Stalked
Title: Stalked
Rating: PG
Characters: Dean
Genre: Gen
Disclaimer: As much as I wish upon that star... They are still not mine...
Word Count: 571
this was written from a prompt by myspn_addiction
Prompt: 'something happens to sammy. Maybe a demon took him. Or an angel. And Dean's running as hard as he can after them or to someplace for something saving sam related. He's running through a field, right after dark and falls. Ends up shishkabobing himself with a cornstalk.'
Dean’s breath comes in short gasps as he flies through the freshly cut corn field.
The moon is new and casts very little light on the figure below as he dashes madly toward the disappearing lights of the car that took his brother.
He had tried to stop them, he really had, but they had taken Sam anyways. Taken him away. Somewhere far. Dean has no idea where, but he isn’t going to let them just take his Sammy.
The hard ground flies past under Dean’s feet and the jaggedly cut corn stalks rise ominously out of the ground, threatening to trip him.
Tears sting the back of Dean’s eyes and he brings a hand up to wipe at them angrily. Everything is a blur now and Dean is quickly losing sight of the car.
Then out of nowhere, a wide stalk appears in Dean’s vision and his foot catches it before he can stop himself.
The speed at which he is moving throws him down exceptionally hard and a pained scream tears from his mouth as his left hand smashes down hard on a short spikey corn stalk, going straight through his palm and out the top.
Spots of red appear before Dean’s eyes and he shakes his head, trying to clear his vision but the red dots stay before him. It doesn’t take him long to realize that the spots were blood.
But from where? Then he feels the warm wetness on his lipsand chin and tastes the cool metallic of blood in his mouth. His blood.
Why was it coming from his mouth? Then the pain hits him like a ton of bricks, starting at his stomach and blooming outward rapidly and Dean lets out a cry of agony.
Carefully moving his right hand, Dean reaches back to touch the sharp tips of the corn stalk jutting grotesquely out of his back.
Stalked, Dean thinks deliriously, giggling slightly at the images the thought invoked. By corn no less. The laughing triggers more waves of intense pain and the giggles turn to gasps of torture.
Why did he have to be out here alone? In the middle of a corn field in the middle of the night? Crap.
Bobby. Bobby could help. He needs to call Bobby. But his phone is in his pants pocket. Under him. Trying to get it would mean moving and that would mean ugly, searing hot pain.
“Cas,” he mutters around the blood in his mouth, painfully aware of how fast it is coming up. “C’s, ‘need h’lp. Pl’s.”
He can't say any more. Breathing is hard enough to concentrate on right now, much less anything else.
Slowly Dean’s head lolls to the side so his right cheek is resting on the cool ground. His left hand looks bad, even in the dark, and Dean tries not to look at it. He tries to look everywhere but at his hand. That only makes him dizzy and he closes his eyes slowly.
When is Cas going to get here? Dean can’t stand the pain any longer. The white hot daggers stabbing over and over into his back and stomach, sending little pinpricks of white lights to dance in front of his closed eyes.
All he can do it wait. Hope that Cas heard him or hope that’s he’s lucky enough for some random person to happen along. All he can do it wait.
And hope.
Rating: PG
Characters: Dean
Genre: Gen
Disclaimer: As much as I wish upon that star... They are still not mine...
Word Count: 571
this was written from a prompt by myspn_addiction
Prompt: 'something happens to sammy. Maybe a demon took him. Or an angel. And Dean's running as hard as he can after them or to someplace for something saving sam related. He's running through a field, right after dark and falls. Ends up shishkabobing himself with a cornstalk.'
Dean’s breath comes in short gasps as he flies through the freshly cut corn field.
The moon is new and casts very little light on the figure below as he dashes madly toward the disappearing lights of the car that took his brother.
He had tried to stop them, he really had, but they had taken Sam anyways. Taken him away. Somewhere far. Dean has no idea where, but he isn’t going to let them just take his Sammy.
The hard ground flies past under Dean’s feet and the jaggedly cut corn stalks rise ominously out of the ground, threatening to trip him.
Tears sting the back of Dean’s eyes and he brings a hand up to wipe at them angrily. Everything is a blur now and Dean is quickly losing sight of the car.
Then out of nowhere, a wide stalk appears in Dean’s vision and his foot catches it before he can stop himself.
The speed at which he is moving throws him down exceptionally hard and a pained scream tears from his mouth as his left hand smashes down hard on a short spikey corn stalk, going straight through his palm and out the top.
Spots of red appear before Dean’s eyes and he shakes his head, trying to clear his vision but the red dots stay before him. It doesn’t take him long to realize that the spots were blood.
But from where? Then he feels the warm wetness on his lipsand chin and tastes the cool metallic of blood in his mouth. His blood.
Why was it coming from his mouth? Then the pain hits him like a ton of bricks, starting at his stomach and blooming outward rapidly and Dean lets out a cry of agony.
Carefully moving his right hand, Dean reaches back to touch the sharp tips of the corn stalk jutting grotesquely out of his back.
Stalked, Dean thinks deliriously, giggling slightly at the images the thought invoked. By corn no less. The laughing triggers more waves of intense pain and the giggles turn to gasps of torture.
Why did he have to be out here alone? In the middle of a corn field in the middle of the night? Crap.
Bobby. Bobby could help. He needs to call Bobby. But his phone is in his pants pocket. Under him. Trying to get it would mean moving and that would mean ugly, searing hot pain.
“Cas,” he mutters around the blood in his mouth, painfully aware of how fast it is coming up. “C’s, ‘need h’lp. Pl’s.”
He can't say any more. Breathing is hard enough to concentrate on right now, much less anything else.
Slowly Dean’s head lolls to the side so his right cheek is resting on the cool ground. His left hand looks bad, even in the dark, and Dean tries not to look at it. He tries to look everywhere but at his hand. That only makes him dizzy and he closes his eyes slowly.
When is Cas going to get here? Dean can’t stand the pain any longer. The white hot daggers stabbing over and over into his back and stomach, sending little pinpricks of white lights to dance in front of his closed eyes.
All he can do it wait. Hope that Cas heard him or hope that’s he’s lucky enough for some random person to happen along. All he can do it wait.
And hope.