Trapped - SPN (3/4)

[MoonDuck]

Sam blinked, trying to clear his mind and focus his bleary vision. He woke up with a start on the hard floor on his side, coughing, hands behind his back, unsure of his surroundings, besides the thick bars of the cage cell surrounding him. He sat up. The first thing that registered was himself. His whole body ached, probably from the fight he’d gotten into earlier with his kidnappers, before they threw him into their dungeon. His throat was sore, too. There were a few cuts and bruises on his arms and legs, though none of them stood out as especially painful. What hurt most was his head. Not only was there a huge bump from when he was most likely knocked out, Sam also had a throbbing headache. Even though they were in the cold, Idaho winter, he was almost sweating in the dark basement.

The next thing Sam noticed in the few seconds he’d been awake was his surroundings, in more detail. The cage wasn’t very big, maybe five cubic feet, and the lock on the door looked near impossible to break without any tools. He was near the corner of the open room, and the heavy metal door was on the opposite side of the room. The whole room was probably no bigger than a small convenience store, though it was nearly empty. The only thing there besides his little prison was the big table in the empty corner with a small, dim light flickering over it, providing the only light in the cellar. Particles of dust could be seen floating through the space around it. Above the workbench, there was a large variety of tools, weapons, and torture devices in many shapes, forms, and sizes.

“HURRrushh’yooOO!” Sam sneezed into the open air, not that there was anything he could do about that, or that he really cared at the moment. It caused his head to pound harder and left his nose running. He sniffled hard, then rubbed his nose on his shoulder, the only place he could.

He had to get out. First, he had to get out of the ropes binding him, then he had to get out of his cage, then out of the room, then out of this place. He reached into his pockets for anything that could help him. To Sam’s surprise, it hadn’t crossed his kidnapper’s mind to disarm him. This made his job a lot easier. He pulled a switchblade out of the back pocket of his worn, ripped jeans, flipped it open, and began to saw at the coarse rope restraining his hands. Not a minute passed before Sam cut his way out, the ropes a heap on the cement ground behind him. He started to crawl to the lock on the door, but he gasped in pain. The room almost seemed to spin, and it hurt to put any weight on his left wrist. He brushed a stray strand of hair from his face. He made his way to the door on one hand and both knees. He fingered the heavy lock, positive that there was no way to get past it.

Suddenly, he heard a clanking noise come from across the room. Someone was unlocking the door. By the looks of the locks lined up down the side, it’d take them a while to get through. Sam whipped out his phone, relieved to see he had two bars. He texted his brother as quickly as he could, only one word — “Funkytown” — before slipping his phone back into his pocket. Sam decided that it’d be best to sit tight and wait for a better chance to call Dean and try to make an escape. He slipped back into the position he was laying in when he first woke up, wincing, and tried to place the ropes over his hands behind his back. He closed his eyes and waited.

Not a moment too soon. The heavy door burst open, and a shadowy silhouette appeared, backlit from another light source outside the room, a character Sam couldn’t quite make out but was almost positive he’d not seen before. A black hooded cape hung past him, dragging on the ground and casting a shadow over his face. He almost glided across the floor, each step slow and smooth. Sam watched through barely open eyes. The creature ignored him, only reaching for a blade about two feet long hanging on the wall. It looked as if it would be used for performing rituals. Sam saw it polish the sword with a black cloth. The urge to cough suddenly overcame him, and he did so harshly, not daring to move or even lift his eyelids. Luckily for him, the sound of the blade being polished continued without hesitation. He heard the monster muttering under its breath, its voice low and raspy, almost a whisper in his head. Twenty four hoursssss, it hissed, one of the only few words that could be made out. Sam couldn’t tell if it knew he was conscious, though barely, or if it was speaking to itself. The creature proceeded to leave the room the same way it entered, still only an outline in the dark, knife hanging by its side. The door closed with a loud thud, followed by the sound of each lock being turned.

A minute passed before a shrill scream was heard faintly from the other side of the door. Then it was suddenly cut off. Sam heard nothing more. He was suddenly aware of how well sound could travel between rooms, despite the fact that the door looked like it would let nothing through. He pulled his phone out of his pocket again, this time calling Dean as opposed to texting him. He saw that there were three missed calls, three more than when he last checked, all from Dean.

