cowboyguy: (bruised sammy)
[personal profile] cowboyguy
Title: Trapped
Fandom: Supernatural
Summary: Written for the Triple Play fic meme at OhSam. The general idea of the meme is to write fics involving hurt or sick Sam, and the prompts are all in the format of “location, other character, situation.” This prompt was for tunnels, Dean, and mutism/voice loss.

Sam wakes with a groan, disoriented and numb. He opens his eyes, and it doesn’t make a difference. It’s pitch black all around him. For a few horrifying moments, he thinks he’s gone blind, and then he remembers the sensation of being dragged, hauled down rocky tunnels by his wrists, deeper and deeper into the mountain.

He tries to move, tries to get a sense of where he is, and there’s a sudden pain like lightning surging through his arms and shoulders. He gasps, trying to curl in on himself, and there’s the sound of metal on metal as his arms are pulled back. He’s chained to the wall, immobilized, and there’s no way to get to a weapon, no way to contact Dean.

He is so screwed.

* * *

He falls in and out of consciousness, feeling lightheaded and dizzy every time he wakes up. No amount of wriggling will get his hands free, and every attempt sends shooting pains through his shoulders.

“Hmmmm…” he groans, deep in his chest, and closes his eyes, not that it makes much of a difference.

The only advantage he has going for him right now is that the thing that took him hasn’t come back yet. He’s not even sure what it was, just has a memory of clammy gray skin and wild red eyes, a feral snarl and sharp claws when he’d tried to struggle out of its grasp.

The numbness is starting to spread, inching its way down his body.

He can’t help the whimper that escapes him. It’s never been this bad before. There’s always Dad or Dean there with him, someone to be his backup. Half the time they won’t even let him go on hunts, tell him it’s too dangerous, that he’ll get hurt. And now, who knows what will happen. The creature will come back and he’ll be eaten slowly, or it’ll forget about him and he’ll starve in here, or maybe he’ll just pass out and that’ll be it, or—

“Sam!” The sound is far off and faint, but it’s there. He knows that voice.


His head drops back and he lets out a little happy sound of relief. Dean is here.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice calls again, echoing off the rock walls of the tunnels, and suddenly Sam realizes his problem. Dean is somewhere inside the abandoned mine, but Sam has no way to reach out, no way to bring him closer. It’ll take hours for Dean to find him, and by then it might be too late. By then, the monster might be back.

Tears spring to his eyes, and he curses his stupid brain, his stupid muscles, his own inability to speak. “Ee-ah,” he manages, approximating his brother’s name, but he’s never been very good with shouting, can’t control his own voice, much less the volume of it. Dean’s never going to hear him.

But Sam can’t just give up. He can’t be this close to being rescued, only to be lost forever.

He feels around with his feet in the dark, and lands on a pile of rocks, the jagged edges pressing against his foot through his shoes. With all the strength he can muster, he kicks out, sending the rocks flying, the sound echoing off the cave walls as they tumble over each other. It’s not much, but it’s a start, and if he can hear Dean, maybe Dean heard that. He leans back against the wall, and the chains clink together above him. He instinctively looks up, even though there’s nothing to see in the midnight black room. He swings his arms forward, then back, trying to make as much noise as possible with the chains. Each movement is agony, but he tries to ride through the pain, panting and groaning with each jolt through his body. It has to work. There’s no other option.

“Sam!” Dean calls again, and there’s something different about his voice. Something sure, something closer. Sam thinks he can hear footsteps.

He keeps going, writhing against the pull of the iron manacles, kicking his feet against pebbles and dirt and the cold cave floor.

“Nnnnn!” he cries, getting desperate. Come on, Dean, come on.

And all of a sudden, there’s a light, the faint glimmer of it illuminating the cave wall. It’s further down and still far off, and Sam realizes that he’s at the top of a hill. He kicks out again, makes contact with something that might have been a skull, and it skitters away from him, bouncing down the slope and pulling more tiny pebbles along with it. It sounds like a rain stick, tiny particles making contact with each other in a miniature avalanche.

