at the mirror to look at the man, but all he saw was a stiffened corpse.
Sam gasped as he spun around but...
There was nothing. Sam frowned, looking around the backroom for the man/corpse. But he was alone.
Breathing heavily, Sam looked back at the mirror. "Oh god... seriously? A hunt...?" Sam closed his eyes and sighed. So... should I deal with this myself... or call Dean and Dad?
Sam made it through statistics and his shift at the auto shop without anymore 'corpse sightings.' Hurrying back to his apartment, Sam flipped out his cell, scrolling down to Dean's name.
Sam sighed. He let himself into his apartment and locked the door behind him. Leaning against the closed door, he silently argued with himself.
What if John answers?
I got a legit reason.
And what do you think he'll say to that?
Dean will reason with him
What do you think Dean will say if he finds out about...
He won't find out!
What makes you so sure?
Going on autopilot, Sam dialed Dean's cell. He pressed his cell to his ear and waited for Dean to pick up.
This is Dean. Leave a message.
Sm sighed in relief as the beep sounded. "Hey, Dean. I think there may be a potential hunt here." Sam paused. "Yeah... call me back and I'll fill you in on the details."
Turning off his cell, Sam crawled into bed, deciding he needed a nap before working on his homework.
Sam was walking through the woods, a dark figure circling him.
What have you done...
Sam frowned, trying to follow the dark shape with his eyes. "Who are you?"
The dark figure froze. It swayed back and forth, as if observing Sam. Then it suddenly charged at him.
Eyes widening, Sam turned and ran. He could hear the harsh breathing of the dark shape getting closer and closer to him until...
Sam fell to the ground with a grunt as it seized the back of his shirt. A stiffening cold spread from the small of his back, spreading like fast growing ivy...
With a blink of the eye, Sam was suddenly naked and tied eagle-spread to a bed, an unnatural cold seeping deep into his flesh. "Wha--?"
It was you...
Sam looked down at the foot of the bed to see a rotten corpse crawling upwards towards his head. The torn, stiffened flesh of its hands sending sharp shivers up his spine. He tried to move away, but his body was numb
The corpse laid itself along the entire length of Sam's body, insects crawling out of the pus-filled orifices and creeping all over Sam's flesh. The corpse brought its face close to Sam's, making him gag with the putrid smell of dead things. The corpse's mouth cracked open, the remaining flesh on its face tearing itself and releasing rank pus.
What have you done, you whore!?
Sam gasped as he shot up out of his bed. He gagged, bent over the side of his bed, and vomited. Spitting out the linguring bile, he tried to calm his breath when he realized he was on the edge of hyperventilation. "Wh-what the h-hell's happening... to... me...?"
A harsh, unintelligable whisper echoed through the room.
A spirit... it has to be a spirit... But Sam never heard of a spirit that could cross salt lines. Not even extremely violent ones.
"I will find you..." whatever-it-was whispered hoarsely. "And you will pay!"
A familiar sound crackled in the air and Sam automatically looked up to find the source. And he found himself facing the stiffened corpse from his dream.
Sam cried out as eh jumped backwards, but the corpse followed in a flash, grabbing his head with its cold, rotting hands And just like his dream, the corpse's mouth cracked open grotesquely.
"In the meantime, you're mine!"
Dean woke up near eleven in the morning. His father was on a solo hunt, so Dean was luxuriating ini the freedom his father's absense provided.
Rolling over, he grabbed his cellphone off the night stand and checked for messages. Seeing the blinking (1), he closed his eyes and pressed his cell to his ear, still not quite awake yet.
Dean opened his eyes in surprise. "Sam?"
"I think there might be a potential hunt here." There was a pause. "Yeah... call me back and I'll fill you in on the details."
Dean frowned. He found it odd that Sam would call him after three years of silence for a potential hunt. Feeling his instinctual protective side kicking in, he looked at his watch. Must be 'round 10 at Standford by now... Pressing the speed dial, he called Sam. This should be an interesting conversation...
"Hey, this is Sam. Leave a message."
Dean sighed. Assuming his geek brother was in one of his college classes, "Hey, Sammy. Got your message." Dean paused, not really knowing what else to say. "Yeah, I'll call you back later."
Sam spun around, holding the silver kitchen knife up high. The room the silent except for his heavy breathing. Sweat was dripping down from his hair into his face. He kept a sharp eye out for the corpse, the fact that silver didn't affect spirits didn't teeter him.
He tried just leaving the apartment before, but the corpse was always between him and the door.
Not that the spirit would leave me alone if I simply left, Sam thought, remembering the corpse in Chinese History and the bathroom.
