Title: The Monster Side of Me.

Synopsis: On the night of Sam's sixteenth birthday, a new hunt is called: One more deadly than the Winchester family is prepared to face. Meanwhile the youngest becomes ill. The rest of his family condones it as an excuse for recalcitrance. But when his sickness allows him to become a victim of the creature parading around town ripping its victims apart, John and Dean not only learn they only have a limited amount of time to save their last remaining family member, but also learn what all they have left and what all they're not willing to lose.

Disclaimer: Title taken from a song lyric from "Monster" by "Skillet" (I know right? Who would name their band after a frying pan? But they're amazingly awesome!)

Also, I do not own the characters, nor the Supernatural storyline. That privilege belongs to the lucky bastard that he is, Kripke. This contains for the most part sick Sam, leading up to limp Sam. Plus Dean as the older protective brother and John as the gung-ho hunter as we all know and love.

Sam, 16. Dean, 20. John, … whatever you decide. Sick/Hurt Sam. Protective/Hurt Dean (later on).

Note: To those who are confused, yes, I did delete this story. But I've brought it back for a short time only to those who have asked. Thanks so much!


Late one night, Dean Winchester sat at his brother's computer searching the lore about creatures lurking in the dark. The current hunt had him up to his eyeballs in questions with no solid leads to follow. The past week had all three Winchesters high-strung as the number of victims kept climbing. Searching online, it came as a real irritation when nothing but Boogeyman kept popping up in blue bold links. Sam's suggestion of it earlier had him batten it down instantly. There were various kinds of mythical lore he refused to believe that existed.

Quickly he typed in another keyword. Whatever was snatching these people? It liked the dark, fly and maggot nesting grounds (or any isolated dingy place) and enjoyed ripping its victims apart. Anything from a shapeshifter to a ghoul certainly fit the bill.

Even as he typed in ghoul—besides a whole host of definitions, supposed victim accounts, and digital vampires sucking on Barbie-doll animations— another link connected to the Big B. listed into view. His eyes dimmed and his mouth sagged into a crooked line. Goblins. Pixies. Santa. Anything else he'd take…but nothing else matched the description.

He had absolutely refused to think they were messing with the boogeyman. Let's get real here? Boogeyman? The? The dude who hides under beds and in closets causing kiddies to wet themselves? It was just some story that some Jacked-upped loser or overstressed mom created to keep their kids in bed. Right?

There were many monsters that were made up. Godzilla. The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Aliens. Teletubbies

He chuckled lightly. Sam's theory was too far-fetched. Sam had told him all that he read and analyzed while at the Calvin's residence from earlier. And he had to admit, the kid did make a tad bit of sense, which was probably why he was searching through the Web right now...and so far everything Sam had told him turned out to be true.

But the suggestion of the boogeyman put the whole job on an ass-cracking pause, where it was reduced to nothing but hurting lungs and teary eyes. The Boogeyman, somebody stop me please….

The links did nothing to repress his growing laughter and disbelief. He wanted to believe his brother. He did. But the absurdity of it all made him continue to convulse with silent giggles. He wondered how much his dad would laugh once he told him. The man more or less would have delivered a don't-have-time-for-bullshit glare and strode on. He had to admit there was a slight tingle in his gut filled with doubt: doubt, that his little straight-A student brother could possibly be right and this scenario was about to come back and bite him in the ass.

He paused again…then shook his head, overcome with more fits of laughter.

Wiping the saline from his eyes, he saw the tangled mass of his brother sleeping soundly on the motel's bed. Nothing but the kid's untidy hair could be seen jutting out from the antiquated horribly flower-designed comforter. Once the ringing in his ears settled from the onslaught of giddiness, Dean heard the tiny squeaks of Sam's snores. His brother slept like the dead. The chauvinistic bastard, whose house Sam was stuck at -courtesy of John's punishment for him- had worked him really hard. Evident from the disappearance of the usual pained lines etched into the kid's face he'd seen on a daily basis.