The phone barely rung before someone picked up. “Hey, Dean.” He was surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded. He cleared his throat.

“Sam? What’s up?” Dean’s voice was laced with concern.

Sam responded by abruptly stopping his brother with another bout of coughing.

“You sound terrible.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam almost snapped back. “Dean, you gotta get me out of here. I went to check out that house, theyyy…” His voice trailed off.

“Sam? Sam!” Panic began to creep into his words. He heard Sam sort of gasping on the other end.

“Hihhh’KSHHHhieew!” It tore through his throat and hurt like hell. His eyes teared up. “KSHSHhyooo!” He buried his face into his fist. “Ah, f — H’EHPSCHHHhh!” They left him gasping for breath and sent the room spinning around him. He rubbed his nose with his sleeve.

“Sammy, God, are you okay?”

“What do you think?” He said it more as a statement than a question. “Anyway, not much I can do here, they jumped me as soon as I walked in, don’t even know what it was. Knocked me out and locked me up in a cage in the basement, I think. Don’t think I can get out.”

“Damn, you got yourself in deep this time. I’ll be there soon.”

Sam hung up the phone and laid back down on the cool floor of his cell. He hoped that he would be able to fall asleep, giving him an escape from his miserable state.

--

Thanks to Seniorstatus14 for proofreading/idea-giving/writing-ish Please let me know what you think about it, or anything you specifically want to happen next. It's still a WIP and I'm not entirely sure I know where I'm going with it. But yes please leave me a review!

Edited January 31, 2015 by MoonDuck

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Sammy!!!!!!!

Oh oh oh, yes please! More more more!

[Sawyer]

“Dean, you gotta get me out of here. I went to check out that house, theyyy…” His voice trailed off.

“Sam? Sam!” Panic began to creep into his words. He heard Sam sort of gasping on the other end.

“Hihhh’KSHHHhieew!” It tore through his throat and hurt like hell. His eyes teared up. “KSHSHhyooo!” He buried his face into his fist. “Ah, f — H’EHPSCHHHhh!” They left him gasping for breath and sent the room spinning around him. He rubbed his nose with his sleeve.

So hot!! Can't wait to see what you come up with!

[Skyler]

“Dean, you gotta get me out of here. I went to check out that house, theyyy…” His voice trailed off.

“Sam? Sam!” Panic began to creep into his words. He heard Sam sort of gasping on the other end.

“Hihhh’KSHHHhieew!” It tore through his throat and hurt like hell. His eyes teared up. “KSHSHhyooo!” He buried his face into his fist. “Ah, f — H’EHPSCHHHhh!” They left him gasping for breath and sent the room spinning around him. He rubbed his nose with his sleeve.

So hot!! Can't wait to see what you come up with!

^^^I totally agree

[MoonDuck]

Dean hung up his call with Sam and set the phone beside him. He was speeding down the empty highway, quickly accelerating, going up from his average ten miles per hour over the speed limit to twenty five over. He was already driving to his brother after receiving the text, and although Sam explained what’d happened and was able to call him, the phone call left him more worried and anxious to get his brother. He was kicking himself for letting Sam go investigate the house they were looking into. Dean knew that Sam was sick, and he shouldn’t have let him go alone without back up in the first place, no matter how much Sam insisted. He seemed so much better this morning, the fighting must’ve made him worse.

But he knew he couldn’t do anything about that now. He was the one who needed back up at the moment.

“Hey, Cas, if you’re listening, I could really use some help right now.” Over the course of the last couple of years, Castiel had become more consistent in coming when Dean called. But when he looked at the passenger side seat, he was slightly disappointed that Castiel hadn’t come when he called. Dean returned his focus to the road. When he glanced at the rear view mirror, he almost swerved off the road. Castiel was sitting in the back seat; his entrance was silent, as always.

Dean looked at the front seat, slightly disappointed that Castiel hadn’t come when he called, but he turned back to the road. He glanced at his rear view mirror and almost swerved off the road when he saw Cas sitting in the back seat.

“Cas!” He shouted, startled, gripping the steering wheel tightly, holding it steady.

“Yes, Dean?” He sat in the same, calm manner he always carried.

“Sam’s in trouble.” He debriefed Cas. “He got himself kidnapped, and he’s too weak to get out of it himself.”