It'd been a few minutes now, and the corpse hadn't returned. "You gone now?" Sam asked under his breath. Silence reigned in the room. Sam sighed. "Fina--"
Sam fell backwards with a yelp, falling against the small kitchen table, knocking over and falling in a heap on the floor.
"Don't relax..." the corpse repeated, limping toward Sam. "You're mine until I'm ready."
Sam gulped. I can't believe I don't have any iron...! Sam crawled backwards as the corpse got closer. Then, summoning up his courage, he leapt up and plunged the knife into the corpse.
And with a blink of an eye, the corpse grabbed Sam's wrist, stopping the attack midair.
A stiffening, ice-cold pain attacked Sam's arm, stabbing him to the bone. Tears sprang to his eyes as he fell to his knees with a gasp. He dropped the knife and tried to free himself from the unforgiving grip.
"Stop struggling, you filthy whore!" the corpse rasped.
Sam surpressed his gag reflex as he used his other hand to try and dislodge the corpse's, his hand running over the rotted, rubbery, oozing flesh.
"Revenge is best served COLD, bitch!"
"I... didn't... do... anything!" Sam grunted out.
"You slept with him!!" the corpse screamed with a herpy-like screech, its cheeks ripping and and curling grotesquely. "You made him sick! And now you're gonna PAY!" The corpse grabbed Sam's hair and pulled his head back, bringing its own rotted face withing inches of his. "I'm gonna RUIN you!"'
For most the day, Dean entertained himself with pool and the occasional scantily dressed woman. But a small part of his mind was stuck in habitual worry, brought on by Sam's message.
Later that evening, Dean called Sam again, only to get his voicemail. "Seriously, Sammy! You can't tell me that you got classes this late at night!" Dean looked at his watch. "It's 10 freakin' o'clock over there! Seriously, call me!" Dean hung up and looked at his phhone, his worry elevating to an uncomfortable level. He tapped his foot impatiently, his mind going a million miles an hour.
"Dammit." Dean grabbed his duffel bag and called his dad as he packed. It went to voicemail. "Hey, Dad. I think something's up at Stanford. I'll call you when I know more.
Logically, it would have been perfectly fine for Dean to wait until morning to drive all the way to Stanford. But did Dean ever listen to logic? No. He listened to instinct. And his instinct was telling him to go to Stanford now.
So Dean drove for over three hours. By the time he got there, it was near two in the morning, current time.
"If you're not in trouble, I'm gonna kick your ass," Dean mumbled under his breath as he grabbed his shotgun out of the trunk.
About a year ago, Sam moved out of the college dorms and into his own apartment. Dean only knew this because their father was keeping tabs behind Sam's back, just to keep track of him They didn't know why Sam moved, but Dean was glad that they at least knew.
He ran up to the third floor, room 328, and knocked on the door. "Sammy?" When there was no answer, Dean called his brother's name again, but there was still no answer.
Being in an apartment complex full of sleeping people, Dean chose to pick the lock, instead of kicking the door down.
Dean stuffed his pick away as the door slowly swung open. "Sammy?" Maybe he's out witha girl and a six pack... Dean thought hopefully.
THe room was hot and humid. All the lights were off. "That's not ominous," Dean said quietly. He closed the door behind him and flicked a light on. "Sam?"
"D-Dean?" Sam slowly stood from behind he bed. He was shirtless and sweaty, his hair lank and sticking to his face. His eyes were redrimmed and bloodshot.
Dean wallowed at the ost and confused look Sam wore on his face. "Man, I hope you just came back from a night of hardcore sex..."
Sam flinched at Dean's wording. "Turn off the light."
Dean gave Sam a confused look. "Sam, you okay--?"
"JUst turn off the damn light!" Sam yelled.
"Okay!" Dean's worry kicked up a notch as he turned off the light. "Mind if I ask why?"
Dean could see Sam's sillouette turning in circles, as if looking out for something. "It's harder to see her, then." Sam said distractedly.
Dean's worry went up to panic. "Man, I hope this is just some kinky game you're playing..."
Suddenly, Sam cried out and fell backwards. He went stiff and groaned. "No.,.. Please, don't..."
Con fused and worried as hell, Dean leaned over his brother and grabbed his shoulders. "Sam! Snap out of it! Tell me what's going on!"
Sam's eyes suddenly widened as he screamed. Dean let go of Sam in shock and Sam quickly crawled backwards until his back hit the wall, his screams turning into whimpers.
Dean was shaking. He had never seen his brother so... shaken? His defiant, strong-willed brother was shaking, whimpering, cowering on the floor from some kind of unseen assailant. "Sam! Please tell me what the hell's going on!"
Sam's eyes flickered between Dean and whatever he was seeing. "Y-you... you can't see it?" He gave a choked gasp. "Goddammit!"
