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"Alll right, Sam, remember everything I've taught you. If something ever goes wrong you call Pastor Jim."

Sam nodded nonchalantly as John finished talking and finished up packing as he stuffed everything into the Impala, all the weaponry and spell books located in the secret compartment of the trunk.

They were leaving again, on a hunt. Again. This time was different though, there wasn't a kid just waiting for his family to come back alive, but a kid waiting for his family to come back alive on his birthday. That's right. At approximately 7:30 this morning, give or take a half hour, Sam had turned 12.

Dean ran out of the motel room to meet them outside. He seemed to be running in Sam's direction, maybe even getting ready to wish him a "Happy Birthday" but no such thing happened. He ran passed Sam and to the Impala and threw his extra duffel bag onto the back seat. He turned to Sam.

"All right, squirt, we'll be back in about a week. Be careful, okay?" Dean said it jokingly, but Sam was all too aware of the prominent concern lurking underneath the mask. It was always going to be there. He was certain that Dean couldn't handle another death in the family, Mom was enough to last a lifetime, and it probably will.

Sam smiled despite himself, hoping Dean wouldn't see through the cracks. He was all too observant when it came to his little brother, but he seemed to hyped up about the hunt to give a damn at the moment. Sam played it off, realizing this was one of the few hunts Dean's been in and played a big role in the turn of events for the monstrosity of the day. He had to prove his worthiness to John, prove he could fight off any badass thrown at him.

Sam's face fell as Dean ruffled his hair lightly then jumped into the driver's seat, which he had gotten a driver's license for nearly a month ago. He was ecstatic from start to finish. After a quick goodbye from John the two were in the Impala, ready for the demons they would soon be hunting and, hopefully, mutiliating in record time. Sam watched as Dean put the car in drive and drove off, a wave of smoke erupting from the rear of the Impala, the engine deafeningly painful. It felt like some sort of Soap Opera, Sam being left for dead as the only people he could call family drove off in the sunlight, singing light tunes of life better off without him. It hurt, but he didn't show it, even if he was alone.

That realization hit him, and hit him hard. He truly was alone, the neighboring buildings far off on the other side of the street. If anything happened within the next week or so, Dean wouldn't be there, nor would his father. Could he really make it without them? After a few memories flashed passed him, all being of Sam getting his ass saved every damn time, he questioned himself, his capability in anything at all. Was he more of a liability than he thought? Was he so weak that he couldn't defend himself, even against some street-roaming male hooker. It had been a close call, several years back when he was 9, and even that was accomplished with Dean's immaculate help. Was he even a Winchester?

Dean and his father were long gone. He headed back into the grimy motel, with mold growing in the corner that could more clearly be seen more as macroscopic lifeforms awaiting to devour their prey. He looked around and suddenly began to wonder if he was the only occupant in the small motel; he had seen the manager a few times, but not once had he seen in other inhabitants.

Sam walked up to their, his, motel room number, and keyed open the flimsy door with one jerk. He doubted the door would keep anything out that rightly needed to be, but it was better than nothing. He would just have to be ready.

He closed the door and locked up, then grabbed a chair from the kitchen, which was also part of the living room, and set it under the door handle. Feeling more secure, he sat down on his bed and picked up Great Expectations. It was going to be a long week.

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All of a sudden, Sam heard the hushed sound of footsteps, which sent Sam jumping to his feet. Quelling a quiet, raging monstrosity in his heart he listened to the footsteps as they got louder, the sound of pounding feet beckoning to Sam.

It had only been three days since Dean and John's departure. They couldn't already be done with the hunt, for Christ's sake, it was a goddamn demon.

A fist came pounding onto the motel room door, an eerie presence sweeping across the room, coiling around Sam like a noose. The hinges nearly snapped from the pressure of the stranger's fist but, to Sam's surprise, they had held firm. Quickly, Sam crept toward his mattress and stuffed his hand under it, shuffling around until, seconds later, his hand was grasping at the hilt of his knife frantically, like a human gulping for fresh air. His knife, small but deadly. Unlike Dean, Sam was into the close combat. It was something he was good at, and nobody had to ask him to practice throwing knives, it had already become a deadly hobby. Pulling it out quietly and tediously, possibly hoping the person at the door would go away if they heard no oncoming responses, Sam put the knife into the waistband of his jeans on the small of his back. It's presence was reassuring, a cold reminder that, though, his family he wasn't there, that didn't mean he was alone.

