TinySnackleFan

Sam nods and immediately starts checking under the mattress, grimacing at the tell-tale signs of bedbugs. He continues to check under the pillows and inside all the drawers as Dean writhes in pain.

"Whatever it was, it locked my shoe in place. Can't get the damn thing off me!" He tries again to pull his shoe off, but whatever it was is just making it hurt even more.

Within a minute, Sam has cleared every nook and cranny of the room (and squashed a few cockroaches too). "I can't find any hexbags or any sign of witchcraft, man. Walk me through what happened."

Dean groans, giving up on removing his shoe and points to the door. "I was just walking into the room and got bit or hexed or something, right there at the threshold."

"Bit? What do you mean bit?"

"You know... Like a damn piercing tooth or something and now my shoe's stuck and it hurts like hell!"

Sam frowns and inspects the entrance closer, then lets out a hollow laugh. "I think I know what it is."

"What, you got some witchcraft spell radar going on?"

"No, not exactly," he answers and taps the flooring with his fingers. "You got nailed."

"Nailed?"

"Yup. Lemme see your foot."

Dean offers his hurt limb towards his brother, shoe still attached. Sam shines his torch on it and there it is: the rusty head of a nail, embedded deeply into Dean's sole.

"Not witchcraft, dude: Just bad maintenance."

Another curse word escapes Dean as he lays back down the bed, a few flies and moths buzzing their complaints to him.

"Want me to grab some plyers and remove it here or should we go to the E.R.?"

"Please, I can take it. Get it done."

"Are you sure? Once it starts, I won't be able to stop it..."

"Yeah, just- Just get it over with."

"It's probably just a short one."

Sam quickly finds the plyers from the toolkit in Baby's trunk, and goes to work.

"Ready?" He looks up at his brother, who's now covering his eyes with his arm.

"I've been shot, stabbed, bitten and clawed. I think I can handle a little- OH JEEESUS!"

Sam curses as he pulls out the nail, which seemingly just goes on and on and on... until finally; the entire four inches of rusty (and slightly curved) piece of metal clears Dean's boot.

Speechless, he holds it up for Dean to see. His brother groans another choice word and finally tugs off his punctured boot, revealing a hole under his foot and a bruise on top of it.

"Damn thing nearly went right through me," he whispers in awe. Sam nods, hypnotized by the sheer length of it, before focusing on the red patch now spreading on the dirty carpet.

"Well... You did want to get hammered tonight..."

"Ha ha, Sam. Hilarious."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

What the heck's a June of Doom?

This is a month-long prompt challenge/ list/ event/ thing that focuses on whump, angst, hurt/ comfort, and the like. Despite the air of doom it exudes, this challenge is very relaxed—your mod knows life happens but you still want to be part of your fandom(s), and sometimes you can't just sit down 30 days in a row to write/ art/ create. So, this list is out stupid early every year so you have the chance to prepare and particiapte! It's never too soon to Doom!

Rules

Tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

Be cool. We're cool here. Don't like, don't read. Don't start none, won't be none. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it. Let people be happy. 💕 (But if someone's comin' at you within the confines of this challenge, let me know ASAP.)

FAQ

You can participate with original and fan works!

You can do so with whatever medium you want!

You can combine this challenge with other challenges!

You can start/ finish this challenge whenever the heck you want! And I'll reblog it here if you tag the blog, even if it's not June!

You can use one, some, or all of the prompts listed for a given day however you want! The point is to be creative!

You can mix and match prompts from different days!

If nothing on a certain day is inspiring you, there are 15 alternate prompts to play with!

Angst, hurt/comfort, and lighter/funnier forms of whump are welcomed and encouraged! Torture takes many forms! :)

I'll post reminders and such as we get closer!

[AO3 Collection] - Open late May 2027

[Banners] - Eventually!

**Only posts that tag the blog @juneofdoom will be reblogged. I am a one-man show and haven't time to comb through all the variants of the #juneofdoom tags anymore with the number of participants we have, so if you want to be featured here on the main blog, just @ me!**

If you have any questions, comments, shout outs, ideas, or just need some encouragement, inbox me anytime, June or not!

Have fun, Doomers! ⚡︎

2026 Prompt List ⚡︎

"Don't panic." | Obedience | Shivering | Vertigo

"I'm trying!" | Whip | Emergency Room | Blackmail

"Leave me alone." | Cold Shoulder | Locked Out | Relapse

"It hurts..." | Headache | Failed Rescue | Bedridden

"Say something." | Desperate Measures | Sobbing | Woozy

"You did this to me." | Experiment | Magical Exhaustion | Hiding

"Let me know when you start." | Numb | Ransom | Antidote

"You poor thing." | Bite | Delusion | Broken Promise

"Don't make me say it again." | Silence | Immortal | Coercion

"I trusted you." | Shackle | Gamble | Abandoned

"You're going to get yourself killed." | God Complex | Threat | Knots

"Who are you?" | Footsteps | Accident | Defiance

"You'll get used to it." | Stitches | Malnutrition | Underwater

"Wait!" | Possession | Auction | Transformation

"Get out of here." | Adrenaline | Smoke | Dead Battery

"Somebody better start talking." | Blood | Holding Back Tears | Dystopia

"Why would you do this?" | Plea | Fatigue | Withheld Medication

"I never said that." | Missing Time | Faint | Plague

"Well, well, well…" | Last Resort | Cane | Comeuppance

"Hopefully." | Brain Fog | Power Outage | Stress

"We're out of water." | Hunted | Stranded | Infection

"What happened?" | Hostage | Electrocution | Fear

"Or what?" | Came Back Wrong | Rage | Cornered

"I didn't know where else to go." | Mask | Submission | Paranoia

"Please don't leave me." | Memorial | Stairs | Wound Cleaning

"Time's up." | Outmatched | Syringe | Exposure

"What were you thinking?" | Attack | Human Shield | Bad News

"I'm fine." | Poison | Kintsugi | Past Trauma

"Had enough?" | Acceptance | Graveyard | Pinned

"Let's get you cleaned up." | Fall | Bandages | Overwhelmed

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

Dehumanization

Drugged

Blankets

Broken Glass

Psychotic Break

Last Rites

Historical Event

Russian Roulette

Prisoner Trade

Phone Call

Damage

Fetal Position

Protective

Basement

"Because every diner deserves appreciation."

Sam rolled his eyes. "He's not exaggerating," he told you. "Last week he thanked a waitress because the pie 'saved his soul.'"

"It did."

An hour later, the hunt was solved. The shapeshifter was dead. Nobody had nearly died. It was, by Winchester standards, a fantastic day.

Dean celebrated accordingly by ordering three slices of pie. Cherry. Apple. Blueberry.

"You know," you said, stealing a fry off his plate, "most people stop at one dessert."

Dean gasped. "Most people are quitters."

He guarded his pie with his fork when you reached toward it again. "Oh no."

"What?"

"You've had fries."

"So?"

"No pie."

"I just want one bite."

"No."

"Dean."

"No."

"You are a grown man."

"I am."

"Sharing is caring."

"This is war."

You snorted. "You are ridiculous."

"And yet..." he took an obnoxiously slow bite, eyes never leaving yours, "...this is the best blueberry pie I've ever had."

Your eye twitched.

Sam noticed. "Oh no."

Dean didn't. "What?"

Sam quietly pushed his coffee farther away. "I know that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says she's about to commit a crime."

You smiled sweetly at Sam with the most innocent look you could muster. "I would never."

Dean smirked. "See? Sammy's paranoid."

You stood.

Dean frowned. "Where you going?"

"Bathroom."

"Oh." He relaxed.

The second he looked back down at his pie— You pivoted. Grabbed the paper plate. And with absolutely zero warning—

SPLAT.

Blueberry pie met Dean Winchester's face with enough force to send whipped cream into his hair.

Silence. Utter... Complete... Silence.

A nearby waitress froze mid-pour. Some old guy lowered his newspaper. Someone actually clapped. Dean sat perfectly still. Blueberries slowly slid down his cheek. A blob of whipped cream dripped off the end of his nose. Sam covered his mouth. He made one heroic attempt not to laugh. He failed spectacularly. A snort escaped. Then another. Within seconds he was doubled over in the booth, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.

Dean blinked. "You..." Another blueberry rolled off his forehead. "...just threw pie..." He wiped whipped cream out of one eye. "...at my face."

You nodded. "Yep."

"Why?"

"You wouldn't share."

"THAT'S MY REASON?"

"You were being annoying."

"I was protecting my pie!"

"You were taunting me."

"It was my pie!"

"Worth it."

Dean stared. Long enough that you started wondering if maybe— maybe — You'd actually gone too far. Then... The corner of his mouth twitched. "...Worth it, huh?"

"Oh, absolutely."

He slowly reached for his napkin. You relaxed. See? Everything was fi— Instead of grabbing the napkin... He picked up the untouched slice of cherry pie.

"Oh no."

Dean smiled. The kind of wicked smile that belonged in horror movies. "Oh yes."

You backed away. "Dean."

"You started this."

"I think we've all grown from this experience."

"You weaponized dessert."

"I was expressing myself."

"You assaulted me with fruit."

"It was mostly whipped cream."

Sam wheezed. "I am begging both of you not to—"

Dean stood. You bolted.

The entire diner watched as you sprinted between booths. Dean chased after you holding an entire slice of cherry pie like it was Excalibur.

"You get back here!"

"You'll never take me alive!"

"I JUST WANT TO TALK!"

"YOU HAVE PIE!"

"I CAN TALK AND HAVE PIE!"

"No!"

You rounded the counter. Dean followed. The cook looked up once. Saw the situation. Simply stepped aside. Not his circus. Not his monkeys. This was a Waffle House, after all. He'd seen crazier things happening.

You nearly made it to the door. Nearly. Dean caught your wrist—not hard, just enough to stop you—and gently tugged you back. You stumbled into his chest with a laugh.

"There," he said triumphantly.

