I'M NEVER HAVING KIDS!!!

[morethananything]

Sam 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.

Comments

[morethananything]

"You're lying," he all but whispers, his own voice crackly. He wants to turn away and run, but he's scared, because - they always said if he ran, the hunters would get him; this is the less of two evils, isn't it? He looks at the ground and fidgets anxiously with his necklace, small and more confused than he's ever been in his life, because these are all things Dean would never have told him. "You can't mean that."

His heart thumps in his chest and he looks up at Dean. In the end, even if Dean didn't love him back, he couldn't help but hang to his every word. His eyes widen a little and he feels his chest ache. "... There was a demon? Like, like - from the bible? Is that what's wrong with me??"

[perkynipples]

Dean looks away for a split second, willing himself to not fuck this up further. Shit like this is why he wants Sam to take the back seat, why he wants to shove him back and keep him from getting too into things. He's just a kid, here, so it's even more valid but just in general, Christ.

"It wasn't you." Maybe if he says it enough, Sam'll start to get it. Dean glances down, pinches the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache. "D'you get that? It was some assholes upstairs and downstairs and you - it's not you. It's not, Sammy."

[morethananything]

Sam looks a little lost.

"... Okay... Okay," he starts, and is clearly trying to process the last thirty minutes of his life. He very calmly picks up the one cigarette that he'd dropped trying to get back the other ones, sliding it into his pocket and staring at the ground in what could very well be shock, now that everything's suddenly peaceful. The birds are outside chirping, the trees are rustling softly, and a cool wind passes through.

He slides his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Where'm I? Where's — John and other-you? Will I ever go back?"