“Are we going to help him now?”

“Yeah.” And with that, Dean pushed the pedal down further, reaching the speed of almost 100 miles per hour.

Sam slept fitfully. He woke himself every few minutes either coughing or sneezing when he finally did sleep. Not an hour had passed before he gave up on trying to doze off. He sat up. Sam felt completely helpless, not a feeling he enjoyed. He was frustrated; there was literally nothing he could do to save himself. He was so tired, sick, and sore that he could barely move.

He only realized that he’d managed to peacefully and comfortably drift off to dreamland when he was awoken by the sound of each lock on the door slowly opening. Each click of the lock seemed to echo throughout the room, pounding through his aching head. He rubbed his nose with his jacket sleeve.

Sam closed his eyes as the same creature drifted through the room and towards his cage again. He was not in the mood to make any interactions with anything or anyone. He lay there, curled up on the cement floor while it floated in his direction. Sam watched it reached a shadowy hand out from its cloak through barely-open eyes, pouring water into a wooden bowl on the ground out of a simple glass pitcher. After that, it left the same way it’d entered the room, slamming the door behind itself.

Sam sat up. He rubbed his head, surprised that even that motion caused the walls around him to move. He slowly made his way to the water on his hands and knees. It took a lot of effort for him to not fall, though he was only crawling two feet to the bowl at the corner of his cell. He sat beside it, shakily picking it up and taking a sip. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he had water. It felt cool and refreshing in his dry mouth. Unfortunately for him, Sam also hadn’t realized that he felt nauseous until he took a drink.

Slightly disappointed that he wasn’t feeling well enough to drink even water, he lay back down beside the small bowl. He pushed himself against the bars of his cage, curled up on his side. He was sweating. Sam felt his own forehead, and even he could feel his temperature was a lot higher than it should be. He took off his jacket and balled it up to use as a pillow, then unbuttoned his shirt and pressed the right side of his face against the cold floor. He lay there awake, too uncomfortable to fall asleep, although he felt more tired than he imagined he should for someone who’d just taken a nap.

A few minutes passed, and he felt a familiar feeling in the back of his nose. It started out faint, in the very back of his nose, and Sam tried his best to fight it. He rubbed hard with the back of his hand, and as uncomfortable and raw as it felt, it was better than sneezing. He remembered how much it hurt the last time, and he was doing all he could to avoid it. He sniffled, but that only further irritated it. He groaned inwardly. It was inevitable. He let it build up, surrendering. Each second seemed to last an hour. The itch slowly moved down his nostrils, growing stronger and stronger.

“Hehhh…” He waited impatiently, mouth agape, eyes squinting, nose twitching. He resisted the urge to paw at it. He lay there, gasping almost inaudibly, propped up on his right elbow. In the couple minutes since the creature had came to give him water, his headache had almost disappeared, and he was very grateful for that.

It came suddenly. It caught him off guard even though he was anticipating it. “HUH’KSH’SHh!” He sneezed openly, and the spray in front of him was easily seen through the dim lighting. It was too quick for him to catch, and he didn’t see any point in covering it. He sniffled and rubbed his nose. For a moment, he hoped that this would be one of those times he got lucky and sneezed only once. He was wrong. He pushed the hair out of his face, but his head snapped forward again as he released another sneeze.

“EH’KSHHHhyeeww!” It echoed through the empty basement. His headache returned. For now, the strong tickle in his nose had subsided, but it hadn’t fully left him, and he knew it wasn’t over yet. He coughed, turning his head to bury his face into the crook of his right elbow, back hunched and shaking.

What Sam thought was almost a minute passed before the itch came back in full force. Between now and the last sneeze, all he’d been doing was coughing and sniffling and pathetically rubbing his nose. He sneezed again, directing it to the ground. “HEH’PSHSHhh! ‘KCHHSHh’ioo! EH’KCSH!” They came rapidly and left him dizzy. The last one sounded more like a dry cough than a sneeze, and it hurt his throat so much that he was sure that if he tried to speak, he wouldn’t be able to make any sound come out of his mouth. Sam gasped desperately for air, trying to catch his breath, but he broke off coughing harshly again. “Hihh… HUIH’KSHHhhyoo!” He willed Dean to hurry.