"Caught you."

"I surrender."

"Liar."

"Maybe."

He looked down at the pie in his hand. Then back at you. Then grinned.

"You know..."

"What?"

"I don't actually want revenge."

"You don't?"

"Nah."

Relief washed over you. "So you're just gonna let me—"

He carefully dabbed a tiny dollop of whipped cream onto the tip of your nose. "There."

You blinked. "...That's it?"

"That's it."

You smiled. "You're getting soft."

"I know."

He leaned down, brushing a quick kiss against your forehead despite the blueberry filling still stuck in his hair. "I blame you."

The waitress walked over carrying a fresh slice of blueberry pie. She set it in front of Dean. "On the house."

Dean looked between the pristine slice...and the blueberry still dripping from his jacket. "I don't know whether to feel rewarded or insulted."

She shrugged. "You made lunch entertaining."

After she walked away, Dean sighed happily. "See?" He picked up his fork. "Everything works out."

You smiled innocently. "You gonna share this one?"

He looked at you. Looked at the pie. Looked back at you. "...Absolutely not."

You reached toward it anyway.

Dean immediately slid the plate out of reach.

"Oh, come on!"

"I've learned from my mistakes."

Sam groaned into his coffee. "I'm hunting monsters with two overgrown children."

Dean didn't even look away from you. "Worth it."

“Seriously: If you’re just hiding, I’m gonna kick your ass!”

Sam prepares his gun, cocks it and starts fumbling around in his backpack for some of the flares they brought – but they’re all gone. Shit.

A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. The only thing he can hear now, though, is his own heavy breathing. He scans the area but still can’t see his brother or whatever the hell is hunting him now.

Leaves rustle behind him, he turns, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.

“I’m right here, asshole! Come get me!” he finally shouts into the forest, aiming at every shadow he can see.

Then, the voice finally becomes clearer: “Run”

Sam spins towards it, but there’s still nothing there.

“Run,” it repeats – now to Sam’s left.

The hair on his neck stands up, as he realizes the wendigo must be messing with him by mimicking voices.

“Run. Run. Run,” the voice repeats itself over and over, seemingly from all around him now.

“RUN!” it shouts right next to his ear.

Sam’s body starts running before he can even think which direction is a good idea, he just speeds off away from the voice. Crashing through the low branches, splashing up mud and leaves in his trail, he barrels ahead until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.

“Well, well, well,” someone drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my dear bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”

Sam’s blood freezes: He knows that voice far too well.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

“N..n..no…” Sam stammers, watching helplessly as Lucifer’s red eyes bore into him. The rock and the clearing disappear with a snap, and he finds himself back where he never thought he would have to return. Iron bars surround them, with intricate carvings of ancient Enochian runes.

Eyes wide in fear, his pupils as small as pinpricks, Sam huddles against the cage as the devil approaches in his true, horrible form. Sulphur and scorching heat fill his senses, then the pain begins.

14 hours earlier

Sam’s phone buzzes and lights up from underneath the papers scattered on the motel bed. He carefully places the old book down with his pencil to mark the page he was on, picks up the phone and immediately smiles.

“It’s Jody!” he announces to Dean, currently at the small table with a half-eaten burger, before swiping and holding the screen up to his ear. “Hey Jody, how are you?” Dean raises a hand stained with BBQ-sauce at him. “Dean says hi.”

“Uh huh. Wow, really? Four hikers and no witnesses?” Sam sits up straighter on his bed, planting his feet on the floor, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder as he begins shifting books and papers.

Dean frowns, sucking the sauce from his fingers. “What’s going on?”

Sam holds up a finger, as he listens to what Jody says on the other end, adding “mhm” every now and then.

“Dude: put it on speaker already!” Dean throws a balled-up wrapper at the younger one, who easily dodges it – his phone still precariously pressed to his cheek while his hands are busy stuffing papers into folders and books onto the nightstand. He does find time to flip his brother off, though.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few hours. Send me the files and I’ll look at it. Thanks. See ya soon.” Sam hangs up, tucking his phone in his pocket and already packing his bag.

Dean stuffs the rest of his burger into his mouth before looking expectantly at his brother. “Well?” Bits of food fall out on his shirt.

Sam frowns at him, halfway through putting on his jacket. “Your eating habits are disgusting, dude,” who continues chewing and waves his hand for him to keep talking.

“Jody has a case on a mountain trail: four missing hikers, no bodies and two witnesses say they heard someone shout ‘run’. No footprints, no blood – nothing.”

Dean sets down his beer bottle, having washed down the last of his meal with it. “So, not a cougar or bear either?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“No, and their cell phones have all been turned off, so they can’t track them with that either. She’s sending me the case files, and I’ll look at it on the way over.”

“We still need to wrap up the case we have here and you’re already on another one? What, you’re just going to take Baby and leave me here?”

“Actually, I’m going to head over to the station and take a bus. Makes it easier to read on the way there.”

“But what about the-” Dean starts.

“We already know where the bones are and you just have to go burn’em.” Sam is already halfway to the door, but he stops and pats his brother on his shoulder a little too hard. “You got this.”

“You just don’t wanna dig up a grave, asshole!” Dean shrugs off the hand. “And now I gotta do it all on my own?”

Sam chuckles, offering a smug smile. “You’re strong, Dean. I believe in you.” Then he shuts the door and is gone. Dean flips off the door and shouts “Bitch!” after him.

A few seconds later he gets a text: “Jerk”

Sam

The forest is eerily silent: As if all the other animals know there’s a predator nearby. Sam is the first to notice and he holds up his hand, signalling his brother to stop. He turns around to whisper about the lack of sounds, but he stops dead. Dean is gone.

“Dean?”

The trees stay quiet and his brother stays hidden. “Dude, it’s not funny.”

Wait. This seems familiar, hasn’t he been here before?

Sam starts looking for footprints, but he somehow already knows Dean’s won’t be there. And Dean had the only working torch too. The backpack! They have some flares in there, right? Or…?

He empties it on the forest floor: no flares. Typical. Sam pulls out his gun, ain’t no way he’s going down without a fight. That wendigo is going to bleed.

A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. Leaves then rustle behind him, he turns again, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.

He should get out of there.

Before long, the voice seems to be all around him and he can finally make out what it says: “run, run, RUN, RUN!” He wastes no time in listening and thunders through the trees until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my favourite bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”

Sam’s head jolts up: He knows that voice far too well. Hardly believing it, he watches as Nick effortlessly jumps down and lands in front of him, red eyes almost glowing.

No, not Nick: Him.

Fear races through Sam, gluing him to the spot, unable to move.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

A snap of fingers, then: Pain. Enochian carved into iron bars. Sulphur. Heat.

Every part of Sam’s mind screams that this shouldn’t be possible, but all his senses confirm what he fears:

He is back.

Dean

“Alright, Jody. Where’s Sam?”

Dean gently pats Jody on her back as he untangles himself from the hug and looks around above her head.

“He went jogging earlier this morning. Said he’d be gone for an hour or so, but that was over two hours ago.” She steps back to allow Dean inside.

He plops his duffel bag down and frowns at his phone. “No messages here. Did he tell you where he went?”

“Just his usual round up in the woods. The one he always takes when he’s out here.”

“The one he always… I ain’t seen him jogging when we’ve spent the night. Ever.” Dean huffs and shrugs off his jacket, making sure to use the hanger Jody hands him. He learned long ago not to just throw it on a chair when visiting her house.

“That’s because you sleep until noon, Dean. Sam has always gone for a run before crack of dawn,” she laughs, straightening the boots he left in the middle of the hall.

“Yeah, well… Your cooking always makes me sleepy,” Dean smiles, touching her shoulder as he makes his way towards the guest room. “You tried calling him?”

Jody nods, following him further into the house. “Yup. Straight to voicemail.”

“No ping on his phone either?” He has reached Sam’s backpack and starts rifling through some of the papers he left out on the bed: scattered notes and a map of the surrounding area with some red marks on it.

“Last location was on the parking lot before the trail.” Jody leans against the doorway as she watches him lift one thing after the other and toss it back on the bed.

“Shit.” Dean slides his hand down his face, sighing. “I gotta go after him. Did you guys figure out what it was? And did you try his backup phone?” He’s already looking through Sam’s backpack to see which weapons are missing. The angel blade and witch-killing bullets are gone.

“He has a backup phone? Should have said so sooner!” She disappears into her office and returns with her laptop, ready to search the number Dean tells her. “And no: we weren’t sure but have narrowed it down to a wendigo, ghoul or djinn. All of them are likely to keep their victims, since we couldn’t find any sign of them.”

She taps on her keyboard and smiles. “Yes! Found him!” She turns the screen towards him: “He’s way off the trail… The gps puts him around two miles into the forest, in the abandoned old sawmill from before all the machines took over.”

“Here, mark it on this. I’m heading out there in ten.” Dean hands her the map from the bed and looks around: “Where’s the damn lamb’s blood?”

Jody

“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to her son, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”

“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”

Jody smiles, leaning up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; can’t believe I haven’t been here before.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son again.

The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but something about the way he’s stood makes Jody frown.

“Owen? You okay?”

He doesn’t answer her, just keeps staring and pointing his stick at something in the forest. As she approaches him, she notices that his arm is shaking.

“Owen? What…” She is about to ask what’s wrong, before she spots what he’s pointing at: Around 50 feet from her son, there’s someone crouched on the ground. Their back is moving as if they are searching for something. Her hand reaches instinctively towards her gun, but she’s off-duty and the gun is locked into the safe back at their house.

The person crouching lifts their head and sniffs the air. Why would they sniff? Then it turns around and Jody almost screams. The man’s face is covered in red and the thing it was crouched over? That was a dead animal, probably a fawn. She grabs Owen by his hand and starts running towards her husband, who still haven’t seen the bloodied man that is now moving towards them.

“RUN!” she shouts at him,

“Honey? What’s going on…” and that’s all he’s able to say before another bloodied person rams into him from the side, knocking him over.

