I'M NEVER HAVING KIDS!!!
Jun. 3rd, 2014 08:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morethananythingSam is eleven years old.
The last thing he remembers is (crying) being alone at a motel, Dad across the country and Dean out who-knows-where — new town, new school, new issues, just after a big-ass hunt in Idaho where Dean nearly broke his neck hunting a... well, Sam's not sure, because he's usually made to stay behind as intel back-up. Then he's suddenly in some musty-ass old place (bunker?), laying on the floor, sigils and books all over the place. First thing he's pretty sure of is that John is gonna give him a shiner for not being where he was told to be (a marine's kid needs to follow orders to keep everyone safe, or so his dad liked to blabber). Second thing is that he needs something to hit things with. Just because his family doesn't trust him with a weapon doesn't mean he's about to give up and lay down to die.
Someone took him. Someone must've used a witch spell or something and stole him.
For what? Is it — the thing Dad always mentioned? About the inhuman thing in him? The blood?
It runs cold in his veins.
He grabs a lamp, waits by the door.
There are footsteps.
He won't miss.
The last thing he remembers is (crying) being alone at a motel, Dad across the country and Dean out who-knows-where — new town, new school, new issues, just after a big-ass hunt in Idaho where Dean nearly broke his neck hunting a... well, Sam's not sure, because he's usually made to stay behind as intel back-up. Then he's suddenly in some musty-ass old place (bunker?), laying on the floor, sigils and books all over the place. First thing he's pretty sure of is that John is gonna give him a shiner for not being where he was told to be (a marine's kid needs to follow orders to keep everyone safe, or so his dad liked to blabber). Second thing is that he needs something to hit things with. Just because his family doesn't trust him with a weapon doesn't mean he's about to give up and lay down to die.
Someone took him. Someone must've used a witch spell or something and stole him.
For what? Is it — the thing Dad always mentioned? About the inhuman thing in him? The blood?
It runs cold in his veins.
He grabs a lamp, waits by the door.
There are footsteps.
He won't miss.
