A young Sam worries about his family while they are off on a hunt. When he begins to have nightmares his worry increases. Could they be more than just dreams? What happens if his family never comes home? (Loose tag to 11x19 The Chitters. Sam is 8, Dean is 12)
Sam waited. He didnât have anything else to do. It was Thanksgiving Break so he didnât even have school work to distract him. Dad and Dean had left for a hunt about an hour away three days ago and Sam had last heard from them just over two days ago. Dean had called to let him know that they would be hiking into the woods and probably wouldnât have any cell reception while they were out there. Dean had assured him that it was a simple hunt. They were tracking the wendigo to its den and would move in on it while it was sleeping. He hadnât heard from them since.
      Sam knew that tracking supernatural creatures could be a complicated task but surely it shouldnât take this long? He was starting to get anxious. What if they never called him? What if they couldnât? What if they were in danger, hurt and unable to get to help? Sam knew what town they had been headed toward but he had no idea where the forest they were hunting in was. And even if he did, Sam didnât have any means of getting there besides walking, which the youngest Winchester was about ready to do.
      Sam paced the room, he tried to watch TV, he even picked up a book but he couldnât concentrate on anything other than his worry for Dean and Dad. Theyâll be okay. Theyâre fine, theyâre fine. Youâre fine. Sam told himself when he gave up on reading after staring at the same sentence for five minutes. Theyâll be back soon, just like always. Dean will call as soon as he can. Theyâre okay. The windows shook as rain began to pound down outside and Sam slipped into a restless sleep.
      Sam was in a forest. The trees were dotted with snow and a biting wind blew through his thin coat, chilling him to his bones. The youngest Winchester looked around, trying to figure out where he was and how he had gotten there. Before he had time to fully take stock of his situation, Sam heard familiar voices ahead. Forgetting the dangers that could be lurking in the dark shadows the setting sun cast on the surrounding trees, Sam ran towards the voices of Dean and his father. As he neared Sam began to understand their words.
      âIt will have to come back eventually,â Dad was telling Dean as the two hunters covered their tracks in the snow blanketing the ground. âWhen it does, weâll be waiting for it. Make sure your flamethrower is ready. This thing isnât going to go down without a fight.â
      Dean and their father were crouching beside what Sam realized was the entrance to a cave. This must be the wendigoâs hideout. Sam thought. He smiled as Dean tinkered with his homemade flame thrower. âItâll never know what hit it. Bastard will be deep fried and crispy in no time.â Dad didnât scold Dean for his colorful vocabulary like he did when Sam was around. âThe hunt is a different place.â Sam remembered Dean telling him. He supposed everyone who was old enough to participate was old enough to curse.
      Sam was about to step out and call to his family when the world spun. When everything stood still again, the sun had finished its decline and the forest was pitch black. There was no moon. Sam saw Dean and Dad crouched in the same place they had been before, but now both of them were shivering. Dean shifted restlessly but made no sound as the two hunters waited for their prey. Before Sam could step out of the shadows and approach his family, he heard a rustling in the trees behind him. The youngest Winchester saw a shape moving in the branches above him. The wendigo moved too fast for Sam to see but he knew it was there. A horrible realization hit him. The creature had been there the whole time, watching and waiting. Dean and their father thought they were the hunters but they were wrong. They were the prey.
      Sam tried to jump out of the shadows and warn his family that they were in danger but an invisible force held him in place. He yelled for Dean to run, to look in the trees, but Sam knew they couldnât hear him.
      The trees shifted again and in the distance Sam heard a voice calling for help. âDean!! Dad! Help me!!!â Sam started. The voice sounded exactly like his. Dean recognized it as well. He jumped to his feet, scanning the forest around him. With a strike of horror in his gut, Sam remembered that wendigoes could perfectly mimic human voices. They used this skill to lure their prey to them. Sam again tried to run forward and stop his brother, tell him that it was a trap, but the force continued to hold him back.
John was talking to Dean, holding him in place by a firm grip on his wrist. âItâs not Sam. Dean listen to me, itâs not him.â Dean was fighting their father with everything he had, his instincts screaming at him to respond to the sound of his little brotherâs cries.
âDe!! Help me!!â The voice screamed and Deanâs struggle increased. Sam fought to go to Dean, to tell him that he was okay. The youngest Winchester couldnât stand being the cause of his brotherâs distress, putting his family in danger by being weak and helpless.
âDean, hey. Calm down. Itâs trying to pull you away. Samâs not here. Heâs safe, your brother is safe.â Dad said as he continued to hold onto Dean. The boyâs struggling slowed a little, his face shutting down and hunter instincts kicking in. Sam relaxed, so tired from trying to get to his brother that the invisible force was the only thing holding him up.
Then a blood-curdling scream erupted in the distance.
Dean took off. Their fatherâs grip on his wrist had relaxed when the boy seemed to calm and now did nothing to slow him down. John took off after his oldest son and Samâs screams mixed with the wendigoâs mimicked ones as his family ran into a trap.
      Sam shot up in bed. His sleep shirt, one of Deanâs old band shirts, was soaked with sweat and clinging to his heaving chest. His whole body was shaking hard and Samâs throat felt like he had been gargling an acid solution from his science class. Suddenly his dream came crashing back to him and Sam realized he had been calling for his big brother. But Dean wasnât here. He was in the woods with a wendigo. And Dad. Sam reminded himself. Dad wonât let anything happen to him.
