They Came at Night
Title - They Came at Night
Summary - There was a rustle, a bang, a crunch of leaves. They were noises that made John go outside with a gun. What he didn't think about was what was outside was trying to get in to his two sleeping boys.
Rating - PG-13
Part of 'The Dark Horse' series
Chapter Index
"They Came at Night"
"Chapter Two: Smoke and Mirrors"
Thump!
Clank!
Sam jerked awake, sleep still clouding his mind as he stiffened at the noises. The mattress shifted as Dean eased off the bed. Blinking blurrily, Sam stared hard at his big brother while rubbing away the sleep that crusted together in the corners of his eyes. Dean didn't look at him, didn't meet the questioning stare. That's when the windstorm started. The cabin seemed to sift ever so slightly from the force of the swirling wind outside. It creaked and strained, the windows sounded as though they were going to crack. Then, the brothers froze when the screaming of their father rang through the house.
"Dean!" Sam hissed as his muscles jerked to attention.
Within two seconds, Sam's hands were wrapped tightly around Dean's arm with fingernails making tiny crescents in the older boy's arm. His chest was flush against his brother's side as he fumbled to unfold his legs off the bed to stand with Dean. Dean was pulling Sam to the other side of the bedside table where a shotgun was propped up against the piece of furniture. Sam's grip didn't loosen, however, as his brother awkwardly tried to brace the gun in his arms.
The door to the bedroom flung open, and Sam tried to bury himself into his big brother when the three strangers appeared in the doorway. Sam's fingers curled into Dean's arm, his nails digging into his brother's flesh painfully. He watched with wide eyes as his big brother flinched but kept all of his attention on the threats that had just entered their bedroom. In that moment, Sam had never seen his brother look so much like his father before.
The shotgun flew out of Dean's grasp and collided with the wall before he could get a shot off. Dean tried to push his younger brother behind him as much as possible. Sam sniffed and gasped, his hazel eyes flying from the woman to the two men to his brother. There was unwavering faith in Dean that he would get the two of them out of the situation. The thought pounded in Sam's head as he tried to keep himself calm. It didn't work, because he could taste salty tears in the corner of his mouth. Where was his dad when they need him?
One of the men stepped forward, grabbed Dean by the arm, and hauled him forward roughly. Dean hollered a string of obscene words as he struggled against the man's painful grip. Sam screamed out a pathetic sob and leapt towards the man in order to try to save his brother. His muscles froze; however, and his feet rooted themselves into the ground. He hollered for his brother through gasping tears as the other man stepped forward to block his view from the man dragging his shouting brother out of the bedroom.
Sam barely registered being tugged and pushed into a chair in the center of the room. Rope was tied tautly around his wrists and ankles. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, threatening to break out any second. Dean's screams ceased as fear wound its way through Sam's body. The man who took his brother away walked through the bedroom door and snapped it shut behind him. Sam was all alone with the captors without knowing what happened to his dad or brother.
Sam squirmed as the ropes cut into his wrists tied down to the arms of a wooden chair. Through watery eyes, he intently watched his captors peering at him, studying him like some caged animal at the zoo. Never before had he so desperately wanted his dad and Dean. As the tears streamed down his face and his body shook with silent sobs, Sam couldn't help but feel shame. Dean wouldn't have cried. Dean would have been brave. Dean wouldn't have let these strangers tie him up.
"You're sure he's one of them?" the lone female asked.
"Positive. There is no doubt," the men who took Dean away replied calmly. "Samuel Winchester, age seven, born in May of '83, Azazel caught in the act."
"Not to mention a son of a hunter," the other man interjected.
"Out of all the subjects this time, the Winchesters were the only ones to become players."
"So?"
"So, he's the favorite like all the other children who stumbled into the hunting world this way," the woman said softly. "He'll be the smartest, the best trained… yadda yadda."
"The question is: what did Azazel do to these kids?"
Panting hard, Sam tried to block out their words. There was nothing wrong with him. They were lying. Nobody did anything to him or anyone else. Closing his eyes tightly, he felt the hot tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. He tried to think of a lullaby to sing, to calm him down. His father would always pull him close to his chest and hum some old folk song of Johnny Cash or Chet Atkins whenever he was sick or upset. The only song that sprung to mind, however, was Eagles of Death Metal. They were hardly a band that could put his mind at ease when he was tied to a chair, alone, and terrified out of his mind.
"Baal, he's scared," the woman whispered. "Ease him, all right?"