The corpse had his legs pinned and was slowly craling up his body, spreading its sticky, yellow pus up his length. The corpse rubbed its lips against Sam's neck, nuzzling him. Sam gagged as the stiff lips left a residue behind on his neck. Suddenly, a freezing pain seized his body, stopping his breath and suffocating him.
When Dean saw Sam struggling for breath, he grabbed his brother's shoulders and tried to break through to Sam, but Sam didn't seem to even see him.
"Dammit!" Dean cursed. "C'mon, Sammy! Snap out of it!"
"Wh-what...?" a small voice behind Dean said.
Dean spun around to find a petite woman standing in the apartment doorway. She was staring at Sam with wide eyes.
"He's sick," Dean babbled out, turning his attention back to his brother. Sam was breathing normally again and seemed to have lost consciousness, for which Dean was grateful. "Sorry if he woke you..."
"B-but... w-why was he cursed?"
Dean spun around towards the woman again, feeling as though he had just been punched in the stomach. "I'm sorry..." Dean said slowly. "What did you just say?"
The woman swallowed, her eyes never leaving Sam. "He's... he's not a woman..."
Dean had to admit, his eyebrow went up in amusement. "Well, that's still up for debate, but--"
"Did I do the curse wrong...?" she said more to herself than Dean.
Dean's eyes widened, then narrowed in a glare. "Wait a minute... are you saying you cursed my brother?!"
The young woman visibly swallowed. "I-it was an accident! That's not what I meant it for!"
Dean turned back to his brother, making sure he was still breathing. Then, pulling Sam into a fireman's carry, he dumped him on his bed, trying top be careful of all his long limbs.
Dean shut the door to the apartment, grabbing the woman by the arm. "Man, do you have a lot to explain, sister."
"About a week ago..." she started. "My boyfriends was diagnosed with HIV. But, we were both virgins! We got ourselves checked out when we first started going out, just for fun. We were both healthy." She swallowed. "When I realized he had cheated on me, I got angry. I figured, the only time he could have possibly cheated on me, was when we were at a bar and I went home early 'cause I had a big test the next morning." She looked down at her hands. "My grandma gave me this old book when I went off to college. She said it had magic spells in it. I thought it was bullshit but... I was willing to try anything."
"What does my brother have to do with this?" Dean asked tersely.
She swallowed. "I cast a spell... to find out if anyone had left the bar with Gregory that night. I figured out a mixture a spells that would do that... A anima mortis would mark them and then would lead me to them. But... your brother's a guy. Is he--?"
"He's straight," Dean said. He sighed. "I take it you never took Latin?"
She shook her head. "N-no, I take French."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Anima mortis means 'spirit of death.' You had a freaking spectral projection of death follow and taunt him so you could figure out why your stupid boyfriend couldn't keep it in his pants! Well you know what? I think you should talk to your boyfriend about that!"
"Then why did it lead me to him!?" she yelled. "Why did he go home with Gregory!?"
"You're an amateur witch," Dean growled. "The only reason I'm not wasting you right now, is because you're just an amateur. Magic is tough stuff to deal with. I wouldn't be suprised if you screwed it up. But if you managed to release the anima mortis, but failed to give it the right target, it merely latches on to some poor bastard who has nothing to do with the stupid spell. In this case: my brother."
The woman swallowed, her eyes filling with tears. "But--"
"Don't mess with magic," Dean said, leaning forward to look at her at eye level. "Sounds like you should just dump your bastard of a boyfriend, and move on. But if you keep messing with this crap, someone, maybe me, maybe someone else, will end you."
The woman jerked her head in understanding.
"Good. Now leave."
Sam moaned as he gained consciousness. His body felt like it had just gone five rounds with a bull. And miserably lost. He opened his eyes and looked around warily. "You still here?" Sam asked hoarsely.
Nothing happened. Sam waited a minute. Five. Ten. Nothing happened.
Sam closed his eyes, blowing out a huge sigh of relief. "Thank god..." He let his head drop back onto his pillow.
Sam sat looking around his room. "Dean?" Getting out of bed, Sam quickly checked all the other rooms, calling his brother's name. But Dean wasn't there.
Did I imagine him before...? Sam thought. But then how did I get in the bed? And why is everything cleaned up?
Then Sam saw a folded piece of paper on the kitchen table. Opening it, Sam read his brother's familiar scrawl. His fists shook and his eyes grew wet as he read it.
It was a spell. Some girl messed up a spell and you got the after effects. Hopefully she won't be dabbling in those powers again. I cleaned up and called your teachers, telling them you were really, really ill. Try and take the rest of the week off. You probably need the extra rest. Call me if anything else comes up.
I hope you all enjoyed it!