“No…” she gasps, still holding her son’s arm – both now rooted to the ground in shock as the sound of ripping flesh and gargled screams reach them.

“Mommy? I’m scared.”

Jody realizes she cannot save her husband, making a split-second decision to at least save her son. She spins around and sees that the first man is now only 20 feet away from them and approaching fast. Unnaturally fast, fresh blood covering the lower half of his face and all over his front.

The adrenaline in her makes the world almost slow down as she spots the stick her son is still holding, her only weapon now. She grabs it, quickly shielding her child behind her and jabs it into the attacker the only place she can think of: his neck.

Blood squirts, the attacker falters – but not for long. With the stick still embedded into his jugular vein, he gargles a roar and continues to grab after Owen. Jody kicks him away with a scream so feral it sounds like a lioness defending her cubs. Filled with inhumane strength she lifts her son and runs towards their car.

She jumps into the driver’s seat, Owen on her lap and slams the door shut. He scrambles to the passenger seat just as the bloody man starts pounding on the window. “Hurry mom! HURRY!” The damn car stalls, oil lamp blinking and alerts going off about proximity alerts.

“Start, dammit. START!”

The window on her son’s side breaks.

“MOM!”

“OWEN!”

An hour earlier

“Stay close,” Dean whispers behind him and Jody picks up her pace. “Do you hear that?”

She shakes her head.

“Exactly. Not a sound. There’s a hunter out here.” Dean points his gun on one shadow after the other. “And it’s not us.”

Leaves rustle and a word is carried through the forest: “run”

They turn towards it, seeing nothing.

Jody looks to Dean, who shakes his head. Don’t move, he mouths.

“Run”

They turn as one towards the sound, now behind them and closer. Jody almost takes off but is held back by a firm hand. “Stay still,” Dean whispers more intently. He knows this game: whatever is hunting them is trying to herd them into a trap. Gun in one hand, machete in the other, they stand back-to-back, ready for whatever is approaching.

He senses more than hears a flutter of wings before more voices appear and he can feel Jody trembling behind him, her breath fast and shallow.

The word is repeated all around them, louder and louder.

“Run. RUN. RUN!”

A branch breaks and a big shadow moves in their direction. Jody screams, fires her gun and takes off before Dean can hold her back. A high pitched, metallic sound pierces the quiet, and Dean realizes it belongs to a large elk barrelling towards him. The gunshot spooked it even more than the voices and Dean has no choice but to dive to the side, avoiding its antlers as it races after his colleague.

Surrounded by faceless voices, Dean follows the trail of broken twigs until he’s out of breath and alone. No Jody, no voices, no damn elk and worst of all: no more trail.

“JODY!”

His shout echoes in the forest and a flock of dark birds takes off from a nearby tree. As they pass above him, he catches their un-natural chatter – almost like they are talking.

A chill rushes down his back as the realization hits: Crows.

Fucking crows.

Jody

“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to Owen, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”

“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”

Jody smiles and reaches up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; It feels like I’ve been here before, I just can’t remember when.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son.

The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but the way he’s shaking makes Jody frown.

Run.

Something is wrong. Terribly wrong. She should have brought her gun!

Run.

Her body reacts on instinct, rushing towards her son and lifts him up as the person he was pointing at reveals his blood-covered face.

Running towards her husband, she screams louder than she ever has before as if expecting him to be the next target: “Run, Sean! RUN!”

Time seems to slow down as another person, covered in blood, crashes into him and rips off his skin. The noises are nightmarish: gargling screams as his throat is opened, thick drops of blood splashing on the ground.

“NOOOOOOO!”

Jody turns towards the first person, the one chasing her and Owen, and he is too close. Closer than he should be.

Grab the stick.

Owen’s stick is ripped from him by his mother and finds its new spot in their attacker’s neck. He barely slows down, but Jody is already running away.

Car.

Yes: the car! She lunges into it, Owen scuttling over to the passenger seat as more bloody people surround them.

No…

The glass breaks.

No!

“MOM!”

“OWEN!”

Dean

Having followed the crows until he found his position on the map and ensuring he wasn’t hunted, Dean arrives at the derelict sawmill: Grey walls of worn, old sidings, barely standing up on their own. Rust-coloured trails under every nail, serving as witnesses of the time passed. Moss-covered logs lay scattered amongst trees of different sizes, a fir tree poking out of a hole in the sunken roof. Nature has claimed it back.

A faint glow of moving light falls from one of the broken windows as dusk settles over the forest: Fire.

Dean inches closer, the stake soaked in lamb’s blood in his pocket, his machete in one hand and his gun with witch-killing bullets in the other.

A shadow passes the light.  

Someone is there. Sam and Jody better damn well be alive.

Sam

Sam is the first to notice how quiet the forest is, and he signals his brother to stop before turning around.

“Dean?”

The silence around him is deafening now. No brother, no birds, no movements. He’s all alone and he knows it. Somehow, he just knows that Dean was never there. A quick look at the ground confirms it: the only footprints are his own large ones.

Backpack.

Sam cocks his gun and searches his backpack for the flares he already knows aren’t there. It feels like a sick kind of déjà vu when a branch nearby snaps, Sam quickly pointing his gun in that direction.

Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from. He just knows he should move, and fast. As the word “run” approaches him, he leaves the backpack and tries to put as much distance between the voice and himself.

Stay away from the clearing.

As the voice surrounds him like a nightmare, he sees a giant rock in a clearing and runs towards it, hoping it will provide some shelter.

Not the rock.

He stops as the idea hits him. Something is wrong. He should stay away from the rock, but the adrenaline pushes him onward as “RUN! RUN! RUN!” surround him.

Then: A snap of fingers. Everything changes: Sulphur. Heat. Enochian covered bars.

“Well, well, well: Sam Winchester. My favourite bunk buddy.”

Not real.

It can’t be real. He can’t be back. His aching lungs are filled with the stench of decay, ash, rotting flesh. No. No, no, no.

“Welcome back,” the vessel Nick laughs, eyes glowing red.

Not real.

Sam backs up against the cage as Lucifer approaches, changing into his true, horrible form before him. Then the pain begins.

“SAM!”

Dean? Is he here?

The devil is punching Sam’s face, making his head loll uselessly into the iron bars with each hit. The pain is unbearable and Sam’s eyes are already swollen shut.

“Sam, wake up buddy. Wake up!”

Is this another trick?

“Come on, man. I got you.”

Sam’s arms fall from their shackles above him, making his entire body rest on Lucifer’s thorny shoulders, biting into his chest.

No more…

“That’s it, little brother. Breathe.”

Dean never says little brother. It’s not real. It’s still Lucifer with his tricks.

He’s thrown to the ground, knocking the air out of him. Sam barely manages to shrink into fetal position, hiding his head as the devil scratches at his arms and legs. The smell of thick smoke filling his nostrils.

Please stop…

Darkness envelops Sam’s mind as his brother’s voice shouts his name in the background. No more pain. Just…

Quiet.

Dean

“Goddammit, Sam!”

Dean slaps his brother’s face again, just to get any reaction from him. Sam’s giant limbs wrap around himself, shielding whatever he can before he suddenly goes limp.

“No, no… Stay with me, Sam. SAM!”

Dean looks desperately around the now burning old sawmill. The flames are spreading faster than he thought they would, from where he dumped the Djinn’s corpse into its own campfire.

Jody is too injured to help carry Sam, but she still manages to throw some of the victims’ personal effects into a backpack she found: Wallets, wristwatches, pieces of clothing, a few phones.

“Dean, this is a death trap! We gotta go,” she shouts at him as the flames reach the ceiling – spurred on by the dried wood and old sawdust. “Now!”

“Yeah, no shit!” he shouts back as a big beam falls from the ceiling onto the campfire, spreading sparks and burning debris everywhere.

Dean opens his brother’s limbs and manoeuvres the unconscious giant up into a fireman carry style; one arm over his left shoulder, one giant leg over the other. The weight makes him groan: “Why do you have to be so damn heavy, man?”

The heat grows dangerously close, but Dean manages to get them both out before it collapses in a sea of sparks and smoke behind them. Jody, nursing her arm, leans on a nearby pine tree. “That… Was a little too close for comfort.”

“You’re telling me…” Dean shrugs his brother carefully to the ground. “I thought I was literal toast there for a second.”

“How’s he doing?” She nods at Sam.

“Hard to tell.” Dean crouches down to check the pulse. “He’s alive at least. That’s good.”

“Thank God.”

“Well… Thank something, at least.” Dean starts checking his brother for more injuries. “Seems like the djinn only hurt him before he strung him up, at least.”

“Yeah, I don’t recommend hanging by a broken arm,” Jody’s laugh is hollow as she indicates her own arm.

“Oh, shit! Lemme see that.” Dean makes sure his brother is lying somewhat comfortable before he tends to Jody’s arm.

“Yeah, that’s broken. At least it’s not an open break. Want me to set it now?”

Jody nods, gritting her teeth and looks the other way. Dean deftly pulls the bone in place and starts wrapping it up with strips from his own shirt. He tears off the rest of his flannel to do a make-shift sling for her.

“There,” he says, admiring his work. “That should do until we get to a hospital.”

“Speaking of,” Jody grimaces. “How the hell do we get back?”

Dean nods, looking over at his still unconscious brother. “Good question.”

As if on cue, they hear the low rumble of a car in the distance.

Jody looks from the unconscious dead weight that is Sam to Dean. “You go flag them down, maybe they saw the smoke?”

The eldest Winchester nods and sets off towards the sound, thankfully away from the burning sawmill.

Claire

The map Jody had left on the dining table is haphazardly spread out on the truck’s dashboard. Claire stops on a hilltop to compare the little she can see of the forest in the dark to the map and then to her phone’s app. The sawmill should be maybe half a mile further up the old road, but it’s impossible to know for sure.

