Hi Guys! This is a new one I've conjured over the span of the last few weeks. It's got a new style and rapid development. Just an excuse for, you know, some cruel and unusual limpage; before I get back to my other story.

LimpSam. I know right, what else is new? Nope, not making any money off this, nor do I own the Supernatural storyline and characters. Just messing with the boys again! This is a two-shot. The next chapter will be up shortly! Enjoy!

Part One: A Whole Round of Suckers

The timing was perfect.

In the dark.

In isolation.

It was exactly what they liked. It was exactly how they preyed.

It was their stench he caught first. Deep in the bowels of Louisiana surrounded by various swamps, there was a whole assortment of smells. But that particular smell he could distinguish anywhere. The offensive odor of decayed flesh permeated his senses, alerting him to their presence. The sound of running feet drew his attention to the front, then to the back, then all around.

Six or seven of them formed an arc around him, a few pacing back and forth, growling and licking their lips. Round animalistic eyes gleamed for the kill with hands and arms bent, fingers flexed, and scores of teeth glittering in the moonlight. Rapacious and feral. These things were liked starved lions, seemingly having hardly eaten in decades.

Dark liquid the color of tar dripped lazily off the tip of his machete, two of these foul beasts slain by his hand. Insensible rage flooded through his veins, taking complete control. He was an animal too, a monster. Bloodthirsty. Survival-driven. He wouldn't stop until the last of these bloodsuckers saw the gleam of his blade.

Sam watched and listened, his eyes darting at every possible move. The half-starved vampires shook their heads like ravenous pitbulls. They were quick: much too quick to his understanding. The foul pack must have been planning this from the get-go. If he hadn't been at the trunk with it open and a machete on hand, no doubt he'd have been easy pickings. Preparing for what would be a fight to the death, he stood at the ready.

One of them, a blonde female, advanced. He swung and she swiftly evaded the curt slice.

Another ran forward.

Sam kicked at the vamp's chest knocking it off its feet, the force causing the monster to slide along the gravel. Three more suddenly jumped up. Sam stepped to the side and sliced the blade through the air, creating a large red cut on one of the pale faces. Jumping back, he continued to make slicing movements, the vampires backing away farther from each stroke. Sam didn't know if this was for prey. He didn't know if this was for revenge. One thing was for sure. He was in for one helluva fight.

The vamp's circled him, drawing him away from the safety of the Impala, more out in the open. Confusion pounded into Sam's head like a sledgehammer into a long railway spike. Was this another one of Lucifer's brigade? It didn't seem like this could be part of the fallen angel's endgame. The entity had said himself he would never hurt his intended vessel. So what was this? A ploy? A trick to bring him hither? Or a desperate food-on-the-run feeding game?

Either way, he was outnumbered several to one.

Behind him, one came up and in a quick flash took a grand bite. Sam bit his tongue to keep from screaming in anguish. Whirling around, the vamp's head went skyward as his hand went up, its long raven hair spinning wildly as the head landed with a grotesque 'splat' on the gravel. He grimaced. The sting in his shoulder throbbed unmercifully. He turned back to the group just as the several fiends charged forward, backing away again at his powerful swings.

Sam took a breath. "Come on!" he provoked. In the dark, in the shadows, it was difficult to see his assailants. Calculation was mandatory. Every second was precious. Every second there was to stall. Whatever it took before his brother arrived. Any second now his back up would come.

Stealthily, a male vamp in cowboy attire and a brown leather jacket climbed atop the Impala, took position, and pounced.

Surprise hit Sam like a battering ram, the weight of the creature pushing him to the ground. Attached to his back, the fiend and he rolled amongst the gravel and turf. Adorning several new cuts and abrasions, the vamp swiped a clammy fist across his face. Now in a daze, Sam awkwardly swung the machete accidentally cleaving off the once-human hands.

A smile flourished across his bleeding lips at the vamp's pained cry. Excitement among other elating feelings ignited at the creature's anguish. Tightening his grip, he made another slice in the air lopping off the man's head.

The rest of the venomous pack curled their lips in anger. The blonde female charged, kicking the machete out of his hands causing the blade to skid far along the scraggly rocks. She made another kick ramming the heel of her boot into the side of his head. A blinding white-hot pain exploded and he clasped his hand over his eyes, struggling to overcome the temporary blindness.

Something strong wrapped around his ankle and then began to drag him away at a fast pace. Rocks and stray twigs scraped all along his back tearing at his skin. A pained cry escaped past his lips and he opened his watery eyes. Digging his hands into the dirt coming to a stop, he forcefully kicked the vamp off, afterward quickly staggering back to his full height. A quick glimpse around and he knew he was far from the Impala, now in a clearing somewhere in the eerie woods.

War cries and primitive caterwauls from the vamps sounded all around. Adrenaline pumped a mile a minute springing him to action. Dodging the two male vamps to the left, he curled his fist tight and thrust it upwards into a mouth, quickly receding and throwing it into another vamp's gut.

