Chuck had been walking back to the dorms after getting his alcohol fix in town. Sure, he had alcohol in his room, but the bar had a much better variety. Besides, he stayed in last night (not that hadn't been extremely fun).
Somehow he hadn't noticed anything weird going on in town. Not yet, anyway.
He also didn't notice a strange guy with a mask and pickaxe walking around. He got unobservant after a few drinks.
Chuck, the stupid boy that he was, actually did turn over to look up at the crazy guy. In all the ways he thought he'd die, killed by a pickaxe definitely wasn't on the list.
And if you think he was crying, well, he wasn't. His eyes were just watering from the painful injury he sustained.
Sam wasn't sure if he entirely believed Dean's--Tom's story about the vengeful spirit, but he figured it was better to be safe than sorry. He'd set out into the preserve, but when he didn't see anything, he started to head towards town. Then he heard someone cry out, and that was all it took to get him further into the woods. He spotted the thing with the pickaxe first, and gave in to his first instinct - get its attention.
"Hey!" he yelled, slowing his approach. If Dean was himself, he'd kick Sam's ass for coming out here without a gun.
He spun at the sound, ready to destroy whatever dared to interrupt his fun...
And stopped when he saw who it was.
This wasn't prey. This was something else -- someone else -- entirely. He could feel Tom fluttering deep in his mind in protest. This one wasn't for hunting.
With that option took away from him, there was only one action left to him and he took it, retreating back into the darkness.
Sam waited until he was sure the spirit was gone before moving all the way to where it had been standing. He was going to have to tell Tom about this, but first he had to check on the victim.
When he realized it was Chuck, that just meant there was a moment of surprised hesitation before he knelt down. "Hey," he said, looking him over. "Are you okay?"
Chuck's glare at the stupid question was somewhat lacking since, one, he was too busy being in pain and, two, he was actually grateful for Sam's presence at the moment.
"The fucker stabbed me in the shoulder," he mumbled, not bothering to sit up. The pain was making him dizzy.
Sam was perfectly happy to let Chuck stay on the ground for a moment, as that made it a little easier for him to try to touch Chuck's arm and assess the damage. "He's gone now. You don't have to worry."
"Of course you weren't," Sam said, willing to give Chuck the benefit of the doubt in their current situation. "If you want, I can bandage your shoulder. Or I can take you to the clinic. Or I can just take you back to your room. But either way, we've got to get out of here before that guy comes back."
"Don't take me to the clinic," Chuck said quickly, sitting up at the mention of that guy coming back. The people at the clinic might call his dad and then Chuck would have to hear about how he's a failure of a son because he can't outrun an axe murderer.
He has daddy issues, okay?
"You do it," he said. And then, quietly, added a polite, "Please."
Under normal circumstances, Sam might have let Chuck deal with his injuries himself. But this whole day had been far from normal, and the fact that he'd said please went a long way.
Never let it be said that Sam wasn't simple to deal with sometimes.
"Okay. Come on then," he said, moving to try to help Chuck up. "We'll be safe back at the dorm."
It was a little slow moving since Chuck had fallen pretty hard onto the ground, but with Sam's help he managed to get up off the ground with little trouble.
"Christ," he muttered, wincing at the pain in his arm. "Okay. Fucking hurts. Let's get out of here."
Sam allowed himself a moment to acknowledge the fact that he was actually helping and touching Chuck before leading them back to the dorm, making sure that nothing and no one was following them.
Somehow he hadn't noticed anything weird going on in town. Not yet, anyway.
He also didn't notice a strange guy with a mask and pickaxe walking around. He got unobservant after a few drinks.
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And if you think he was crying, well, he wasn't. His eyes were just watering from the painful injury he sustained.
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"Hey!" he yelled, slowing his approach. If Dean was himself, he'd kick Sam's ass for coming out here without a gun.
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And stopped when he saw who it was.
This wasn't prey. This was something else -- someone else -- entirely. He could feel Tom fluttering deep in his mind in protest. This one wasn't for hunting.
With that option took away from him, there was only one action left to him and he took it, retreating back into the darkness.
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When he realized it was Chuck, that just meant there was a moment of surprised hesitation before he knelt down. "Hey," he said, looking him over. "Are you okay?"
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"The fucker stabbed me in the shoulder," he mumbled, not bothering to sit up. The pain was making him dizzy.
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Whatever, he spent a lot of time in a library, he probably knew what he was doing.
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He has daddy issues, okay?
"You do it," he said. And then, quietly, added a polite, "Please."
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Never let it be said that Sam wasn't simple to deal with sometimes.
"Okay. Come on then," he said, moving to try to help Chuck up. "We'll be safe back at the dorm."
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"Christ," he muttered, wincing at the pain in his arm. "Okay. Fucking hurts. Let's get out of here."
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