Jody’s note said where they went and why: Sam was in trouble. Technically, the note ALSO said not to come alone and send backup – but Claire’s never been good at following orders like that.

Besides, they were supposed to be back at 6 pm, and it is way past that by now. There’s no point calling the Sheriff about a missing person when the missing person is the Sheriff herself, so Claire figured she might as well drive over there to check it out. After calling Bobby, of course.

She sighs, looking out of her the windscreen. This was a dumb idea. What the hell does she really know about hunting, if even Sam got caught? And Dean and Jody too?

The truck sputters and jerks ahead a little, engine choking itself off.

“Argh… stupid clutch!” She pounds the steering wheel, blaming it for the betrayal of the entire car.

As the lights turn off inside the vehicle, she spots a low and golden glow in the distance. Above the glow there’s a low cloud. No… Smoke. Fire!

Without hesitating, Claire slams down on the clutch and starts the engine again, confident that setting stuff on fire is on par with what Dean would do to either call for help or cause a distraction. He might be old and a menace, but at least he’s a predictable one.

It doesn’t take long until the boomer himself is in the middle of the road, waving a flashlight to stop her.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you, kiddo!” he grins, soot-covered face and all.

“You the one starting forest fires out here?” she shoots back, nodding in the direction of the glow.

“More like staking and barbequing a damn djinn, actually.” He’s out of breath but still manages to make a smug face, which quickly change into his serious one. “Jody and Sam are hurt, and you got here just in time. Come on.”

Together, they bring some water and a blanket from the truck to where Jody and Sam are huddled together. Jody’s arm is in a makeshift sling and Sam… Sam is passed out and horribly pale.

“You help Jody, I got Sasquatch.”

Claire stares at the man on the ground. He doesn’t even look like himself, like it’s like it’s just Sam’s shell there. The real Sam always smiles whenever he sees her.

“Claire!” Dean’s shout snaps her out of it, and she wraps one arm around Jody, helping her back towards the road.

Dean grunts as he heaves his brother up on his shoulders. He might be old, but the guy sure is strong.

Sam

It takes him two days to get out of bed, after following Alex’s strict regime of iron supplements, red meat diet and lots of broccoli and orange juice. She had stitched up his cuts too, and he had to admit that her sewing skills were a lot better than Dean’s – especially since she used actual medical equipment and not whatever needle and dental floss that was lying around.

“Well, well: Look who’s finally up. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!”

Sam flips off his brother and sinks into the kitchen chair with hiss. Bruised ribs aren’t fun this time around either.

“Ha ha, Dean. That stopped being fun yesterday,” he grunts, but accepts the cup of coffee anyway. Dean might be all mouthy and rude, but he still makes sure that Sam eats and heals properly. Castiel can’t get here fast enough, in Sam’s opinion.

“You heading out again today?” Sam jerks his head towards the hunting rifle leaning next to the kitchen door.

Dean empties his cup and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “Yup, I think there’s at least three or four more of those winged assholes out there.”

“So, crows huh?”

“Crows,” Dean nods. “Those damn birds were herding people like sheep to slaughter.”

“Can’t believe the djinn actually managed to train them to do that.”

“They’re smart as hell too! Once they see me coming, they scatter. At least after I took down half their flock.” Dean mimics shooting into the air a few times, then moves towards the actual weapon.

“Murder.”

“Fine: Murdered half their flock.”

Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Dean. A flock of crows is called a murder. Pride of lions, school of fish, murder of crows.”

Dean waves him off “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, nerd.” He picks up the rifle and checks the chamber. “They’re about to be dead murdering crows soon, anyway.”

Sam frowns, setting his cup down. “Hey, there’s one thing I don’t get.”

“Hm?” His brother is kneeling to tie up his boots, rifle slung onto his back.

“Djinns usually give people happy dreams, right? To keep them calm? So, why did Jody and I have those nightmares?”

Dean shrugs, standing up. “I dunno. How many nightmares did you have?”

A chill runs down Sam’s spine as images from his ordeal flash before his eyes: “All of them.”

A/N: So, what do you think? Let me know in the comments or as a reblog. I hope the different perspectives and dreams weren't too confusing.

Check out my other stories over at my Masterlist!

Here's the meme I based it on:

“Seriously: If you’re just hiding, I’m gonna kick your ass!”

Sam prepares his gun, cocks it and starts fumbling around in his backpack for some of the flares they brought – but they’re all gone. Shit.

A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. The only thing he can hear now, though, is his own heavy breathing. He scans the area but still can’t see his brother or whatever the hell is hunting him now.

Leaves rustle behind him, he turns, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.

“I’m right here, asshole! Come get me!” he finally shouts into the forest, aiming at every shadow he can see.

Then, the voice finally becomes clearer: “Run”

Sam spins towards it, but there’s still nothing there.

“Run,” it repeats – now to Sam’s left.

The hair on his neck stands up, as he realizes the wendigo must be messing with him by mimicking voices.

“Run. Run. Run,” the voice repeats itself over and over, seemingly from all around him now.

“RUN!” it shouts right next to his ear.

Sam’s body starts running before he can even think which direction is a good idea, he just speeds off away from the voice. Crashing through the low branches, splashing up mud and leaves in his trail, he barrels ahead until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.

“Well, well, well,” someone drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my dear bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”

Sam’s blood freezes: He knows that voice far too well.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

“N..n..no…” Sam stammers, watching helplessly as Lucifer’s red eyes bore into him. The rock and the clearing disappear with a snap, and he finds himself back where he never thought he would have to return. Iron bars surround them, with intricate carvings of ancient Enochian runes.

Eyes wide in fear, his pupils as small as pinpricks, Sam huddles against the cage as the devil approaches in his true, horrible form. Sulphur and scorching heat fill his senses, then the pain begins.

14 hours earlier

Sam’s phone buzzes and lights up from underneath the papers scattered on the motel bed. He carefully places the old book down with his pencil to mark the page he was on, picks up the phone and immediately smiles.

“It’s Jody!” he announces to Dean, currently at the small table with a half-eaten burger, before swiping and holding the screen up to his ear. “Hey Jody, how are you?” Dean raises a hand stained with BBQ-sauce at him. “Dean says hi.”

“Uh huh. Wow, really? Four hikers and no witnesses?” Sam sits up straighter on his bed, planting his feet on the floor, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder as he begins shifting books and papers.

Dean frowns, sucking the sauce from his fingers. “What’s going on?”

Sam holds up a finger, as he listens to what Jody says on the other end, adding “mhm” every now and then.

“Dude: put it on speaker already!” Dean throws a balled-up wrapper at the younger one, who easily dodges it – his phone still precariously pressed to his cheek while his hands are busy stuffing papers into folders and books onto the nightstand. He does find time to flip his brother off, though.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few hours. Send me the files and I’ll look at it. Thanks. See ya soon.” Sam hangs up, tucking his phone in his pocket and already packing his bag.

Dean stuffs the rest of his burger into his mouth before looking expectantly at his brother. “Well?” Bits of food fall out on his shirt.

Sam frowns at him, halfway through putting on his jacket. “Your eating habits are disgusting, dude,” who continues chewing and waves his hand for him to keep talking.

“Jody has a case on a mountain trail: four missing hikers, no bodies and two witnesses say they heard someone shout ‘run’. No footprints, no blood – nothing.”

Dean sets down his beer bottle, having washed down the last of his meal with it. “So, not a cougar or bear either?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“No, and their cell phones have all been turned off, so they can’t track them with that either. She’s sending me the case files, and I’ll look at it on the way over.”

“We still need to wrap up the case we have here and you’re already on another one? What, you’re just going to take Baby and leave me here?”

“Actually, I’m going to head over to the station and take a bus. Makes it easier to read on the way there.”

“But what about the-” Dean starts.

“We already know where the bones are and you just have to go burn’em.” Sam is already halfway to the door, but he stops and pats his brother on his shoulder a little too hard. “You got this.”

“You just don’t wanna dig up a grave, asshole!” Dean shrugs off the hand. “And now I gotta do it all on my own?”

Sam chuckles, offering a smug smile. “You’re strong, Dean. I believe in you.” Then he shuts the door and is gone. Dean flips off the door and shouts “Bitch!” after him.

A few seconds later he gets a text: “Jerk”

Sam

The forest is eerily silent: As if all the other animals know there’s a predator nearby. Sam is the first to notice and he holds up his hand, signalling his brother to stop. He turns around to whisper about the lack of sounds, but he stops dead. Dean is gone.

“Dean?”

The trees stay quiet and his brother stays hidden. “Dude, it’s not funny.”

Wait. This seems familiar, hasn’t he been here before?

Sam starts looking for footprints, but he somehow already knows Dean’s won’t be there. And Dean had the only working torch too. The backpack! They have some flares in there, right? Or…?

He empties it on the forest floor: no flares. Typical. Sam pulls out his gun, ain’t no way he’s going down without a fight. That wendigo is going to bleed.

A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. Leaves then rustle behind him, he turns again, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.

He should get out of there.

Before long, the voice seems to be all around him and he can finally make out what it says: “run, run, RUN, RUN!” He wastes no time in listening and thunders through the trees until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my favourite bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”

Sam’s head jolts up: He knows that voice far too well. Hardly believing it, he watches as Nick effortlessly jumps down and lands in front of him, red eyes almost glowing.

No, not Nick: Him.

Fear races through Sam, gluing him to the spot, unable to move.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

A snap of fingers, then: Pain. Enochian carved into iron bars. Sulphur. Heat.

Every part of Sam’s mind screams that this shouldn’t be possible, but all his senses confirm what he fears:

He is back.

Dean

“Alright, Jody. Where’s Sam?”

Dean gently pats Jody on her back as he untangles himself from the hug and looks around above her head.

“He went jogging earlier this morning. Said he’d be gone for an hour or so, but that was over two hours ago.” She steps back to allow Dean inside.

He plops his duffel bag down and frowns at his phone. “No messages here. Did he tell you where he went?”