His hands and combat skills were his only weapon now.

Harsh pants and sounds of crushing bones was all that was heard in the small parking space. Sam threw out every punch, kick, and fight tactic he knew. Taking on a flock with now four left was a feat. He maneuvered a male into a headlock giving it a sharp twist, which was followed by a loud reverberating crack. His exhilaration for the fight crescendoed, giving him a high, and eager for another fix.

Every punch, there was a screech. Every kick, there was a hiss. Sam seemed to be winning, having knocked most of them down. But, however much pain the fiends endured, they would not abandon their endeavor. One after the other creepily clambered back to their feet ready to spring.

Sam stood his ground, eyeing the four with inconceivable hatred. There was a time before where he'd probably accept the vamp's action, critically analyze their motivation. But now he understood there was no time for that. It was a classic survival ordeal: Kill or be killed.

His fist tightened. Death wasn't an option today.

He stepped forward ready to deliver more pain, to give these beasts a run for their money. Movement alerted his attention to the left, where three more came out of the clearing. What was this, a vampire convention? How many more were there? He shook his head, focusing his attention.

Then suddenly a gunshot echoed.

Everything stood still, paralyzed. Except for the vampires, all of who jumped backwards in surprise.

Shock pulsed through Sam's chest in that moment. It felt like a million lightning bolts striking as a fire, hell-bent and torturous, tore through the muscle, leaving a wet and angry aftermath. The throb beneath his bite spread outward, the newly created hole in his shoulder spurting out a trickle of blood. Then there was a terrible burning and twisting; an excruciating pain he could only associate with gunshots. Dizziness assaulted him and his feet tripped.

Grasping the back of his shoulder, Sam slowly turned and saw a man. Maybe a vampire? Maybe a hunter? It was hard to tell. The man adorned in black leather stood poised, wisps of smoke issuing from the barrel of a .45, his face obscured in shadow.

"Who—" Sam barely gasped.

"Sorry man, but this is my redemption," the man said.

His face was still dark, but Sam could tell he was young with the way he held himself and the high volume of his voice. But the way he was poised with the gun, it was clear he was a hunter. And then it became crystal clear as to why the vampires were there. This was a tactical assault, a very well planned out hit and run.

Sam huffed at the ridiculousness of the situation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the female vamp become ecstatic, her body in near convulsions. The exuding blood was driving her, along with the rest of the vamp posse, crazy. He took a step back feeling rather vulnerable. Wounded, weaponless, and out in the open were not favorable odds. He was really beginning to wonder just where in the Hell was his brother.

He glanced back and saw the hunter gone. Not surprising. Tricky cowardly bastard. Of course, try to blame a death on something supernatural, so that the trail would not lead to murder. Sam had to admit, it was sneaky.

With the odds against him, Sam turned to run. He hadn't made it far when simultaneously all the vamps leapt up in the air. A couple hundred tons it felt fell on top of his back, sprawling him to the ground. And there the monsters began to tear, rip, scratch, and beat. Sam rolled and thrashed, yelled, and fought. But it was no use. There were too many, thus he was overpowered.

The female flung her head back and sunk her second set of teeth deeply into his side. A loud pained howl was heard from his own mouth. Blood oozed steadily from the punctured holes, the vamp lapping it up like a dehydrated dog before sinking her teeth in yet again past the fabric of his gray t-shirt.

Power, energy was draining quickly. He rolled fiercely again onto his back desperately attempting to crawl away. The vamps all dug their dirty ivory nails into his flesh, securing him in place. One by one, each bit down, ripping and tearing like ferocious dogs.

The sharp, needle-like pains evoked strong pained wails. Sam struggled, attempting to fight them off, kicking and swinging his giant limbs. His attackers bit down again, sucking hard. The dizziness from earlier escalated, a blurry film coalescing behind his green eyes. A rapid chill fell upon his skin, falling deep settling into his bones and core. The life was literally being sucked out of him. It was ironic that he would die again by another supernatural creature. More so, it was ironic that the vamps actually liked his demon blood.

The will to fight anymore was lost. The fire that was his rage slowly began to wane. No longer was there any hate, or anger, or heated feeling. Slowly replacing it was a cold and icy rain, fear and paranoia. His six-year-old persona taking hold, scared and lonely wanting the protection of his big brother and father. He didn't want to die again.

Soon his body surrendered to the shivers and the shakes and his eyes felt heavy. The phone buzzed in his pocket, giving off a funny sensation. But he had no energy or will to fight the fiends off for it. It shocked him. He knew it was his brother. It had to be his brother.

The vampires bit down in more spots, scraping, and scratching at his tough skin. It was nearly over, for now he was entirely numb.

The phone buzzed a second time. The more it vibrated, his rapidly paling lips curled into a smile. It was Dean. He was coming.

His brother was coming.

That was his final thought as he allowed the darkness to take him.

So, more limp. How was it? Okay! Horrible! Let me know! The next chapter will be up in the next couple of days, probably sooner! Thanks!