A rough hand touched Sam's cheek causing the kid to flinch back. His head collided with the back of the chair, eyes snapped open, and a strangled sob escaped his lips. The woman and the man who dealt with Dean stood back and watched the scene unfold curiously. The other man - Baal - reached forward again. This time, Sam was prepared.
His teeth bared as he snapped his head forward like an angry turtle. He bit down as hard as he could on the man's hand but didn't receive a response. The guy looked merely annoyed and not in any pain whatsoever. Sam tried to bit down harder, his jaw throbbing painfully from the strain. Pulling back, Sam saw his bite mark on the man's hand. A little spot of blood was smeared on the skin. It wasn't the victory Sam was expecting, the ones that were seen in the movies. The man simply looked down at the hand as the other adults chuckled softly. It was all a joke to them.
The hand reached forward again. This time, the fingers gripped Sam by the chin and nails dug into his cheeks. The other hand found its way onto Sam's forehead. Suddenly, his whole body went numb. His muscles relaxed and he stopped struggling against the binds, the hand, everything. His head felt heavy but empty at the same time. Sam couldn't explain it.
"Ronove," the woman said as her head inclined to the child.
The new man moved forward as Baal backed away. Ronove knelt down beside the child. Sam's mind was screaming to fight the man, to struggle against the binds, but he couldn't get his body to cooperate. His eyelids drooped, his heart beating steadily, and he felt completely at peace with the world. All the fear and anxiety he felt before had seeped out of his skin. The man named Ronove pulled out a knife and ran the blade up the kid's arm. Sam barely felt the cut. There was only a tinge of pressure.
The blood rolled down his pale arm and dripped into a bowl with symbols etched around the inside and outside. The man named Baal stood in front of Sam; his hand glided over the gash and it disappeared almost instantly. All that was left was a blood smear.
"Is he marked?" the woman demanded impatiently.
"Yes," Ronove replied, "Azazel marked him."
"You're positive?"
Sam glanced over towards the man who peered into the bowl of blood intently. There was a grave frown etched upon his face as his eyes flickered up to stare at the young child. Blue eyes disappeared as a cloud of black overtook and a hiss much like that of a cat's escaped his thin lips. Sam had never met a demon before, never seen into the soul of one. He heard his father talk about them to Dean, heard the tales of hunting that John always seemed to tell his oldest but not his youngest.
"He's different from the others," Ronove spoke sharply as his eyes returned to normal.
"What do you mean he's different?" ordered Baal.
"His blood's different than the others…"
"What are you talking about?" the girl snapped. "How?"
Ronove extended the bowl towards the female without taking his eyes off the boy tied to the chair. Sam stared back unblinkingly. His mouth felt dry, his insides twisted. It only lasted seconds before the feeling disappeared and calmness overtook him once more. He felt safe again as he heard his father humming some sort of old folk song in his head. It was as though one of the people - demons - were purposely trying to draw his attention elsewhere. They had gotten into his head, poked around inside, and found his ultimate source of comfort - his strong, brave father who could protect their family from anything.
"What is it, Abaddon?" a male voice demanded, but Sam couldn't really tell who was talking anymore.
"He's the one Azazel's been waiting for," the female's voice was fuzzy as the room became unfocused.
"The one? Are you positive?"
"I'd bet my life on it." The response sounded so far away. "There are ways for us to find out… all of which are too dangerous to fool around with as of yet."
There were footfalls in the distance, floorboards creaking. The low drawl from the other room of someone familiar wafted into his ears. Quiet sobs, rustling, shuffling, a settling of bullets in a gun. Suddenly there was a smooth hand brushing his hair off his forehead. Everything seemed to slip from Sam's mind. Then he was falling, falling into a dark pit. Memories seemed to slip from his mind. The faces of the three strangers seemed to melt together in a swirl of skin tones and distorted features. Then there was just a light - a blinding white light that overtook his vision.
The next thing he knew, he was sitting in the grass outside of a big house with a twisted, dead-looking tree. There was a woman standing by the tree - long legs and wavy blonde hair. She turned to look at him, piercing green eyes burning into him. He thought maybe he knew her somehow, someone that Dad knew or maybe a teacher he had at one point at some nameless school. She looked so familiar, but Sam just couldn't place her which was odd since his contact with girls was very limited. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears and his mouth was as dry as the desert.
"Sammy," she whispered as she inched forward.
"Get away," blurted Sam as he scrambled backwards on the prickly grass. "I want my dad and brother!"