“Just his usual round up in the woods. The one he always takes when he’s out here.”

“The one he always… I ain’t seen him jogging when we’ve spent the night. Ever.” Dean huffs and shrugs off his jacket, making sure to use the hanger Jody hands him. He learned long ago not to just throw it on a chair when visiting her house.

“That’s because you sleep until noon, Dean. Sam has always gone for a run before crack of dawn,” she laughs, straightening the boots he left in the middle of the hall.

“Yeah, well… Your cooking always makes me sleepy,” Dean smiles, touching her shoulder as he makes his way towards the guest room. “You tried calling him?”

Jody nods, following him further into the house. “Yup. Straight to voicemail.”

“No ping on his phone either?” He has reached Sam’s backpack and starts rifling through some of the papers he left out on the bed: scattered notes and a map of the surrounding area with some red marks on it.

“Last location was on the parking lot before the trail.” Jody leans against the doorway as she watches him lift one thing after the other and toss it back on the bed.

“Shit.” Dean slides his hand down his face, sighing. “I gotta go after him. Did you guys figure out what it was? And did you try his backup phone?” He’s already looking through Sam’s backpack to see which weapons are missing. The angel blade and witch-killing bullets are gone.

“He has a backup phone? Should have said so sooner!” She disappears into her office and returns with her laptop, ready to search the number Dean tells her. “And no: we weren’t sure but have narrowed it down to a wendigo, ghoul or djinn. All of them are likely to keep their victims, since we couldn’t find any sign of them.”

She taps on her keyboard and smiles. “Yes! Found him!” She turns the screen towards him: “He’s way off the trail… The gps puts him around two miles into the forest, in the abandoned old sawmill from before all the machines took over.”

“Here, mark it on this. I’m heading out there in ten.” Dean hands her the map from the bed and looks around: “Where’s the damn lamb’s blood?”

Jody

“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to her son, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”

“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”

Jody smiles, leaning up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; can’t believe I haven’t been here before.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son again.

The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but something about the way he’s stood makes Jody frown.

“Owen? You okay?”

He doesn’t answer her, just keeps staring and pointing his stick at something in the forest. As she approaches him, she notices that his arm is shaking.

“Owen? What…” She is about to ask what’s wrong, before she spots what he’s pointing at: Around 50 feet from her son, there’s someone crouched on the ground. Their back is moving as if they are searching for something. Her hand reaches instinctively towards her gun, but she’s off-duty and the gun is locked into the safe back at their house.

The person crouching lifts their head and sniffs the air. Why would they sniff? Then it turns around and Jody almost screams. The man’s face is covered in red and the thing it was crouched over? That was a dead animal, probably a fawn. She grabs Owen by his hand and starts running towards her husband, who still haven’t seen the bloodied man that is now moving towards them.

“RUN!” she shouts at him,

“Honey? What’s going on…” and that’s all he’s able to say before another bloodied person rams into him from the side, knocking him over.

“No…” she gasps, still holding her son’s arm – both now rooted to the ground in shock as the sound of ripping flesh and gargled screams reach them.

“Mommy? I’m scared.”

Jody realizes she cannot save her husband, making a split-second decision to at least save her son. She spins around and sees that the first man is now only 20 feet away from them and approaching fast. Unnaturally fast, fresh blood covering the lower half of his face and all over his front.

The adrenaline in her makes the world almost slow down as she spots the stick her son is still holding, her only weapon now. She grabs it, quickly shielding her child behind her and jabs it into the attacker the only place she can think of: his neck.

Blood squirts, the attacker falters – but not for long. With the stick still embedded into his jugular vein, he gargles a roar and continues to grab after Owen. Jody kicks him away with a scream so feral it sounds like a lioness defending her cubs. Filled with inhumane strength she lifts her son and runs towards their car.

She jumps into the driver’s seat, Owen on her lap and slams the door shut. He scrambles to the passenger seat just as the bloody man starts pounding on the window. “Hurry mom! HURRY!” The damn car stalls, oil lamp blinking and alerts going off about proximity alerts.

“Start, dammit. START!”

The window on her son’s side breaks.

“MOM!”

“OWEN!”

An hour earlier

“Stay close,” Dean whispers behind him and Jody picks up her pace. “Do you hear that?”

She shakes her head.

“Exactly. Not a sound. There’s a hunter out here.” Dean points his gun on one shadow after the other. “And it’s not us.”

Leaves rustle and a word is carried through the forest: “run”

They turn towards it, seeing nothing.

Jody looks to Dean, who shakes his head. Don’t move, he mouths.

“Run”

They turn as one towards the sound, now behind them and closer. Jody almost takes off but is held back by a firm hand. “Stay still,” Dean whispers more intently. He knows this game: whatever is hunting them is trying to herd them into a trap. Gun in one hand, machete in the other, they stand back-to-back, ready for whatever is approaching.

He senses more than hears a flutter of wings before more voices appear and he can feel Jody trembling behind him, her breath fast and shallow.

The word is repeated all around them, louder and louder.

“Run. RUN. RUN!”

A branch breaks and a big shadow moves in their direction. Jody screams, fires her gun and takes off before Dean can hold her back. A high pitched, metallic sound pierces the quiet, and Dean realizes it belongs to a large elk barrelling towards him. The gunshot spooked it even more than the voices and Dean has no choice but to dive to the side, avoiding its antlers as it races after his colleague.

Surrounded by faceless voices, Dean follows the trail of broken twigs until he’s out of breath and alone. No Jody, no voices, no damn elk and worst of all: no more trail.

“JODY!”

His shout echoes in the forest and a flock of dark birds takes off from a nearby tree. As they pass above him, he catches their un-natural chatter – almost like they are talking.

A chill rushes down his back as the realization hits: Crows.

Fucking crows.

Jody

“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to Owen, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”

“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”

Jody smiles and reaches up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; It feels like I’ve been here before, I just can’t remember when.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son.

The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but the way he’s shaking makes Jody frown.

Run.

Something is wrong. Terribly wrong. She should have brought her gun!

Run.

Her body reacts on instinct, rushing towards her son and lifts him up as the person he was pointing at reveals his blood-covered face.

Running towards her husband, she screams louder than she ever has before as if expecting him to be the next target: “Run, Sean! RUN!”

Time seems to slow down as another person, covered in blood, crashes into him and rips off his skin. The noises are nightmarish: gargling screams as his throat is opened, thick drops of blood splashing on the ground.

“NOOOOOOO!”

Jody turns towards the first person, the one chasing her and Owen, and he is too close. Closer than he should be.

Grab the stick.

Owen’s stick is ripped from him by his mother and finds its new spot in their attacker’s neck. He barely slows down, but Jody is already running away.

Car.

Yes: the car! She lunges into it, Owen scuttling over to the passenger seat as more bloody people surround them.

No…

The glass breaks.

No!

“MOM!”

“OWEN!”

Dean

Having followed the crows until he found his position on the map and ensuring he wasn’t hunted, Dean arrives at the derelict sawmill: Grey walls of worn, old sidings, barely standing up on their own. Rust-coloured trails under every nail, serving as witnesses of the time passed. Moss-covered logs lay scattered amongst trees of different sizes, a fir tree poking out of a hole in the sunken roof. Nature has claimed it back.

A faint glow of moving light falls from one of the broken windows as dusk settles over the forest: Fire.

Dean inches closer, the stake soaked in lamb’s blood in his pocket, his machete in one hand and his gun with witch-killing bullets in the other.

A shadow passes the light.  

Someone is there. Sam and Jody better damn well be alive.

Sam

Sam is the first to notice how quiet the forest is, and he signals his brother to stop before turning around.

“Dean?”

The silence around him is deafening now. No brother, no birds, no movements. He’s all alone and he knows it. Somehow, he just knows that Dean was never there. A quick look at the ground confirms it: the only footprints are his own large ones.

Backpack.

Sam cocks his gun and searches his backpack for the flares he already knows aren’t there. It feels like a sick kind of déjà vu when a branch nearby snaps, Sam quickly pointing his gun in that direction.

Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from. He just knows he should move, and fast. As the word “run” approaches him, he leaves the backpack and tries to put as much distance between the voice and himself.

Stay away from the clearing.

As the voice surrounds him like a nightmare, he sees a giant rock in a clearing and runs towards it, hoping it will provide some shelter.

Not the rock.

He stops as the idea hits him. Something is wrong. He should stay away from the rock, but the adrenaline pushes him onward as “RUN! RUN! RUN!” surround him.

Then: A snap of fingers. Everything changes: Sulphur. Heat. Enochian covered bars.

“Well, well, well: Sam Winchester. My favourite bunk buddy.”

Not real.

It can’t be real. He can’t be back. His aching lungs are filled with the stench of decay, ash, rotting flesh. No. No, no, no.

“Welcome back,” the vessel Nick laughs, eyes glowing red.

Not real.

Sam backs up against the cage as Lucifer approaches, changing into his true, horrible form before him. Then the pain begins.

“SAM!”

Dean? Is he here?

The devil is punching Sam’s face, making his head loll uselessly into the iron bars with each hit. The pain is unbearable and Sam’s eyes are already swollen shut.

“Sam, wake up buddy. Wake up!”

Is this another trick?

“Come on, man. I got you.”

Sam’s arms fall from their shackles above him, making his entire body rest on Lucifer’s thorny shoulders, biting into his chest.

No more…

“That’s it, little brother. Breathe.”

Dean never says little brother. It’s not real. It’s still Lucifer with his tricks.

He’s thrown to the ground, knocking the air out of him. Sam barely manages to shrink into fetal position, hiding his head as the devil scratches at his arms and legs. The smell of thick smoke filling his nostrils.

Please stop…

Darkness envelops Sam’s mind as his brother’s voice shouts his name in the background. No more pain. Just…

Quiet.

Dean

“Goddammit, Sam!”

Dean slaps his brother’s face again, just to get any reaction from him. Sam’s giant limbs wrap around himself, shielding whatever he can before he suddenly goes limp.

