WHO: Sam Winchester, hunters. WHAT: Sam wanted answers. Naturally, he went and got them. WHEN: Late afternoon, backdated. WHERE: Casper, Wyoming. RATING: Violence.
The first hunter who had come at him was good - her ability to wield a knife was enviable, especially when one considered how speedy she was - but Sam wasn't new to defending himself. She lunged, he dodged. She sliced upward, Sam jumped back. It was a dance of two, the sharp flashes of silver slicing through the air guiding them along like the tune to their life versus death song. She lurched left and Sam immediately went right, but as boots skid across the floor he noticed that her body was leaning back in, pulling him up for a fake-out. Too late. Her knife licked it's way across his shoulder and Sam winced as his flesh split open. She went in for another, clearly hoping to take him down while he adapted to his wound, but Sam was no stranger to pain. He grabbed her wrist, hands squeezing hard, and slammed it down against the bedframe until it toppled from her grip. With a sharp twist in the right place, Sam snapped her arm, rendering it completely useless. Unlike Sam, it seemed that his opponent had a smaller tolerance for pain. She immediately dropped to her knees, leaving him to jump on his own advantage. Sam took it. She was unconscious before her body hit the floor.
Hand grabbing at his blood soaked shoulder, Sam turned to survey his surroundings. Familiar. Too familiar. All of this...
The room shook, an echo erupting from the back of his mind. The bedroom, damaged horribly from the fight between Sam and one of the hunters he'd been evading, had returned to it's normal state. No broken lamps, no furniture thrown askew, no hunter. Instead, a young man had taken her place. He was pacing back and forth in front of his door, hands anxiously dipped together in a tightly clasped bundle of fingers. Sam tried to talk to him, but he felt rooted. Stuck.
It didn't take him long to see why.
The man had opened his bedroom door and was arguing with someone on the other side. No, he insisted, I can't do that. I won't. It's too dangerous. What if it kills me? More arguing, followed by a loud sigh from the person beyond the door. He wasn't interested in anything the man had to say. A hand snapped out, reached around and grabbed the man by the back of the head, and slammed his face into the door. As the man's body crumpled, Sam watched the attacker step inside and felt his mouth drop open as he watched himself step through the door.
I wasn't asking, Sam watched himself declare in a disinterested sort of way. He leaned over the man, hoisted him over his shoulder, and strode right back out the door.
"MURDERER!"
The room shook again, this time more violently. Sam reached for the side of his head, but never quite got a grip. A face tore it's way into his vision - another hunter, one he'd seen paired up with the woman he'd just taken down - and Sam felt the breath go out of him. His body jerked backward, balance betraying him. The hunter came at him again, landing another solid kick, this time square in Sam's chest. That was when Sam keeled over backward, large frame colliding with glass and toppling straight out the second story window. His hands wheeled through the hair, blindly reaching for something to keep him from slamming straight into pavement, but all Sam felt was air.
Luckily for him, it wasn't a straight drop. There was a small deck built below the window with a slanted roof, which Sam crashed into and rolled straight down. Once it ended, he hit air again, this time colliding facefirst into dirt, grass, and stone. His vision, once again, began to shake, but Sam knew that it wasn't because of whatever had happened here. His head had slammed into the ground during the fall. Not good.
"He's down there! GO!"
The pain had to be ignored. He had to move.
His shoulders screamed with agony, fists pressing against the ground as he forced himself upward. As soon as Sam found his feet, the entire world went sideways and he went crashing down again. No. Back up. Now.
He didn't fail the second time. On the move, he knew that he was going to have to find something more reliable than his own two feet to put some distance between himself and those hunters. He crashed forward, darkness trickling it's way into his vision. Muffled shouts erupted from behind him, pushing Sam to keep up the pace. As soon as he was sure that he was out of sight, Sam shoved his elbow through the first car window he could reach, gave it a jump, and hit the gas. He was only going to get but so far in his condition. As his consciousness continued to threaten to lose itself, Sam found a quiet spot wedged off on the edge of a set of woods he'd driven past, hid his stolen ride as best as he could between some trees, and pulled out his phone.
The man that he had watched. The one who kept jumping into his head back there? It wasn't him. He had looked like him, but that wasn't him. Someone had turned themselves into him, they had used him to -
But, no. That wasn't right either. There was something about it all that just felt -
He wasn't in the car anymore. It was dark. There were people tied up, begging for freedom. Two men - one being the one he'd watched Not Him attack earlier - and a woman. They were screaming. Something dark darted out from the shadows, growling hungrily. Sam watched on, helplessly, as the creature attacked the helpless, ripping their flesh from their bones as the others howled in terror. He watched as that creature killed every last one of them and, only when it had it's teeth buried deep in the final victim, did he spot his Other Self. Finally, after all the people he'd set up as a lure had truly put that monster off guard, did his Other Self take the opportunity to attack.
Dead. All dead. Why? Why?
Sam snapped back to reality. Blood-stained hands gripped at the steering wheel, phone forgotten in his lap.
He'd sacrificed them. He had used them for a hunt. Like bait. That was what they were. Bait. Jaw clenched tight, Sam pressed a hand to his eyes and rubbed hard. If that wasn't him - if that had been someone else - why was all of this in his head?
He picked up the phone again, giving his head a hard shake. No. No time for rest. He wanted answers. He wanted them now.