He backed up into a white fence and the woman just knelt down in front of him. She was so close that he could count the array of freckles that littered her nose and cheeks. Her face was so familiar - she looked so much like his big brother. His throat seemed to close at that thought. Memories of an old photo tucked away in his father's wallet popped to mind - a picture of his dad and his mom all smiles and bright. Except, this blonde woman couldn't be his mother, because his mother was dead.
"Mom?" he squeaked.
All of his preconceived notions told him that this was all impossible. His mother was dead, perhaps an angel up in heaven. There was no possible way she could be in front of him, so full of life. The lessons of a child raised by a hunter started to take its toll. A ghost? A shape shifter of sorts? A demon? What could this creature in front of him possibly be?
"I'm none of those things, Sammy," she said with a voice thick and creamy like honey and molasses.
Sam tried to remember what sort of monsters could read minds. His dad and Dean were never much for telling him about things that dealt with the supernatural. They liked to keep in him the dark, liked to protect him from things that he couldn't comprehend. Except, Sam could comprehend them, could handle them.
"Are you an angel?" whispered Sam in a voice fit for a small child.
"No, Darling, I'm not an angel."
Disappointment set in immediately. He always envisioned his mother with white wings and surrounded in light to compliment her blonde curls. Pastor Jim said that if anyone deserved to go to Heaven and be in the warm, welcoming arms of God that his mother would be first in line.
"You're asleep, Sammy. You're dreaming."
"So you're not real?" he deduced with a frown etching into his forehead.
"Just because this is a dream doesn't mean this isn't real."
That logic made no sense in a stubborn seven-year-old mind. Dreams were fake. Reality was real. That's what Daddy had told him. Dreams weren't real. Nightmares weren't real. The things that one saw when awake were real. The two couldn't blur together.
"Dreams aren't real," he spoke up bravely in a way that he thought only Dean would have.
She laughed, a smile expanding broadly on her face. Her laughter sounded a lot like Daddy's laugh - full of gusto that comes directly from the belly. Her smile was like the sun, bright and blinding.
"Sammy, will you do me a favor?"
Sam wanted to say no and kick her away from him so he could find his brother or dad. That didn't happen though because he wasn't like his big brother. His dad always said that Sam didn't have a mean bone in his body. So instead, Sam just nodded his head as his fingers dug into the earth beneath him.
"Always be true to yourself," she whispered gently. "Protect your dad and your brother. You mean everything to them."
A pale, freckled hand reached towards him and lightly brushed his cheek. Unconsciously, Sammy leaned into the touch because it was the softest touch he had ever felt. Daddy's hands were rough and calloused. Dean never touched his face like that.
"You're special, Sammy, and that means you're going to have to make the right choices."
"SAMMY! PLEASE!" Sam could hear his father's voice shouting in the distance.
"Daddy?"
Sam jerked away from the bittersweet touch. A drop of liquid tickled his face. Reaching up a hand, Sam wiped away the drop from his cheek as another one fell onto him. Squinting up, the sky was blindingly blue and clear. Where had the water come from?
"Wake up, Darling," the female that looked so much like his mother encouraged. "Just remember that your dad and your brother love you. You have a choice. In life, choices are rarely wrong. You will be faced with a choice that will impact not only you, your dad, and your brother, but it will impact every single living and breathing creature."
"Why?"
"I can't answer that," she said sadly.
Her warm touch was on his forehead once more and an electric shock jolted through Sam's body. The house, the tree, the grass, the sky, the woman - they were all gone and replaced with darkness. The voices of his dad and brother grew louder. Sam felt his eyelids flickering and blobs of color faded in and out. Strong arms were wrapped around his body making him feel safe. Opening his eyes fully, Sammy saw a blurry version of his father hovering above him.
"Sammy!" he whispered in relief as a tear escaped his eye and fell onto Sam's face.
The last real thing that Sam remembered was his father tucking him into bed with a peck on the forehead earlier that night. Dean told him a story once their dad left. It was a story about a brave knight who fought the dangers of the world to protect his family. The story was familiar, one that he heard a thousand times before. He remembered curling up against his big brother's side and falling asleep. The next thing he knew, he was dreaming of his mother in a yard he couldn't remember.
Author's Notes - Here's the next chapter of the story, I hope you enjoyed it. A lot of you were questioning about what happened with Sammy and now you know. The next chapter will be seen from Dean's POV. A side note about The Dark Horse, the final chapter is coming. For reasons unknown, it's been hell to write. It's nearly completed now so don't worry. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and a special thanks to Shannon for editing. Don't forget to leave a little something.
Don't forget to vote on which story you want to read after this one is completed.