“No, no… Stay with me, Sam. SAM!”

Dean looks desperately around the now burning old sawmill. The flames are spreading faster than he thought they would, from where he dumped the Djinn’s corpse into its own campfire.

Jody is too injured to help carry Sam, but she still manages to throw some of the victims’ personal effects into a backpack she found: Wallets, wristwatches, pieces of clothing, a few phones.

“Dean, this is a death trap! We gotta go,” she shouts at him as the flames reach the ceiling – spurred on by the dried wood and old sawdust. “Now!”

“Yeah, no shit!” he shouts back as a big beam falls from the ceiling onto the campfire, spreading sparks and burning debris everywhere.

Dean opens his brother’s limbs and manoeuvres the unconscious giant up into a fireman carry style; one arm over his left shoulder, one giant leg over the other. The weight makes him groan: “Why do you have to be so damn heavy, man?”

The heat grows dangerously close, but Dean manages to get them both out before it collapses in a sea of sparks and smoke behind them. Jody, nursing her arm, leans on a nearby pine tree. “That… Was a little too close for comfort.”

“You’re telling me…” Dean shrugs his brother carefully to the ground. “I thought I was literal toast there for a second.”

“How’s he doing?” She nods at Sam.

“Hard to tell.” Dean crouches down to check the pulse. “He’s alive at least. That’s good.”

“Thank God.”

“Well… Thank something, at least.” Dean starts checking his brother for more injuries. “Seems like the djinn only hurt him before he strung him up, at least.”

“Yeah, I don’t recommend hanging by a broken arm,” Jody’s laugh is hollow as she indicates her own arm.

“Oh, shit! Lemme see that.” Dean makes sure his brother is lying somewhat comfortable before he tends to Jody’s arm.

“Yeah, that’s broken. At least it’s not an open break. Want me to set it now?”

Jody nods, gritting her teeth and looks the other way. Dean deftly pulls the bone in place and starts wrapping it up with strips from his own shirt. He tears off the rest of his flannel to do a make-shift sling for her.

“There,” he says, admiring his work. “That should do until we get to a hospital.”

“Speaking of,” Jody grimaces. “How the hell do we get back?”

Dean nods, looking over at his still unconscious brother. “Good question.”

As if on cue, they hear the low rumble of a car in the distance.

Jody looks from the unconscious dead weight that is Sam to Dean. “You go flag them down, maybe they saw the smoke?”

The eldest Winchester nods and sets off towards the sound, thankfully away from the burning sawmill.

Claire

The map Jody had left on the dining table is haphazardly spread out on the truck’s dashboard. Claire stops on a hilltop to compare the little she can see of the forest in the dark to the map and then to her phone’s app. The sawmill should be maybe half a mile further up the old road, but it’s impossible to know for sure.

Jody’s note said where they went and why: Sam was in trouble. Technically, the note ALSO said not to come alone and send backup – but Claire’s never been good at following orders like that.

Besides, they were supposed to be back at 6 pm, and it is way past that by now. There’s no point calling the Sheriff about a missing person when the missing person is the Sheriff herself, so Claire figured she might as well drive over there to check it out. After calling Bobby, of course.

She sighs, looking out of her the windscreen. This was a dumb idea. What the hell does she really know about hunting, if even Sam got caught? And Dean and Jody too?

The truck sputters and jerks ahead a little, engine choking itself off.

“Argh… stupid clutch!” She pounds the steering wheel, blaming it for the betrayal of the entire car.

As the lights turn off inside the vehicle, she spots a low and golden glow in the distance. Above the glow there’s a low cloud. No… Smoke. Fire!

Without hesitating, Claire slams down on the clutch and starts the engine again, confident that setting stuff on fire is on par with what Dean would do to either call for help or cause a distraction. He might be old and a menace, but at least he’s a predictable one.

It doesn’t take long until the boomer himself is in the middle of the road, waving a flashlight to stop her.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you, kiddo!” he grins, soot-covered face and all.

“You the one starting forest fires out here?” she shoots back, nodding in the direction of the glow.

“More like staking and barbequing a damn djinn, actually.” He’s out of breath but still manages to make a smug face, which quickly change into his serious one. “Jody and Sam are hurt, and you got here just in time. Come on.”

Together, they bring some water and a blanket from the truck to where Jody and Sam are huddled together. Jody’s arm is in a makeshift sling and Sam… Sam is passed out and horribly pale.

“You help Jody, I got Sasquatch.”

Claire stares at the man on the ground. He doesn’t even look like himself, like it’s like it’s just Sam’s shell there. The real Sam always smiles whenever he sees her.

“Claire!” Dean’s shout snaps her out of it, and she wraps one arm around Jody, helping her back towards the road.

Dean grunts as he heaves his brother up on his shoulders. He might be old, but the guy sure is strong.

Sam

It takes him two days to get out of bed, after following Alex’s strict regime of iron supplements, red meat diet and lots of broccoli and orange juice. She had stitched up his cuts too, and he had to admit that her sewing skills were a lot better than Dean’s – especially since she used actual medical equipment and not whatever needle and dental floss that was lying around.

“Well, well: Look who’s finally up. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!”

Sam flips off his brother and sinks into the kitchen chair with hiss. Bruised ribs aren’t fun this time around either.

“Ha ha, Dean. That stopped being fun yesterday,” he grunts, but accepts the cup of coffee anyway. Dean might be all mouthy and rude, but he still makes sure that Sam eats and heals properly. Castiel can’t get here fast enough, in Sam’s opinion.

“You heading out again today?” Sam jerks his head towards the hunting rifle leaning next to the kitchen door.

Dean empties his cup and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “Yup, I think there’s at least three or four more of those winged assholes out there.”

“So, crows huh?”

“Crows,” Dean nods. “Those damn birds were herding people like sheep to slaughter.”

“Can’t believe the djinn actually managed to train them to do that.”

“They’re smart as hell too! Once they see me coming, they scatter. At least after I took down half their flock.” Dean mimics shooting into the air a few times, then moves towards the actual weapon.

“Murder.”

“Fine: Murdered half their flock.”

Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Dean. A flock of crows is called a murder. Pride of lions, school of fish, murder of crows.”

Dean waves him off “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, nerd.” He picks up the rifle and checks the chamber. “They’re about to be dead murdering crows soon, anyway.”

Sam frowns, setting his cup down. “Hey, there’s one thing I don’t get.”

“Hm?” His brother is kneeling to tie up his boots, rifle slung onto his back.

“Djinns usually give people happy dreams, right? To keep them calm? So, why did Jody and I have those nightmares?”

Dean shrugs, standing up. “I dunno. How many nightmares did you have?”

A chill runs down Sam’s spine as images from his ordeal flash before his eyes: “All of them.”

A/N: So, what do you think? Let me know in the comments or as a reblog. I hope the different perspectives and dreams weren't too confusing.

Check out my other stories over at my Masterlist!

Here's the meme I based it on:

“Seriously: If you’re just hiding, I’m gonna kick your ass!”

Sam prepares his gun, cocks it and starts fumbling around in his backpack for some of the flares they brought – but they’re all gone. Shit.

A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. The only thing he can hear now, though, is his own heavy breathing. He scans the area but still can’t see his brother or whatever the hell is hunting him now.

Leaves rustle behind him, he turns, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.

“I’m right here, asshole! Come get me!” he finally shouts into the forest, aiming at every shadow he can see.

Then, the voice finally becomes clearer: “Run”

Sam spins towards it, but there’s still nothing there.

“Run,” it repeats – now to Sam’s left.

The hair on his neck stands up, as he realizes the wendigo must be messing with him by mimicking voices.

“Run. Run. Run,” the voice repeats itself over and over, seemingly from all around him now.

“RUN!” it shouts right next to his ear.

Sam’s body starts running before he can even think which direction is a good idea, he just speeds off away from the voice. Crashing through the low branches, splashing up mud and leaves in his trail, he barrels ahead until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.

“Well, well, well,” someone drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my dear bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”

Sam’s blood freezes: He knows that voice far too well.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

“N..n..no…” Sam stammers, watching helplessly as Lucifer’s red eyes bore into him. The rock and the clearing disappear with a snap, and he finds himself back where he never thought he would have to return. Iron bars surround them, with intricate carvings of ancient Enochian runes.

Eyes wide in fear, his pupils as small as pinpricks, Sam huddles against the cage as the devil approaches in his true, horrible form. Sulphur and scorching heat fill his senses, then the pain begins.

14 hours earlier

Sam’s phone buzzes and lights up from underneath the papers scattered on the motel bed. He carefully places the old book down with his pencil to mark the page he was on, picks up the phone and immediately smiles.

“It’s Jody!” he announces to Dean, currently at the small table with a half-eaten burger, before swiping and holding the screen up to his ear. “Hey Jody, how are you?” Dean raises a hand stained with BBQ-sauce at him. “Dean says hi.”

“Uh huh. Wow, really? Four hikers and no witnesses?” Sam sits up straighter on his bed, planting his feet on the floor, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder as he begins shifting books and papers.

Dean frowns, sucking the sauce from his fingers. “What’s going on?”

Sam holds up a finger, as he listens to what Jody says on the other end, adding “mhm” every now and then.

“Dude: put it on speaker already!” Dean throws a balled-up wrapper at the younger one, who easily dodges it – his phone still precariously pressed to his cheek while his hands are busy stuffing papers into folders and books onto the nightstand. He does find time to flip his brother off, though.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few hours. Send me the files and I’ll look at it. Thanks. See ya soon.” Sam hangs up, tucking his phone in his pocket and already packing his bag.

Dean stuffs the rest of his burger into his mouth before looking expectantly at his brother. “Well?” Bits of food fall out on his shirt.

Sam frowns at him, halfway through putting on his jacket. “Your eating habits are disgusting, dude,” who continues chewing and waves his hand for him to keep talking.

