Title- Mind's Eye
Summary- Beaten. Bloody. Unconscious. That's the way Sam's thrown at their door. All John and Dean want to do is get to the bottom of this. But how can they, when Sam can't remember a thing...?
Author's Note- This is the story that won the poll and I know a lot of you were interested in it, so I really wanted to get it started. Also, this will be a new challenge to me because I really want to see what it's liked to have two stories going at the same time. I think I can handle it.
Time Set- Pre-Season. Sam's seventeen, Dean's twenty-one.
Warning- Torture Scenes (flashbacks)
The storm clouds hugged each other tight, making sure no moonlight shone through this night. It was damn near pitch black out side, you couldn't really see a thing. The air was cold and crisp, low enough sure to make you shiver. The wind whipped through the trees and the midnight air with viciousness; it whistles a loud when it picked up speed. A mist floated around, thick and white, making it impossible to see more then five feet ahead of you. Bullet-sized rain shot down from the sky, pegging the unprepared dirt, making puddles everywhere. The sound it made was similar to the sound a pellet gun makes: loud, quick, and rapid. All of the animals had ran off and hid tonight, this storm was something they've never seen before.
A cabin, somewhere in the middle of the woods, held two worried men; anxious and near their breaking point. The father, head of everything, was torn to the point where he couldn't think straight. He was literally worried sick and could feel his stomach churning, threatening to unleash it's contents. The son, more terrified than he'd ever let on, paced the living room with both of his hands covering his face. He'd walk back and forth, then stop at the window, look out, see nothing, then start again. He wasn't sure how long he'd been doing this, but it had the potential to be hours. Lately, they've lost track of time, everything seemed to blur together in one big nightmare. Their biggest fear coming to reality: they've lost Sam. Gone. Vanished. The one thing they've always promised to keep safe. The one thing they've promised to protect, never let out of their sight - was gone. And they were clueless on how to get him back.
The sound of the storm filled the cabin. The rain and the wind adding their own soundtrack to this stressful situation. Dean's pacing made a steady beat, and it all seemed to flow together.
Looking up from the bed, John's eyes followed Dean. He watched him walk left, then right, then left again, then right once more...
"Dean, stop," he commanded weakly. His voice was thin, tired, and dreary. "You're making me dizzy."
Finally, he came to a stop and took a seat on the closest bed. He sat across from his father and their eyes met. They both had the same look in their eyes: disappointment. Not in each other, though. But in themselves. No matter how many fights they got in, Sam was always something special to him. His youngest son; the last and most precious thing he'd ever gotten from Mary. This independent attitude was always something John had admired and feared at the same time. His son was sure minded and strong. That was something he was always proud of.
Two weeks, three days.
Sam had been gone for exactly two weeks and three days. They'd searched for Sam every day in every way and they always came back the same. They would've been out searching right now, but the storm has kept them indoors.
Both John and Dean can remember the exact moment Sam was gone. They were in a hunt, investigating missing women who went hiking through the woods on the other side, when somehow they got split up. Dean and Sam went left, John when right. Dean remembered telling Sam to stay close, but when did that kid ever listen? There was a noise, a yell, then a shot coming from where John was. Dean went running and he was sure Sam was coming right behind him, every step. But when Dean approached his father alone, the first words out of his mouth was, "Where's Sam?"
The took off back in Sam's direction, yelling his name. When they reached the spot where Dean and Sam were last together, they found his gun thrown on the floor and nothing else. He was no where in sight. No blood, no signs of a fight, nothing that looked suspicious. All they saw was Sam's gun. They both exchanged worried glances. They know someone , or something, had taken Sam.
They must've ran around that woods about three times, always coming up empty-handed.
When John and Dean met up again they were out of breath and out of luck. The look in each other's eyes was the same. Their eyes read: Sam's gone.
It was just after one o'clock in the morning. He had Sam by the ankles and dragged him through the mud as the storm continued. Sam was flat on his back, unconscious. The man had a firm grip on him and didn't take his well being into consideration. Sam's hands were at his sides, limp and unable to shelter the rest of his body from the hard rain as it beat against his worn out body. Blood was caked on the side of his face and -hell, the rest of his body. God know what was broken and bruised. His skin was tones lighter than it should be, blood loss playing a big factor in this.
The man dragged him further, their destination about ten minutes away.
Sam's body, struggled to keep up the the pace at which the man was pulling him at. His already soaking wet clothes, stained by blood, were being embedded with the dirt he was being pulled through. Rough and careless the man simply pulled harder when Sam's body came into collision with the tree trunks. With the rain coming down at this rate, it was amazing there wasn't a flood.
Sam's head bobbed, his mouth open slightly. His eyes were squeezed shut tight, feeling the pain even in his unconscious state. At his sides, his hands were balled into fists. His shirt was stretched out, it was once white but now it's a deep brown; blood stains, making patterns all the over.
Once they arrived at the cabin, the man gripped Sam up the stairs, his head bouncing on the them hard, not helping the situation at all. When they got to the top, them man let go of Sam's ankles and kicked the front door twice. Just as he heard footsteps rushing toward the door, he disappeared.
The sound seemed to echo off the walls, stopping everything. Dean and John looked at each other, standing at the same moment.
"Did you hear that?" Dean asked, as he made his way to the door, not even waiting for an answer.
John followed close behind.
Dean opened the door cautiously and what he saw stopped his heart mid-beat.
John and Dean dropped to their knees, but their hands stopped short of coming in contact with Sam. They didn't want to, everything looked... broken.
Gently, John pressed his index and middle finger to Sam's neck. Pushing back, he felt a feather of a pulse tapping. John sighed in relief, his head dropping to Sam's chest, thanking whatever God there was that he was still alive.
John wiped his eye, heavy rain and tears mixing. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady.
"We... we need to get him inside. C'mon Dean."
But Dean didn't move. He was frozen - - in shock. His hand was on the side of Sam's face, his eyes fixed on him.
"Dean!" he called, grabbed his attention. "We need to get him inside. Now!"
Mentally, Dean shook himself. He took hold of Sam's feet and pressed a firm hand on his back, trying to keep him as still as possible. John grabbed just under his shoulders as they brought him inside together.
As they stepped back in the cabin, one thought came into their mind at the same time: I'm gonna kill whoever did this to Sam...
So, what do you think. Who do you think did this to Sam?
Please, please review!