Summary - There was a rustle, a bang, a crunch of leaves. They were noises that made John go outside with a gun. What he didn't think about was what was outside was trying to get in to his two sleeping boys.
Rating - PG-13
Part of 'The Dark Horse' series
Chapter Index
"They Came at Night"
"Chapter Two: Smoke and Mirrors"
Thump!
Clank!
Sam jerked awake, sleep still clouding his mind as he stiffened at the noises. The mattress shifted as Dean eased off the bed. Blinking blurrily, Sam stared hard at his big brother while rubbing away the sleep that crusted together in the corners of his eyes. Dean didn't look at him, didn't meet the questioning stare. That's when the windstorm started. The cabin seemed to sift ever so slightly from the force of the swirling wind outside. It creaked and strained, the windows sounded as though they were going to crack. Then, the brothers froze when the screaming of their father rang through the house.
"Dean!" Sam hissed as his muscles jerked to attention.
Within two seconds, Sam's hands were wrapped tightly around Dean's arm with fingernails making tiny crescents in the older boy's arm. His chest was flush against his brother's side as he fumbled to unfold his legs off the bed to stand with Dean. Dean was pulling Sam to the other side of the bedside table where a shotgun was propped up against the piece of furniture. Sam's grip didn't loosen, however, as his brother awkwardly tried to brace the gun in his arms.
The door to the bedroom flung open, and Sam tried to bury himself into his big brother when the three strangers appeared in the doorway. Sam's fingers curled into Dean's arm, his nails digging into his brother's flesh painfully. He watched with wide eyes as his big brother flinched but kept all of his attention on the threats that had just entered their bedroom. In that moment, Sam had never seen his brother look so much like his father before.
The shotgun flew out of Dean's grasp and collided with the wall before he could get a shot off. Dean tried to push his younger brother behind him as much as possible. Sam sniffed and gasped, his hazel eyes flying from the woman to the two men to his brother. There was unwavering faith in Dean that he would get the two of them out of the situation. The thought pounded in Sam's head as he tried to keep himself calm. It didn't work, because he could taste salty tears in the corner of his mouth. Where was his dad when they need him?
One of the men stepped forward, grabbed Dean by the arm, and hauled him forward roughly. Dean hollered a string of obscene words as he struggled against the man's painful grip. Sam screamed out a pathetic sob and leapt towards the man in order to try to save his brother. His muscles froze; however, and his feet rooted themselves into the ground. He hollered for his brother through gasping tears as the other man stepped forward to block his view from the man dragging his shouting brother out of the bedroom.
Sam barely registered being tugged and pushed into a chair in the center of the room. Rope was tied tautly around his wrists and ankles. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, threatening to break out any second. Dean's screams ceased as fear wound its way through Sam's body. The man who took his brother away walked through the bedroom door and snapped it shut behind him. Sam was all alone with the captors without knowing what happened to his dad or brother.
Sam squirmed as the ropes cut into his wrists tied down to the arms of a wooden chair. Through watery eyes, he intently watched his captors peering at him, studying him like some caged animal at the zoo. Never before had he so desperately wanted his dad and Dean. As the tears streamed down his face and his body shook with silent sobs, Sam couldn't help but feel shame. Dean wouldn't have cried. Dean would have been brave. Dean wouldn't have let these strangers tie him up.
"You're sure he's one of them?" the lone female asked.
"Positive. There is no doubt," the men who took Dean away replied calmly. "Samuel Winchester, age seven, born in May of '83, Azazel caught in the act."
"Not to mention a son of a hunter," the other man interjected.
"Out of all the subjects this time, the Winchesters were the only ones to become players."
"So?"
"So, he's the favorite like all the other children who stumbled into the hunting world this way," the woman said softly. "He'll be the smartest, the best trained… yadda yadda."
"The question is: what did Azazel do to these kids?"
Panting hard, Sam tried to block out their words. There was nothing wrong with him. They were lying. Nobody did anything to him or anyone else. Closing his eyes tightly, he felt the hot tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. He tried to think of a lullaby to sing, to calm him down. His father would always pull him close to his chest and hum some old folk song of Johnny Cash or Chet Atkins whenever he was sick or upset. The only song that sprung to mind, however, was Eagles of Death Metal. They were hardly a band that could put his mind at ease when he was tied to a chair, alone, and terrified out of his mind.
"Baal, he's scared," the woman whispered. "Ease him, all right?"