Dean saw the wooden house that Sam was at across a small field that started at the road. He pulled up behind some thick trees that’d hide his Impala, so long as anyone inside didn’t happen look too carefully. The house wasn’t very big, maybe only a few rooms and only one story. It looked like it was just barely staying together, as if a large gust of wind would be able to blow it over. There was no glass in the windows, and the door was open, gently swaying in the breeze, seeming welcome and spookily unwelcome at the same time.

“Cas, can you go check in on Sam real quick, see how he is? Just come right back…” Castiel disappeared before Dean had finished his sentence, gone in a flash. Dean lay back in his seat. He didn’t want to approach the house just yet, not without Cas for backup, so he turned up the radio and waited for Castiel to return.

Castiel landed in the middle of the room, stirring up a whirlwind of dust around him. It left a fine layer on his trench coat after it settled. He looked around, observing his surroundings. To his left was a door that looked like it would be very hard to get through. In front of him more towards the right was what resembled a workbench, complete with all sorts of nasty tools and weapons. Finally, to his far right, in the corner of the room, lay Sam. His body almost seemed lifeless, but he was lying on the ground, curled up tightly in a ball, jacket pulled tight around him, shivering. If he was aware of his surroundings, he made no point in acknowledging Cas’ arrival.

“Sam.” Castiel said, walking to the cage. When Sam didn’t respond, he reached through the bars and shook him, not wanting to risk being too loud. “Sam,” he repeated.

Sam jerked up, waking with a start. “Cas?” He rasped. He looked surprised, and his eyes were wild and glazed. Castiel thought he looked like he was sick and hurt.

Sam crawled to the edge of the cage, facing the angel, but he turned away to cough into his shoulder. Castiel watched as the hunter coughed, unsure of what to do and feeling very awkward.

“Dean and I came to help you,” Castiel informed him when Sam had become silent again. He noticed Sam was still shivering, so he took off his coat and passed it between the bars, hoping it would keep him warm. Sam took it, grateful. A cloud of dust flew up from the trench coat, causing Castiel, who was waving a hand in front of his face, to cough. Sam, on the other hand, rubbed his nose viciously.

“Sam?” Castiel asked. There was obviously something wrong with his nose.

Sam whipped his head away from Castiel again. “HIEH’SKCHHh’ioo!” Castiel stared at Sam, watching, again not sure of what to do. Wasn’t there something you were supposed to say when humans did that? He looked up, trying hard to remember, but was startled out of his thoughts when Sam sneezed again.

“EH’PCHh’kCHH!” Sam held his hands over his mouth and nose, trying to hold back or lessen the strength of the sneezes, hoping that would hurt his head, stomach, and sinuses less. “H’CHHMPH’CHShh!”

Castiel watched helplessly while Sam sneezed twice more, rapidly, in a row, then collapsed on the ground, this time also tangled up in his trench coat. Sam was shaking, and though he was covered by the coat, he appeared to be holding his head.

“Bless you.” Castiel reached his arm through the cage, trying to touch Sam’s forehead. He was just out of his reach. “Sam,” he said softly, though his voice was still as deep as usual. “Come closer.”

Sam was in no mood to move or do anything at all. In fact, he was busy fighting the queasiness that was about to overtake him. But he did as Castiel said, turning to him and dragging himself closer. He collapsed on the ground again right in front of the angel with only the cell bars between them.

Castiel reached out his index and middle finger to Sam’s forehead. Cas held it there as the part where he was touching glowed momentarily before removing his hand.

Sam blinked, slowly sitting up. He was surprised at how much better he felt. His body no longer ached from the flu and from his fight with his kidnapper, and his headache had subsided, or at least had gone from almost unbearable pain to a dull throb. Moving to a sitting position from lying down didn’t cause the room to spin around him, either. He crawled to the water bowl still left in his cage and took a drink. He was relieved to know that he could drink water and not feel sick. Sam still didn’t feel perfect—he had all the symptoms of the average cold: sore throat, runny nose, congestion, the perpetual urge to either cough or sneeze, general discomfort but this was much better than a few seconds earlier.

Sam cleared his throat. “Thandks, Cas.”

Castiel only nodded in reply, though he was slightly disappointed that he couldn’t heal Sam fully. Only time would be able to do that.

“So what’s the pland?” Sam inquired.