He stood his ground as the knocking got harder.

"Come out you damn boy, I know you're in there!"

The voice caught Sam by surprise, th masculine and hoarse sound seeming familiar. It was the manager of the motel and, by the looks of it, it was only him and Sam. If this manager was bad news, he was in deep shit.

As if on cue, the door burst open in a heap of wood and thin steel. A muscular man, probably in his mid-40s, appeared at the entrance, a snarky ass look on his face. His dark brown hair was smooth back, probably to cover up a few upcoming bald spots. His shirt was musty and dirty, stains all over the front, while his jeans had ragged holes where the knees were. Sam hacked his brain for anything he had on the man, but all he could remember was that his name was David. David Brechett.

"I know your daddy left you, kid. He doesn't care about you, you're a nuisance and a disgrace to you're family." David Bechett walked closer to him. Sam instinctively backed further away until he hit the wall with his heel. Fuck. "I've seen things like this happen to kids like you more times than I could count, son." He paused, taking the time to aware Sam of the seriousness of the situation. He bust out a pistol from under his shirt, the probability of it being fully loaded extremely likely, as he gripped it professionally, aiming at headshot.

Sam's facade began to crumble. What was he supposed to do now? What did this man want? He felt the cold knife against his back, reminding him instantly. He was a Winchester. If he was going to die, he'd sure as hell go out fighting. Even so, how could he even think to die like this? How could he allow himself to die, no less by a human, while Dean and John were out on a hunt, too preoccupied to worry about him.

"What do you want?" Sam asked as venomously as he could attain. David smiled in return, his white teeth glistening from the window's reflections.

"Does it really matter at this point?" He said, stepping forward in Sam's direction. "Come here for a second, I need to show you something."

Sam stayed where he was. He may have been naive when it came to certain things, but he wasn't very trusting and he did have at least somecommon sense.

In one swift motion, the man ran up to Sam and reached for him. Sam sidestepped just in time to dodge the hand going for his neck. And, instead of the hand, it was a knee. To the groin. He crumpled over, holding his lower stomach, hoping indirectly affecting the area would help lessen the pain of his crotch.

He looked up the see the big man staring down at him, watching him warningly, warily. What did he think Sam would possibly do?

This.

Sam thrust himself from his kneeling position to stand full height, unconsciously realizing how short he was compared to David Brechett, and yanked his knife from underneath his shirt. He held it in front of his body protectively, his father's words echoing in his head. He would have to find an opening, the man's weak point.

With situations like this, in times of close combat, guns were not very practical. Obviously, the man hadn't expected much of a fight, which pissed Sam off even more for some reason. He was only 11, no, 12, what else would the man expect from a scrawny kid like him?

Swiftly, with a speed no normal 12 year old could accomplish, Sam made for the man's gut, thrusting his knife toward the man in one motion. Unfortunately, David had moved just in time to save himself from a fatal wound, now left only with a shallow piercing through the hand.

He screamed in pain and shock, dropping the pistol to the floor as he clutched at his hand. Sam had paid no heed, already out the door. He ran hard, thankful for John's tough survival trainings. He could hear the man already behind him, spitting curses at him as his longer, more muscular legs worker to Sam's pace, then faster.

Sam ran even faster, his legs on fire and his heart in his stomach. This man was good. Sam had the endurance, but he didn't have the speed.

Then he'd have to have the wit.

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HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!!

This choice had been the winner in one of our previous polls so, hopefully, it was decent. If you dont like where im taking this let me know. We can choose another topic to write about...
At this point, im not really sure what im going to do with this story, i dont want to do a copycat of someone else's, but i also dont want it to be stupid. If anyone has any ideas i could base the future event's for the story on, let me know!! thanks so much!!!

i realize its a little shorter than i had said i would make all my chapters but, truthfully, i just wanted to get it up. Not only that but, its 1:30 in the morning and im tired....Im curious to see you guys response. I love the reviews you send too, very touching. More is good

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