A rough hand touched Sam's cheek causing the kid to flinch back. His head collided with the back of the chair, eyes snapped open, and a strangled sob escaped his lips. The woman and the man who dealt with Dean stood back and watched the scene unfold curiously. The other man - Baal - reached forward again. This time, Sam was prepared.
His teeth bared as he snapped his head forward like an angry turtle. He bit down as hard as he could on the man's hand but didn't receive a response. The guy looked merely annoyed and not in any pain whatsoever. Sam tried to bit down harder, his jaw throbbing painfully from the strain. Pulling back, Sam saw his bite mark on the man's hand. A little spot of blood was smeared on the skin. It wasn't the victory Sam was expecting, the ones that were seen in the movies. The man simply looked down at the hand as the other adults chuckled softly. It was all a joke to them.
The hand reached forward again. This time, the fingers gripped Sam by the chin and nails dug into his cheeks. The other hand found its way onto Sam's forehead. Suddenly, his whole body went numb. His muscles relaxed and he stopped struggling against the binds, the hand, everything. His head felt heavy but empty at the same time. Sam couldn't explain it.
"Ronove," the woman said as her head inclined to the child.
The new man moved forward as Baal backed away. Ronove knelt down beside the child. Sam's mind was screaming to fight the man, to struggle against the binds, but he couldn't get his body to cooperate. His eyelids drooped, his heart beating steadily, and he felt completely at peace with the world. All the fear and anxiety he felt before had seeped out of his skin. The man named Ronove pulled out a knife and ran the blade up the kid's arm. Sam barely felt the cut. There was only a tinge of pressure.
The blood rolled down his pale arm and dripped into a bowl with symbols etched around the inside and outside. The man named Baal stood in front of Sam; his hand glided over the gash and it disappeared almost instantly. All that was left was a blood smear.
"Is he marked?" the woman demanded impatiently.
"Yes," Ronove replied, "Azazel marked him."
"You're positive?"
Sam glanced over towards the man who peered into the bowl of blood intently. There was a grave frown etched upon his face as his eyes flickered up to stare at the young child. Blue eyes disappeared as a cloud of black overtook and a hiss much like that of a cat's escaped his thin lips. Sam had never met a demon before, never seen into the soul of one. He heard his father talk about them to Dean, heard the tales of hunting that John always seemed to tell his oldest but not his youngest.
"He's different from the others," Ronove spoke sharply as his eyes returned to normal.
"What do you mean he's different?" ordered Baal.
"His blood's different than the others…"
"What are you talking about?" the girl snapped. "How?"
Ronove extended the bowl towards the female without taking his eyes off the boy tied to the chair. Sam stared back unblinkingly. His mouth felt dry, his insides twisted. It only lasted seconds before the feeling disappeared and calmness overtook him once more. He felt safe again as he heard his father humming some sort of old folk song in his head. It was as though one of the people - demons - were purposely trying to draw his attention elsewhere. They had gotten into his head, poked around inside, and found his ultimate source of comfort - his strong, brave father who could protect their family from anything.
"What is it, Abaddon?" a male voice demanded, but Sam couldn't really tell who was talking anymore.
"He's the one Azazel's been waiting for," the female's voice was fuzzy as the room became unfocused.
"The one? Are you positive?"
"I'd bet my life on it." The response sounded so far away. "There are ways for us to find out… all of which are too dangerous to fool around with as of yet."
There were footfalls in the distance, floorboards creaking. The low drawl from the other room of someone familiar wafted into his ears. Quiet sobs, rustling, shuffling, a settling of bullets in a gun. Suddenly there was a smooth hand brushing his hair off his forehead. Everything seemed to slip from Sam's mind. Then he was falling, falling into a dark pit. Memories seemed to slip from his mind. The faces of the three strangers seemed to melt together in a swirl of skin tones and distorted features. Then there was just a light - a blinding white light that overtook his vision.
The next thing he knew, he was sitting in the grass outside of a big house with a twisted, dead-looking tree. There was a woman standing by the tree - long legs and wavy blonde hair. She turned to look at him, piercing green eyes burning into him. He thought maybe he knew her somehow, someone that Dad knew or maybe a teacher he had at one point at some nameless school. She looked so familiar, but Sam just couldn't place her which was odd since his contact with girls was very limited. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears and his mouth was as dry as the desert.
"Sammy," she whispered as she inched forward.
"Get away," blurted Sam as he scrambled backwards on the prickly grass. "I want my dad and brother!"