Cas shrugged. As if on cue, his phone rang, and Sam assumed it was Dean. At this moment, he broke off into a coughing fit. He fumbled for his phone and handed it to Castiel, still coughing. At least it wasn’t as bad as earlier that day. This time didn’t hurt as much.

Castiel answered the call, seeming indifferent to Sam. “Hello?”

“Cas?” He sounded slightly surprised, as if he were expecting to hear his brother instead.

“Yes?”

There was a slight pause. “Is that Sam?” He was referring to the noise that could be heard in the background.

“Yes.”

Sam cleared his throat and spoke before his brother could say anything. “I’m find, Dean. Cas healed bme. Sort of.” he said. Sam didn’t want to worry him, and knowing Dean he would be very worried.

Another pause, as Dean decided whether or not to push the fact that Sam was probably not okay. “Aside from that, we need to get Sam out of there.”

“So, what’s the pland?” Sam asked.

“I’m not entirely sure. Yet. I’m working something out.”

The unmistakable sound of the first lock of the basement door being turned interrupts Sam as he’s about to speak. “I’ll call you baah—HUahH’KSHhh’yoo!” Sam turned his head to the side, sneezing freely and wetly, then hung up the phone in a hurry, hoping Dean heard him. “Cas, you need to get out of here.” His voice was low, and his words were rushed. “EEHHh’CHhh!” He caught this one in his hand. “Go. Now—ahh’PSHhCHioo!” When Sam opened his eyes, Castiel was gone.

--

This took me forever to get around to writing, but I finally finished part two (thanks to Seniorstatus for persuading me to get back to it). It'll (hopefully) be done by the end of October. I'm open to any ideas for what happens next.

Edited October 20, 2014 by MoonDuck

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

*happy tears* I'm so glad this was continued!

I can't wait for more!

[spirkestielgirl87]

This is wonderful! More?!

[BlobOfGodness]

I just finished reading the second part! It's so good. Ugh, Sammy! You've got an interesting plot goin' on too. Can't wait for the rest.

[HPG]

How did I not find his until now? It's great!

[Nola]

Oh my God, I also just found this! (Mostly because HPG found it first )

I love how you started with Sam waking up and already quite ill. So cute. Also I love the way you write a case-fic; it's so enigmatic. AND, I am also jealous of your Cas-writing abilities, I love that man, but can not figure out how to write him believably.

Can not wait for more!!

[Sawyer]

Oh my god. Can you write for the show???

P.S. loved this description:

Sam still didn’t feel perfect—he had all the symptoms of the average cold: sore throat, runny nose, congestion, the perpetual urge to either cough or sneeze, general discomfort but this was much better than a few seconds earlier.

[SexualOddity]

This is great. I love the utter helplessness of it - not only trapped, but too sick to be able to figure a way out of it. Must be frustrating when they're usually pretty capable.

The whole section where he's just woken up and he can feel the sneeze coming on gave me shivers. I love sneezes with a lot of warning and a sloooow build so this was a great combination, and he was trying not to sneeze at first because of the pain of it so there's the holdbackiness thrown in to the mix as well - awesome!

I like Cas in this too, he's so earnest but uncertain. And his line 'There's clearly something wrong with his nose' is precious, very Cas (and there's something really sexy about him not being quite sure what's going on with human illness - I love that).

Very much enjoying this and looking forward to the next part!

[Dutchgirl]

This is a very interesting story. Thank you.

[MoonDuck]

It's not dead, this thread. I promise. I'm just really, really lazy. NaNoWriMo and then Secret Santa and then something else I still haven't done… But I think I have enough for another part and I didn't want to wait, so it can be part three of four? Part four is probably going to happen. Eventually. Probably.

@Pyrus_Fangom: I'm happy you liked it so much! I have arrived with more

@sneezegirl87: Thanks! Yes, more

@BlobOfGodness: Glad you liked it (I know, Sammyyyy)

@HarryPotterGeek: Better late than never? Thanks!

@Nola: Who wants to wait for him to be sick? Throw it at him at the start! It's good to know you like how I write Cas, I'm never sure of how I write the characters

@Sen Beret: If only we could all come up with a script for an episode… *daydreams* Thank you!

@SexualOddity: The buildup is half the fun! And I'm happy you liked Cas, too.