      Sam shifted in bed and glanced at the clock on the nightstand, wincing as a pounding began in his head that was in no way helped by the piercing light of the glowing numbers. He had only slept for a few hours, maybe he could manage to go back to sleep since he had no other way to pass the time waiting for his family to return. Sam looked longingly at the phone on the nightstand, willing it to ring despite the late hour, but it remained silent in the room.
      The pounding in his head was starting to grow and Samâs vision blurred with the pain. All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep but the sweat soaking his shirt was starting to make him cold and the youngest Winchester started to shiver. The movement did no favors for his aching head, each shiver wracking his body adding to the feeling of hot pokers stabbing his brain. Laying here wasnât going to make anything better and no one was going to take care of him, he wasnât a baby anymore, he was eight years old, so Sam pushed himself up and padded over to the small hotel bathroom. He pulled the first aid kit out from under the sink and snatched the bottle of Tylenol, struggling with the lid and finally pouring a single tablet out into his hand. Sam packed the kit back up and returned it to its place before cupping his hands under the water and swallowing the pain medication.
      The youngest Winchester headed back to his bed, snatching his duffel by the straps as he went. He dropped the large bag onto his bed and dug for the hoodie he had stolen from Deanâs duffel before his brother left. Sam pulled the over-sized piece fabric over his wet shirt and climbed back into bed, kicking his duffel onto the floor. The hoodie smelled like Dean and it was comforting, dulling the pounding in his head and the vivid memories of his dream. After taking one last glance at the phone, Sam slipped into a restless sleep.
      Sam again found himself in a forest. This time he was in a clearing. The ground was covered in a thick blanket of snow and more flakes were falling. He shivered and realized that he was no longer wearing Deanâs hoodie. Before Sam could question what was going on and how he got here noise erupted through the trees.
      âDean please!!! Help me!!â he heard his own voice cry. But that couldnât be him, he was right here. Sam saw a dark shape flash through the trees and he felt a sinking in his stomach, though he didnât quite know why.
      Suddenly Dean came tearing through the forest, kicking up snow behind him and searching the woods desperately. âDean?â Sam asked, but his brother could not hear him. In fact, Dean looked right through him and stepped to the center of the clearing. Leaves rustled above them and Sam heard his voice again, âDean please, Iâm scared. Dean where are you?â Dean tore to a tree across the clearing and Sam followed after him, desperately trying to grip his arm, to call his name, anything to let his brother know that he was here and he was okay. The youngest Winchester did not like the look of terror in his big brotherâs eyes.
      While Dean continued to frantically search the trees in front of them Sam felt a tickle on the back of his neck and looked up. A pair of glowing red eyes looked down at him. He attempted to warn his brother, even though he already know that it wouldnât do any good. And then the creature pounced.
      It moved so fast that all Sam saw was a flash of black and then it was on Dean. And then there was red, red everywhere. Dean was on the ground and this time Sam was the one screaming his brotherâs name. Another flash of red came from behind the youngest Winchester and everything erupted into light and yelling. The wendigo gave a high, piercing scream and fell into the snow covered in flames. Sam heard someone else calling Deanâs name and he turned to see his father crouched over his brother. The snow around Dean was red and Sam felt like throwing up. There was so much blood. Could Dean even still be alive? Sam cut that line of thinking off fast. Dean had to be alive. He had to. But his father looked more panicked than Sam had ever seen him.
      Sam crouched down in the snow next to his family and watched his brother struggle to breathe. Tears stung his eyes and he called out one last time, âDeanâ.
      His brother looked up and met his gaze for the first time, âSâmmy?â he whispered. And then his eyes rolled back in his head.
      âDean!â Dad yelled.
      Sam shot up in bed. The sound of the wendigoâs scream was ringing in his ears and mixing with his fatherâs shouts. What had he been dreaming? The images were fading, becoming blurry and indistinct in his memory. His whole head was ringing. No. The phone, the phone was ringing.
Sam scrambled to lift the receiver with his shaking hands. âDean?â he asked, hope filling his voice.
âSam?â a voice on the other line answered. It was not Deanâs voice. Disappointment filled Samâs body. âSam are you there?â
âPastor Jim?â Sam asked, squinting at the wall. His head was really hurting now and he wondered if he could take another Tylenol yet. What time had he taken the last one?
âSam I need you to listen carefully. I just got off the phone with your father. Your brother has been injured.â
Samâs whole world narrowed to those words. And suddenly his dream came crashing back, ramping up the pounding in his head until he could barely see, could barely breathe, could barely think. Your brother has been injured.
Pastor Jim kept talking but Sam was barely aware of his words, only catching bits of what he was saying. â⌠how bad ⌠hospital ⌠pack ⌠coming ⌠be there ⌠take you ⌠two hoursâŚâ There was a long silence and then, âItâs going to be okay Sam, everything is going to be okay.â
But how could it? How could anything be okay? Dean was hurt. Dean was hurt and Sam was here, more than an hour away from him. He could die before Sam got there.
The pounding in Samâs head reached a new extreme until it was all he could think. He felt himself drop the phone and fall back onto the bed. Sam closed his eyes and tried to keep breathing and with every stab of pain one word played in his head, âDean. Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean. Dead.â
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