In a way, Dean was glad he stood up to his father—albeit cowardly through the phone and not face to face. Sam had been looking a bit peaky for the last few days, and with the way his father had been so high-strung lately, drilling them hard, no doubt Sam would have come down with something. And there was no way in Hell he was taking care of a sick Sam. He loved his brother, but a sick Sam was a whiny bitchy Sam. Yelping Pomeranians high on crack were more bearable to deal with.

So yeah? The conversation he had with his father was over. His brother was sleeping—the most he had been in weeks. And his dad was not within swinging distance. Life was peachy…for the moment.

A pungent stench wafted through the room. Dean crinkled his nose in disgust, wiping it clean. He shook his head realizing the direction from which the noxious fumes sprung forth. Then he wondered just how happy Sammy's dreams were.


But there was still work to be had. People were dying. So at least for that night (or until his dad came home) he didn't have to worry about anything. He could relax and enjoy the research…somewhat.

He was about to find out how wrong he was in the next thirty seconds!

The shadow beneath Sam's bed grew darker. A tiny rustling sounded. Then suddenly a gangly bluish-green hand with long dirty ivory fingernails emerged from the dark. It reached upward revealing an arm attached to it. The arm had more of the sickly bluish color with jagged patches of scabs and hairy pimply spots decorating it. It slowly snaked under the scratchy covers. The hand slithered upward onto the hardened mattress fanning out…searching…until it met warm calloused flesh.

Quickly it latched onto the angled appendage.

Sam's eyes shot open.

With incalculable speed and strength, the hand pulled on the foot, yanking the boy under the covers and onto the floor.

Sam had no time to comprehend what was happening. There was no time to scream. No time to act surprised. The next second, whatever it was holding onto his ankle, was pulling him under the bed. With a surprised yelp, he grabbed the footing of the bed just before his entire body was submerged. "DEAN!"

Dean had heard the loud thud and instantly leapt from his chair. "Sam!" Falling forward onto his knees, he grabbed a hold of Sam's arms. "Hang on Sammy!"

"Dean!" He slid to the right. Dean lost his grip just as Sam slid to the left. "Dean help me!"

The fear of God was suddenly in the older brother as his little brother now flopped up and down like a fish, briefly letting go. Sam was pulled further beneath. He caught his hand in time. Growing crimson in the face and pulling with all his might, Dean managed to bring an arm out. Sam used his other hand to latch around the bed frame.

"Dean! Dean!" His name was constantly called. "Dean!"

"SAMMY!" Dean cried out, quickly taking hold of Sam's other hand. Putting both feet on the edge of the mattress, he pushed, stretching with everything he had like a rower on an Erg machine. Sam's face and torso slowly emerged into view. "Hang on!"

Sam's face was blood-red. Tears leaked down the sides, staining the shoulders of his grey tee-shirt, where Dean also noticed rips and darkened stains. "Dean," Sam screamed. Then his body jerked in his grip several times. Soon it became clear that Sam was kicking at his adversary. The sound of a tiger's growl chimed. Then Sam jerked again, his head bucking back. Next a strangled cry of bloody-murder issued from his mouth, just as spurts of blood shot out and doused both their faces. Once again his body was thrown from side to side. Dean's grip was loosened.

"NO! NO! Sammy!"

"DEAN!" Another scream. Then he screamed some more. That was all his brother seemed to be capable of. Then finally there was a "Don't let me go!"

The fiend yanked on Sam's body again, throwing them both into the floor board. Dean's head smashed into the bed's wooden frame, becoming smushed as the force increased.

"Don't let me go!" Sam cried again, tightening his fist around Dean's black AC/DC tee-shirt. Dean didn't care if he had ripped it. It wasn't like this was the time to reprimand his brother to be mindful of the Gods of Rock. Another tiger-like call reverberated along with the sickening sounds of biting and crunching. "DEAN!"

"COME ON!" he curled an arm around Sam's bloodied torso. The strain was so immense. Tears of his own began to form…and they weren't from the strain of holding Sam up. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on. "NO!"

Now, so you don't get confused, this is an excerpt from later on in the story. It gives you a premise of what the story will entail, and to see if you would be interested in it at all. And yes, this will have lots of gore and cliffhangers. Enjoy!