@Dutchgirl: You're welcome Thank you.

You guys' comments are like the best, like, I've come back to read them more than once xD It's a bit like motivation to write more (which has now arrived).

Sam knew he had only a few seconds until someone, or something, entered the room. He decided it’d be best to act the way he had before Castiel had arrived — miserable and feeling as if he were barely clinging on to life. Death could actually be very near, after all. This would be assuming that whatever that creature was didn’t have the ability to sense things such as people’s physical state. It seemed to be able to do a lot of things with one’s mind. Sam laid back on the ground, pushing himself to the back corner of the cage and curling up partway into a ball. He closed his eyes, only listening for its entry. Sure enough, the door creaked open only a few seconds later.

He opened his right eye just slightly, so that it wasn’t noticeable that he was doing so. Sam watched as it glided towards him, barely hovering above the ground. It was hard to look at, actually, as if it were forcing him to avert his eyes. But he resisted the urge to do so, despite the headache it was starting to cause.

However, Sam was unable to control of his nose. He couldn’t fight the urge to sniffle, as hard as he tried — he couldn't stand his nose running — so he did, giving himself away if he hadn’t already. Sam scrubbed at his nose furiously, trying to get rid of the itch slowly creeping down his nostrils. If he wanted to convince the monster that he was still wasn't at his best, he was probably doing a great job of it at that moment. Sam watched its movements through his watering eyes. It walked to the table and was now staring at its collection of blades. The way it seemed to ponder its options, as if it were deciding which method he wanted to use this time to kill a human being slowly and painfully, worried him.

“Eh’h…” Not this again. The creature was still sorting through its weapons, either ignoring Sam or oblivious of him. This time, Sam didn’t want to sneeze not just because it drew attention to himself, but because of the annoyance of the runny nose that followed. Like all the other times, there was no use in trying to hold them back. It came anyway, it was just a matter of when. The longer he tried to stop it, the stronger it was when it came. Hell, he didn’t even know why he tried anymore. “Hahh… h’eECHhhioo! EH’KCHSHhhi!” Sam pressed the back of his jacket sleeve against his nose, which still, like his throat, felt raw even though Castiel had partially healed him.

By the time he’d cleared and refocused his eyes, the monster had turned around. It was covered with and cast a seemingly unnatural shadow, though the short dagger it was holding glinted in the dim light. It came closer to him, its cloak dragging behind it, and for the first time, Sam almost felt safe behind the metal bars. To his dismay, the figure hadn’t slowed down as it neared his cell. It continued to move forward, and when Sam thought that it’d crash into the cage, it passed through the prison.

This threw Sam off. Was it a ghost? How was it able to pass through the bars? How was it able to wear a cloak? How could it hold a weapon? Why did it go through the tedious process of locking or unlocking every single lock on the door — why not float through it? Or not have a door at all, better concealing the room? Was the cage made of something different? These thoughts raced through his mind in the instant the silhouette entered his cell. Sam tried to scoot away, but he was already pressed as far back against the wall as he could be. It approached him, looming over him, somehow managing to cast a shadow across Sam.

Eight hours, it hissed to him, breaking Sam’s thoughts. Wait. Hadn’t it just said twenty four hours only a couple of hours ago? Either the monster was mistaken the first or the second time, or it kept track of time differently than humans. Maybe this place was another dimension in which time moved differently than the rest of the world or something. He wasn’t surprised by any of these possibilities. Sam decided that either way, he didn’t have as much time as he thought he had before his execution. He figured he had one real hour, at best.

It grabbed Sam’s arm. He hadn’t even seen its hands until now. They were jet black, just like the rest of its body. Its touch was cold, so cold that it made him flinch, but it kept a firm hold on him, its smooth, cold fingers digging into his skin. In its other hand held the blade. It raised it high, clenching it tightly. Even from this close, Sam still couldn’t see it’s face. He wondered if anything was even there.

The creature slowly brought the blade down, keeping an iron grip on Sam’s wrist, most likely leaving a mark from squeezing him so tightly. It made a small cut on his arm, maybe an inch long. Sam jerked away, or at least made an attempt to, yet it still hung on to him. Blood slowly began to ooze out. It pulled his arm to its hooded head, and though Sam was making his best effort to pull away, it acted as if Sam’s doing this was nothing. Sam couldn’t exactly feel it touching his skin, but he could feel his blood being leached from his arm. He gasped, and doing so sent him coughing. His whole body shook except for his forearm, which was held firmly in its place. What it was doing to him felt like nothing he’d ever felt before.