He backed up into a white fence and the woman just knelt down in front of him. She was so close that he could count the array of freckles that littered her nose and cheeks. Her face was so familiar - she looked so much like his big brother. His throat seemed to close at that thought. Memories of an old photo tucked away in his father's wallet popped to mind - a picture of his dad and his mom all smiles and bright. Except, this blonde woman couldn't be his mother, because his mother was dead.
"Mom?" he squeaked.
All of his preconceived notions told him that this was all impossible. His mother was dead, perhaps an angel up in heaven. There was no possible way she could be in front of him, so full of life. The lessons of a child raised by a hunter started to take its toll. A ghost? A shape shifter of sorts? A demon? What could this creature in front of him possibly be?
"I'm none of those things, Sammy," she said with a voice thick and creamy like honey and molasses.
Sam tried to remember what sort of monsters could read minds. His dad and Dean were never much for telling him about things that dealt with the supernatural. They liked to keep in him the dark, liked to protect him from things that he couldn't comprehend. Except, Sam could comprehend them, could handle them.
"Are you an angel?" whispered Sam in a voice fit for a small child.
"No, Darling, I'm not an angel."
Disappointment set in immediately. He always envisioned his mother with white wings and surrounded in light to compliment her blonde curls. Pastor Jim said that if anyone deserved to go to Heaven and be in the warm, welcoming arms of God that his mother would be first in line.
"You're asleep, Sammy. You're dreaming."
"So you're not real?" he deduced with a frown etching into his forehead.
"Just because this is a dream doesn't mean this isn't real."
That logic made no sense in a stubborn seven-year-old mind. Dreams were fake. Reality was real. That's what Daddy had told him. Dreams weren't real. Nightmares weren't real. The things that one saw when awake were real. The two couldn't blur together.
"Dreams aren't real," he spoke up bravely in a way that he thought only Dean would have.
She laughed, a smile expanding broadly on her face. Her laughter sounded a lot like Daddy's laugh - full of gusto that comes directly from the belly. Her smile was like the sun, bright and blinding.
"Sammy, will you do me a favor?"
Sam wanted to say no and kick her away from him so he could find his brother or dad. That didn't happen though because he wasn't like his big brother. His dad always said that Sam didn't have a mean bone in his body. So instead, Sam just nodded his head as his fingers dug into the earth beneath him.
"Always be true to yourself," she whispered gently. "Protect your dad and your brother. You mean everything to them."
A pale, freckled hand reached towards him and lightly brushed his cheek. Unconsciously, Sammy leaned into the touch because it was the softest touch he had ever felt. Daddy's hands were rough and calloused. Dean never touched his face like that.
"You're special, Sammy, and that means you're going to have to make the right choices."
"SAMMY! PLEASE!" Sam could hear his father's voice shouting in the distance.
"Daddy?"
Sam jerked away from the bittersweet touch. A drop of liquid tickled his face. Reaching up a hand, Sam wiped away the drop from his cheek as another one fell onto him. Squinting up, the sky was blindingly blue and clear. Where had the water come from?
"Wake up, Darling," the female that looked so much like his mother encouraged. "Just remember that your dad and your brother love you. You have a choice. In life, choices are rarely wrong. You will be faced with a choice that will impact not only you, your dad, and your brother, but it will impact every single living and breathing creature."
"Why?"
"I can't answer that," she said sadly.
Her warm touch was on his forehead once more and an electric shock jolted through Sam's body. The house, the tree, the grass, the sky, the woman - they were all gone and replaced with darkness. The voices of his dad and brother grew louder. Sam felt his eyelids flickering and blobs of color faded in and out. Strong arms were wrapped around his body making him feel safe. Opening his eyes fully, Sammy saw a blurry version of his father hovering above him.
"Sammy!" he whispered in relief as a tear escaped his eye and fell onto Sam's face.
The last real thing that Sam remembered was his father tucking him into bed with a peck on the forehead earlier that night. Dean told him a story once their dad left. It was a story about a brave knight who fought the dangers of the world to protect his family. The story was familiar, one that he heard a thousand times before. He remembered curling up against his big brother's side and falling asleep. The next thing he knew, he was dreaming of his mother in a yard he couldn't remember.
Author's Notes - Here's the next chapter of the story, I hope you enjoyed it. A lot of you were questioning about what happened with Sammy and now you know. The next chapter will be seen from Dean's POV. A side note about The Dark Horse, the final chapter is coming. For reasons unknown, it's been hell to write. It's nearly completed now so don't worry. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and a special thanks to Shannon for editing. Don't forget to leave a little something.
Don't forget to vote on which story you want to read after this one is completed.