The flashlight beam moves, gets closer, and then there is a shadowy figure at the bottom of the slope.

“Sammy!” Dean cries, shining the flashlight up.

The sudden light is blinding, and Sam turns his head away with a sharp cry. But inside, he is flooded with relief. Dean is here. Dean is here.

There’s the sound of falling rocks again, louder this time, as Dean scrambles up the incline towards him.

“Hang on, buddy, I’m coming,” he calls.

“Aaah… Eee-ah…” Sam can’t control his own mouth, the sounds tumbling out of him as he watches his brother get closer. He’s breathing in great gasps, the pain momentarily forgotten over the joy of being rescued.

And then Dean is right next to him, the flashlight beam illuminating his dirty face and dusty jacket and Sam has never been happier to see his brother.

“Oh, Sammy,” Dean breathes, and reaches up, feeling his brother’s face, wiping away the tears tracking down Sam’s cheeks. “You okay? You hurt?”

Sam shakes his head and then groans, because yes, actually. Yes, he is hurt. But all he really wants Dean to do is get him out of there.

Dean looks up, examining the chains, and then directs his gaze toward Sam. “I’m gonna lift you up, okay?” he says, and Sam nods through the tingling in his neck and shoulders. “One, two… three!” Dean grunts as he lifts his younger brother’s weight, and Sam does all he can to push his arms forward as the chain goes slack. His arms flop down onto Dean’s shoulders with a nauseating thump, and Sam can’t help but cry out softly.

“Sorry, sorry.” Dean eases him to the floor, arranging Sam’s still chained arms in his lap. The sudden rush of blood through his veins sends his nerves into overdrive, and his fingers twitch as he tries to wake up the dead limbs. He feels useless without his hands, unable to sign anything, to ask how Dean had found him, where Dad is, whether they’d killed the creature that took him. But none of that really matters right now, because he and Dean have the same priority — getting the hell out. “C’mon, kiddo, let’s get out of here,” Dean says, and helps Sam stumble to his feet.

They start shuffling forward, the beam of Dean’s flashlight bouncing across the uneven ground. Dean’s got an arm wrapped around Sam, one hand gripping him tight to keep him steady, and he’s too preoccupied to notice the movement at the bottom of the tunnel. But Sam sees it, and it’s not Dad, not human.

“Mmmah—!” He manages to say, nudging Dean to get him to look up.

It all happens in a flash after that.

There’s an unearthly howl as the creature sees its captive has gotten loose, and the dark silhouette lumbers toward them.

“Shit!” Dean swears, and Sam is quickly deposited against the wall of the tunnel, lurching into the rock with enough force to bruise. Dean pulls his gun out, and there’s a bright flash and a double burst of gunfire that leaves Sam’s ears ringing. In the flashlight beam arcing across the tunnel, Sam can just make out the slumped form of the emaciated creature at the bottom of the slope. Sam stares at it, dazed, until Dean moves next to him again and he sees more than hears Dean saying, “Are you okay?”

He nods slowly, and feels himself being pulled back up as they make their way carefully down the tunnel and towards daylight.

By the time they get back to the Impala, the feeling is returning to Sam’s arms, and he knows for a fact that it’s going to hurt like hell for a few days. He winces as Dean eases him into the passenger seat, and then holds out his hands as Dean digs the bolt cutters out of the trunk. The chains and cuffs slide off easily after that, and Dean carefully wraps Sam’s hands in a couple of Ace bandages, stabilizing his wrists. After Dean finishes up and climbs behind the wheel, Sam signs a clumsy thank you to his brother, a soft noise of appreciation escaping his lips.

“You’re welcome,” Dean says, ruffling Sam’s hair and eliciting a scowl from his brother. “Betcha Dad’s never gonna let you out of his sight again, though.”

Sam rolls his eyes and slaps the dashboard, commanding Dean to get moving.
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