“Jody has a case on a mountain trail: four missing hikers, no bodies and two witnesses say they heard someone shout ‘run’. No footprints, no blood – nothing.”

Dean sets down his beer bottle, having washed down the last of his meal with it. “So, not a cougar or bear either?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“No, and their cell phones have all been turned off, so they can’t track them with that either. She’s sending me the case files, and I’ll look at it on the way over.”

“We still need to wrap up the case we have here and you’re already on another one? What, you’re just going to take Baby and leave me here?”

“Actually, I’m going to head over to the station and take a bus. Makes it easier to read on the way there.”

“But what about the-” Dean starts.

“We already know where the bones are and you just have to go burn’em.” Sam is already halfway to the door, but he stops and pats his brother on his shoulder a little too hard. “You got this.”

“You just don’t wanna dig up a grave, asshole!” Dean shrugs off the hand. “And now I gotta do it all on my own?”

Sam chuckles, offering a smug smile. “You’re strong, Dean. I believe in you.” Then he shuts the door and is gone. Dean flips off the door and shouts “Bitch!” after him.

A few seconds later he gets a text: “Jerk”

Sam

The forest is eerily silent: As if all the other animals know there’s a predator nearby. Sam is the first to notice and he holds up his hand, signalling his brother to stop. He turns around to whisper about the lack of sounds, but he stops dead. Dean is gone.

“Dean?”

The trees stay quiet and his brother stays hidden. “Dude, it’s not funny.”

Wait. This seems familiar, hasn’t he been here before?

Sam starts looking for footprints, but he somehow already knows Dean’s won’t be there. And Dean had the only working torch too. The backpack! They have some flares in there, right? Or…?

He empties it on the forest floor: no flares. Typical. Sam pulls out his gun, ain’t no way he’s going down without a fight. That wendigo is going to bleed.

A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. Leaves then rustle behind him, he turns again, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.

He should get out of there.

Before long, the voice seems to be all around him and he can finally make out what it says: “run, run, RUN, RUN!” He wastes no time in listening and thunders through the trees until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my favourite bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”

Sam’s head jolts up: He knows that voice far too well. Hardly believing it, he watches as Nick effortlessly jumps down and lands in front of him, red eyes almost glowing.

No, not Nick: Him.

Fear races through Sam, gluing him to the spot, unable to move.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

A snap of fingers, then: Pain. Enochian carved into iron bars. Sulphur. Heat.

Every part of Sam’s mind screams that this shouldn’t be possible, but all his senses confirm what he fears:

He is back.

Dean

“Alright, Jody. Where’s Sam?”

Dean gently pats Jody on her back as he untangles himself from the hug and looks around above her head.

“He went jogging earlier this morning. Said he’d be gone for an hour or so, but that was over two hours ago.” She steps back to allow Dean inside.

He plops his duffel bag down and frowns at his phone. “No messages here. Did he tell you where he went?”

“Just his usual round up in the woods. The one he always takes when he’s out here.”

“The one he always… I ain’t seen him jogging when we’ve spent the night. Ever.” Dean huffs and shrugs off his jacket, making sure to use the hanger Jody hands him. He learned long ago not to just throw it on a chair when visiting her house.

“That’s because you sleep until noon, Dean. Sam has always gone for a run before crack of dawn,” she laughs, straightening the boots he left in the middle of the hall.

“Yeah, well… Your cooking always makes me sleepy,” Dean smiles, touching her shoulder as he makes his way towards the guest room. “You tried calling him?”

Jody nods, following him further into the house. “Yup. Straight to voicemail.”

“No ping on his phone either?” He has reached Sam’s backpack and starts rifling through some of the papers he left out on the bed: scattered notes and a map of the surrounding area with some red marks on it.

“Last location was on the parking lot before the trail.” Jody leans against the doorway as she watches him lift one thing after the other and toss it back on the bed.

“Shit.” Dean slides his hand down his face, sighing. “I gotta go after him. Did you guys figure out what it was? And did you try his backup phone?” He’s already looking through Sam’s backpack to see which weapons are missing. The angel blade and witch-killing bullets are gone.

“He has a backup phone? Should have said so sooner!” She disappears into her office and returns with her laptop, ready to search the number Dean tells her. “And no: we weren’t sure but have narrowed it down to a wendigo, ghoul or djinn. All of them are likely to keep their victims, since we couldn’t find any sign of them.”

She taps on her keyboard and smiles. “Yes! Found him!” She turns the screen towards him: “He’s way off the trail… The gps puts him around two miles into the forest, in the abandoned old sawmill from before all the machines took over.”

“Here, mark it on this. I’m heading out there in ten.” Dean hands her the map from the bed and looks around: “Where’s the damn lamb’s blood?”

Jody

“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to her son, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”

“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”

Jody smiles, leaning up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; can’t believe I haven’t been here before.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son again.

The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but something about the way he’s stood makes Jody frown.

“Owen? You okay?”

He doesn’t answer her, just keeps staring and pointing his stick at something in the forest. As she approaches him, she notices that his arm is shaking.

“Owen? What…” She is about to ask what’s wrong, before she spots what he’s pointing at: Around 50 feet from her son, there’s someone crouched on the ground. Their back is moving as if they are searching for something. Her hand reaches instinctively towards her gun, but she’s off-duty and the gun is locked into the safe back at their house.

The person crouching lifts their head and sniffs the air. Why would they sniff? Then it turns around and Jody almost screams. The man’s face is covered in red and the thing it was crouched over? That was a dead animal, probably a fawn. She grabs Owen by his hand and starts running towards her husband, who still haven’t seen the bloodied man that is now moving towards them.

“RUN!” she shouts at him,

“Honey? What’s going on…” and that’s all he’s able to say before another bloodied person rams into him from the side, knocking him over.

“No…” she gasps, still holding her son’s arm – both now rooted to the ground in shock as the sound of ripping flesh and gargled screams reach them.

“Mommy? I’m scared.”

Jody realizes she cannot save her husband, making a split-second decision to at least save her son. She spins around and sees that the first man is now only 20 feet away from them and approaching fast. Unnaturally fast, fresh blood covering the lower half of his face and all over his front.

The adrenaline in her makes the world almost slow down as she spots the stick her son is still holding, her only weapon now. She grabs it, quickly shielding her child behind her and jabs it into the attacker the only place she can think of: his neck.

Blood squirts, the attacker falters – but not for long. With the stick still embedded into his jugular vein, he gargles a roar and continues to grab after Owen. Jody kicks him away with a scream so feral it sounds like a lioness defending her cubs. Filled with inhumane strength she lifts her son and runs towards their car.

She jumps into the driver’s seat, Owen on her lap and slams the door shut. He scrambles to the passenger seat just as the bloody man starts pounding on the window. “Hurry mom! HURRY!” The damn car stalls, oil lamp blinking and alerts going off about proximity alerts.

“Start, dammit. START!”

The window on her son’s side breaks.

“MOM!”

“OWEN!”

An hour earlier

“Stay close,” Dean whispers behind him and Jody picks up her pace. “Do you hear that?”

She shakes her head.

“Exactly. Not a sound. There’s a hunter out here.” Dean points his gun on one shadow after the other. “And it’s not us.”

Leaves rustle and a word is carried through the forest: “run”

They turn towards it, seeing nothing.

Jody looks to Dean, who shakes his head. Don’t move, he mouths.

“Run”

They turn as one towards the sound, now behind them and closer. Jody almost takes off but is held back by a firm hand. “Stay still,” Dean whispers more intently. He knows this game: whatever is hunting them is trying to herd them into a trap. Gun in one hand, machete in the other, they stand back-to-back, ready for whatever is approaching.

He senses more than hears a flutter of wings before more voices appear and he can feel Jody trembling behind him, her breath fast and shallow.

The word is repeated all around them, louder and louder.

“Run. RUN. RUN!”

A branch breaks and a big shadow moves in their direction. Jody screams, fires her gun and takes off before Dean can hold her back. A high pitched, metallic sound pierces the quiet, and Dean realizes it belongs to a large elk barrelling towards him. The gunshot spooked it even more than the voices and Dean has no choice but to dive to the side, avoiding its antlers as it races after his colleague.

Surrounded by faceless voices, Dean follows the trail of broken twigs until he’s out of breath and alone. No Jody, no voices, no damn elk and worst of all: no more trail.

“JODY!”

His shout echoes in the forest and a flock of dark birds takes off from a nearby tree. As they pass above him, he catches their un-natural chatter – almost like they are talking.

A chill rushes down his back as the realization hits: Crows.

Fucking crows.

Jody

“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to Owen, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”

“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”

Jody smiles and reaches up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; It feels like I’ve been here before, I just can’t remember when.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son.

The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but the way he’s shaking makes Jody frown.

Run.

Something is wrong. Terribly wrong. She should have brought her gun!

Run.

Her body reacts on instinct, rushing towards her son and lifts him up as the person he was pointing at reveals his blood-covered face.

Running towards her husband, she screams louder than she ever has before as if expecting him to be the next target: “Run, Sean! RUN!”

Time seems to slow down as another person, covered in blood, crashes into him and rips off his skin. The noises are nightmarish: gargling screams as his throat is opened, thick drops of blood splashing on the ground.

“NOOOOOOO!”

Jody turns towards the first person, the one chasing her and Owen, and he is too close. Closer than he should be.

Grab the stick.

Owen’s stick is ripped from him by his mother and finds its new spot in their attacker’s neck. He barely slows down, but Jody is already running away.

Car.

Yes: the car! She lunges into it, Owen scuttling over to the passenger seat as more bloody people surround them.

No…

The glass breaks.

No!

“MOM!”

“OWEN!”

Dean

Having followed the crows until he found his position on the map and ensuring he wasn’t hunted, Dean arrives at the derelict sawmill: Grey walls of worn, old sidings, barely standing up on their own. Rust-coloured trails under every nail, serving as witnesses of the time passed. Moss-covered logs lay scattered amongst trees of different sizes, a fir tree poking out of a hole in the sunken roof. Nature has claimed it back.