Just a taste, it hissed in his head. Sam flinched, and this time, the figure released him. He was still coughing, gasping to get his breath back. It was still facing him, floating backwards in the direction of the weapons table, passing through the cage bars once again, only turning its hollow face away from him when it returned the sword to its place on the wall. The silence of the room was disturbed by Sam clearing his throat, sitting there somewhat awkwardly as he waited for the monster to leave. He wanted to call Dean to see what the plan was. How were they going to take out this thing?

It approached the door. It grabbed the handle and pushed it open, walked through, and slammed the iron door behind him. Sam waited again for the locks to close, this time counting them — there were six. He waited another moment longer, just to be sure, and then pulled out his phone again, quickly dialing his brother’s number.

“Hey.” It hadn’t even rung once before Dean answered the call.

“Dean. What’s the plan?”

“Do you know what that thing in there is yet?”

Sam paused slightly before answering, thinking. “HEHH’KCSHhoo!” Or building up to a sneeze. Dean heard him sniffle; it was rarely just one. “From what I can tell, it’s basically just a really powerful ghost.”

“Anything else you can tell me? Come on, man, details.”

“Uh,” Sam blinked. “Told me I have an hour left to live. Passed through my cage without opening it and sucked my blood. Probably didn’t want me to escape, but it held on to me so tightly I don’t think I could’ve. I’m not sure why it goes through the trouble of unlocking and locking the door to this place each time it comes in or leaves, while it just went right into the cell. Door must be made of iron or something. Oh! There’s a tombstone just behind the house. I checked the place out before I went in.”

Really? Sam forgot to mention this earlier? Then again, considering Sam had been deliriously ill, so long as he made it out alive, Dean would let it slide. “Well, it’s our only shot of killing this thing for good. Cas and I will dig up the body. Hang in there.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you laterr—HURR’ehKHSHhhoo!” Sam pulled the phone away from his face, arm outstretched and head bent forward and as far away from the speaker as he could manage.

Dean pulled his cell away from his ear, but he could hear it loudly through his phone anyway. “Bless you,” Dean said, before he realized that Sam had already hung up.

“H‘ksCHHhhi! Ehh’PCHHhyew!” Sam pushed his fist against his nose, hoping to quell the sneezing`. Fortunately for him, it worked this time, but he could feel his headache coming back. It wasn’t a huge surprise, as he had a full on flu not even an hour ago. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, waiting for Dean and Cas to arrive. Or his death. Whichever came first.

“Alright, Cas, looks like we’re going to have to do a quick salt and burn.” Dean opened the door, swinging it shut behind him. He unlocked the trunk, propping it open as he started a duffel bag.

“Then we are getting Sam?”

“Yeah.” Dean zipped up the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and slammed the trunk shut. “Body’s just around the back of the house. We have less than an hour to dig it up.” The sun was beginning to sink towards the ground in the afternoon sky.

Castiel nodded, and they made their way to the house in silence, both of them keeping a wary eye out for any sign of the spirit. They walked around to the back of the house, revealing a seemingly endless grassy field dotted with scattered flowers and dandelions behind it, too. He looked around for a tombstone, but there was none to be seen.

“Where is the grave?” Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head, puzzled. He scanned the horizon. “Could be that.” A wooden cross peaked above the grass not too far behind the house, standing only one or two feet tall. Seeing as there was nothing else around, he made the assumption that that was it. Dean trudged over and peered at the cross. There were words inscribed across it, but it was too faded and worn to actually make sense of any of the chicken scratch.

Dean threw Cas a shovel. “Start digging.”

[Anilkex]

Like all the other times, there was no use in trying to hold them back. It came anyway, it was just a matter of when. The longer he tried to stop it, the stronger it was when it came. Hell, he didn’t even know why he tried anymore.

MMMMMMMMMMMMM!

Looking forward to the next part!!!

[HPG]

You updated! Yipee! It was really good, and I am excited to read more.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

WooooHooooo! Update!

Sammy! *melts* Dear god this is making me tingle everywhere