A faint glow of moving light falls from one of the broken windows as dusk settles over the forest: Fire.

Dean inches closer, the stake soaked in lamb’s blood in his pocket, his machete in one hand and his gun with witch-killing bullets in the other.

A shadow passes the light.  

Someone is there. Sam and Jody better damn well be alive.

Sam

Sam is the first to notice how quiet the forest is, and he signals his brother to stop before turning around.

“Dean?”

The silence around him is deafening now. No brother, no birds, no movements. He’s all alone and he knows it. Somehow, he just knows that Dean was never there. A quick look at the ground confirms it: the only footprints are his own large ones.

Backpack.

Sam cocks his gun and searches his backpack for the flares he already knows aren’t there. It feels like a sick kind of déjà vu when a branch nearby snaps, Sam quickly pointing his gun in that direction.

Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from. He just knows he should move, and fast. As the word “run” approaches him, he leaves the backpack and tries to put as much distance between the voice and himself.

Stay away from the clearing.

As the voice surrounds him like a nightmare, he sees a giant rock in a clearing and runs towards it, hoping it will provide some shelter.

Not the rock.

He stops as the idea hits him. Something is wrong. He should stay away from the rock, but the adrenaline pushes him onward as “RUN! RUN! RUN!” surround him.

Then: A snap of fingers. Everything changes: Sulphur. Heat. Enochian covered bars.

“Well, well, well: Sam Winchester. My favourite bunk buddy.”

Not real.

It can’t be real. He can’t be back. His aching lungs are filled with the stench of decay, ash, rotting flesh. No. No, no, no.

“Welcome back,” the vessel Nick laughs, eyes glowing red.

Not real.

Sam backs up against the cage as Lucifer approaches, changing into his true, horrible form before him. Then the pain begins.

“SAM!”

Dean? Is he here?

The devil is punching Sam’s face, making his head loll uselessly into the iron bars with each hit. The pain is unbearable and Sam’s eyes are already swollen shut.

“Sam, wake up buddy. Wake up!”

Is this another trick?

“Come on, man. I got you.”

Sam’s arms fall from their shackles above him, making his entire body rest on Lucifer’s thorny shoulders, biting into his chest.

No more…

“That’s it, little brother. Breathe.”

Dean never says little brother. It’s not real. It’s still Lucifer with his tricks.

He’s thrown to the ground, knocking the air out of him. Sam barely manages to shrink into fetal position, hiding his head as the devil scratches at his arms and legs. The smell of thick smoke filling his nostrils.

Please stop…

Darkness envelops Sam’s mind as his brother’s voice shouts his name in the background. No more pain. Just…

Quiet.

Dean

“Goddammit, Sam!”

Dean slaps his brother’s face again, just to get any reaction from him. Sam’s giant limbs wrap around himself, shielding whatever he can before he suddenly goes limp.

“No, no… Stay with me, Sam. SAM!”

Dean looks desperately around the now burning old sawmill. The flames are spreading faster than he thought they would, from where he dumped the Djinn’s corpse into its own campfire.

Jody is too injured to help carry Sam, but she still manages to throw some of the victims’ personal effects into a backpack she found: Wallets, wristwatches, pieces of clothing, a few phones.

“Dean, this is a death trap! We gotta go,” she shouts at him as the flames reach the ceiling – spurred on by the dried wood and old sawdust. “Now!”

“Yeah, no shit!” he shouts back as a big beam falls from the ceiling onto the campfire, spreading sparks and burning debris everywhere.

Dean opens his brother’s limbs and manoeuvres the unconscious giant up into a fireman carry style; one arm over his left shoulder, one giant leg over the other. The weight makes him groan: “Why do you have to be so damn heavy, man?”

The heat grows dangerously close, but Dean manages to get them both out before it collapses in a sea of sparks and smoke behind them. Jody, nursing her arm, leans on a nearby pine tree. “That… Was a little too close for comfort.”

“You’re telling me…” Dean shrugs his brother carefully to the ground. “I thought I was literal toast there for a second.”

“How’s he doing?” She nods at Sam.

“Hard to tell.” Dean crouches down to check the pulse. “He’s alive at least. That’s good.”

“Thank God.”

“Well… Thank something, at least.” Dean starts checking his brother for more injuries. “Seems like the djinn only hurt him before he strung him up, at least.”

“Yeah, I don’t recommend hanging by a broken arm,” Jody’s laugh is hollow as she indicates her own arm.

“Oh, shit! Lemme see that.” Dean makes sure his brother is lying somewhat comfortable before he tends to Jody’s arm.

“Yeah, that’s broken. At least it’s not an open break. Want me to set it now?”

Jody nods, gritting her teeth and looks the other way. Dean deftly pulls the bone in place and starts wrapping it up with strips from his own shirt. He tears off the rest of his flannel to do a make-shift sling for her.

“There,” he says, admiring his work. “That should do until we get to a hospital.”

“Speaking of,” Jody grimaces. “How the hell do we get back?”

Dean nods, looking over at his still unconscious brother. “Good question.”

As if on cue, they hear the low rumble of a car in the distance.

Jody looks from the unconscious dead weight that is Sam to Dean. “You go flag them down, maybe they saw the smoke?”

The eldest Winchester nods and sets off towards the sound, thankfully away from the burning sawmill.

Claire

The map Jody had left on the dining table is haphazardly spread out on the truck’s dashboard. Claire stops on a hilltop to compare the little she can see of the forest in the dark to the map and then to her phone’s app. The sawmill should be maybe half a mile further up the old road, but it’s impossible to know for sure.

Jody’s note said where they went and why: Sam was in trouble. Technically, the note ALSO said not to come alone and send backup – but Claire’s never been good at following orders like that.

Besides, they were supposed to be back at 6 pm, and it is way past that by now. There’s no point calling the Sheriff about a missing person when the missing person is the Sheriff herself, so Claire figured she might as well drive over there to check it out. After calling Bobby, of course.

She sighs, looking out of her the windscreen. This was a dumb idea. What the hell does she really know about hunting, if even Sam got caught? And Dean and Jody too?

The truck sputters and jerks ahead a little, engine choking itself off.

“Argh… stupid clutch!” She pounds the steering wheel, blaming it for the betrayal of the entire car.

As the lights turn off inside the vehicle, she spots a low and golden glow in the distance. Above the glow there’s a low cloud. No… Smoke. Fire!

Without hesitating, Claire slams down on the clutch and starts the engine again, confident that setting stuff on fire is on par with what Dean would do to either call for help or cause a distraction. He might be old and a menace, but at least he’s a predictable one.

It doesn’t take long until the boomer himself is in the middle of the road, waving a flashlight to stop her.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you, kiddo!” he grins, soot-covered face and all.

“You the one starting forest fires out here?” she shoots back, nodding in the direction of the glow.

“More like staking and barbequing a damn djinn, actually.” He’s out of breath but still manages to make a smug face, which quickly change into his serious one. “Jody and Sam are hurt, and you got here just in time. Come on.”

Together, they bring some water and a blanket from the truck to where Jody and Sam are huddled together. Jody’s arm is in a makeshift sling and Sam… Sam is passed out and horribly pale.

“You help Jody, I got Sasquatch.”

Claire stares at the man on the ground. He doesn’t even look like himself, like it’s like it’s just Sam’s shell there. The real Sam always smiles whenever he sees her.

“Claire!” Dean’s shout snaps her out of it, and she wraps one arm around Jody, helping her back towards the road.

Dean grunts as he heaves his brother up on his shoulders. He might be old, but the guy sure is strong.

Sam

It takes him two days to get out of bed, after following Alex’s strict regime of iron supplements, red meat diet and lots of broccoli and orange juice. She had stitched up his cuts too, and he had to admit that her sewing skills were a lot better than Dean’s – especially since she used actual medical equipment and not whatever needle and dental floss that was lying around.

“Well, well: Look who’s finally up. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!”

Sam flips off his brother and sinks into the kitchen chair with hiss. Bruised ribs aren’t fun this time around either.

“Ha ha, Dean. That stopped being fun yesterday,” he grunts, but accepts the cup of coffee anyway. Dean might be all mouthy and rude, but he still makes sure that Sam eats and heals properly. Castiel can’t get here fast enough, in Sam’s opinion.

“You heading out again today?” Sam jerks his head towards the hunting rifle leaning next to the kitchen door.

Dean empties his cup and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “Yup, I think there’s at least three or four more of those winged assholes out there.”

“So, crows huh?”

“Crows,” Dean nods. “Those damn birds were herding people like sheep to slaughter.”

“Can’t believe the djinn actually managed to train them to do that.”

“They’re smart as hell too! Once they see me coming, they scatter. At least after I took down half their flock.” Dean mimics shooting into the air a few times, then moves towards the actual weapon.

“Murder.”

“Fine: Murdered half their flock.”

Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Dean. A flock of crows is called a murder. Pride of lions, school of fish, murder of crows.”

Dean waves him off “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, nerd.” He picks up the rifle and checks the chamber. “They’re about to be dead murdering crows soon, anyway.”

Sam frowns, setting his cup down. “Hey, there’s one thing I don’t get.”

“Hm?” His brother is kneeling to tie up his boots, rifle slung onto his back.

“Djinns usually give people happy dreams, right? To keep them calm? So, why did Jody and I have those nightmares?”

Dean shrugs, standing up. “I dunno. How many nightmares did you have?”

A chill runs down Sam’s spine as images from his ordeal flash before his eyes: “All of them.”

A/N: So, what do you think? Let me know in the comments or as a reblog. I hope the different perspectives and dreams weren't too confusing.

Check out my other stories over at my Masterlist!

Here's the meme I based it on:

No-pressure tags for some of my other writer friends: @mrswhozeewhatsis, @leatafandom, @godmadeaterribleerror!

Snackles GIF that I found from @dean-ness 's Blogpost and then decided to loop and reverse it: